All the newspapers had published as full accounts as they could compile of the Lincoln's Inn Mystery, dwelling on and emphasizing the extraordinary features of the case. Determined now to give it the utmost publicity, Inspector Gale had supplied them with most of the information at his command, but he took good care to say not a word about the mission on which he had despatched Brydges. What he did communicate to the Press was sufficient, however, to arouse the public to a still higher pitch of excitement regarding the whole strange story of Morris Thornton. As a natural consequence, the room in which the inquest was held was packed as densely as it could be.

In the mean time Gale had been exceedingly active. He had not yet received any message from Brydges; he did not, in fact, expect to hear from him for a day or two, if so soon. But he had interviewed Miss Kitty Thornton and Francis Eversleigh.

From the former he had obtained her father's letter announcing his coming to England, but he saw the missive was of no particular importance in itself. From the latter person he had been able to learn nothing fresh, but he had a feeling that Francis Eversleigh's state of collapse was much more complete than the occasion, sad and painful as it was, quite accounted for, and he asked himself if it were possible that the solicitor was holding back something from him.

Both Miss Kitty and Eversleigh had somewhat puzzled the detective, but for entirely different reasons. Both of them were present in the room at the inquest—indeed, they sat side by side; and Gale, secretly watching them, found himself puzzled again by what had puzzled him before.

What puzzled him was, on the one hand, the quiet strength shown by the girl; and on the other, the superlative weakness exhibited by the man. He was astounded by the firm, composed demeanour of Miss Thornton, but he was even more astounded by the nervous, perturbed, and almost hysterical condition of Eversleigh. Gale thought that if the positions of the two had been reversed, he would have understood it better.

The truth was, so far as Kitty was concerned, that having concluded some time before that her father was dead, and also, after hearing the details of the finding of the body in Stone Buildings, that it was in the highest degree improbable that he had been murdered by Cooper Silwood, she had made up her mind, in spite of her grief, to take a certain stand. For she saw that, as the case stood, Francis Eversleigh, her lover Gilbert, and the rest of the Eversleighs, to all of whom she occupied almost the relation of a member of their family, must rest under a heavy cloud until such time as the darkness should be lifted. Therefore, she nerved herself to face this crisis in her and their affairs with all the courage and determination she possessed, and to demonstrate by her attitude that she, the daughter of Morris Thornton, had every confidence in them. Gilbert, who knew what was in her mind, thanked and blessed her, and admired and loved her more than ever.

Highly intelligent, she did not fail to know that popular opinion pronounced Cooper Silwood, the partner of Francis Eversleigh, the murderer of her father, and she was set on making it plain to all the world that she did not take that view. As she sat by the side of Francis Eversleigh she took his hand, and tried to assure him of her sympathy and support.

As for Francis Eversleigh, his lamentable state was so evident that no one could behold him without pity. His face was full of suffering, his eyes were heavy and dull, his frame was bent and bowed. He tried to concentrate his thoughts, to fix his wandering wits on some definite idea, but the slightest effort exhausted him. All that he was really conscious of was that he was the victim of an incredibly cruel and malicious destiny that was slowly grinding the life out of him. In a blurr of emotions he hazily wondered how he was to get through the ordeal of the day. And further, he had a faint suspicion—he was not able to formulate it clearly—that, when Gale had spoken to him about the date on which Cooper Silwood had left for his Italian holiday, he had said something unguardedly—he could not remember exactly what—to the inspector, which that officer had regarded as peculiar. He was trying, with such strength as was left him, to recall it when the coroner took his seat.

When the jury had been impanelled and sworn, they, according to custom, went to view the remains—now hardly recognizable, but in the dead man's clothes had been found letters which further identified him, had there been any doubt. But there was no doubt whatever that the remains were the remains of Morris Thornton.

Thereafter evidence was given.

Inspector Gale, between whom and the coroner there chanced to be a tacit feud, on account of former differences—a circumstance which later was to have its effect on the inquest—followed every word with the closest attention.

First came the tale of the finding of the body.

The locksmith was called, and he recounted his share in the discovery in Stone Buildings, as already set forth in this narrative. But he was particularly questioned about the difficulty he had experienced in opening the door of Silwood's chambers. In reply, he described the Yale lock which he had forced to gain admission to the rooms; it was a lock of a special kind, and could only be opened and locked by a special key.

The lock was now produced and identified by the locksmith.

A clerk from the makers was then put in the box. He stated that the lock bore a number in addition to the name of the firm to which he belonged, and by tracing the number in their books, they were able to state that the lock had been supplied to Mr. Cooper Silwood some four years before, and he mentioned the precise date. And with the lock they had supplied two keys; they had not retained a triplicate. One of their men, he said, had fixed the lock on the door of Mr. Silwood's chambers. Asked by the coroner if the lock was of the kind that would shut of itself on the swinging-to of the door, he answered that it was not; it could neither be opened nor locked without the proper key being used. The door was locked, witness volunteered, after Mr. Thornton was dead.

"I don't know that you can say that!" exclaimed the coroner, sharply. "The door was certainly locked by some one on Mr. Thornton, alive or dead; a key was used, it is plain, but you do not know that Mr. Thornton was dead at the time; you have no right to say that."

"Perhaps not," said the clerk, humbly; "but it occurred to me, sir, that if Mr. Thornton had been alive when he was locked in, he would have tried to get out. When he found he could not get out by the door, would he not have broken one of the windows? Or maybe he would not have had more to do than lift a window and cry for help to some one without."

The coroner agreed that there was something in what the clerk had said, but he did not pursue this branch of inquiry further.

"You said," remarked the coroner, "that your firm supplied Mr. Silwood with two keys?"

"Yes."

"He never told you that he had lost one of the keys?"

"I am positive he never did. If he had lost one, he would have sent to us for another, surely; and then I must have heard of it, for it is my duty to keep the record of the keys. We have a regular registry."

"On the other hand, he might lose a key and say nothing about it; is that not so?"

"Certainly, sir."

Inspector Gale wondered not a little at the unusual line the coroner was taking in his questions.

The clerk was now dismissed, and the Lincoln's Inn porter summoned. The porter corroborated in the main the evidence of the locksmith, the only new point he made being to state that he had been sent for by Mr. Francis Eversleigh to open Silwood's door. He was aware that this particular door had a special lock, and he had informed Mr. Eversleigh of the fact.

Then Francis Eversleigh was called, and as he was plainly very ill, he was given a chair.

The coroner, who knew him perfectly, invited him to make a statement, and in a weak, halting, hesitating manner he did so. When it was finished he was asked a few questions.

"You were aware that Mr. Thornton intended coming to London?"

"He wrote to us to that effect, but he specified no date on which we might look for him."

"You did not know of his arrival in London—until when?"

"Until my son, Gilbert, who had been making inquiries, told me of Mr. Thornton's coming to the Law Courts Hotel, and of the subsequent disappearance. Thereafter my firm offered a reward for any information which might lead us to know what had become of him."

"Your son Gilbert had been making inquiries—why?"

Francis Eversleigh, stumbling at every second or third word, gave an account of the circumstances which had resulted in the discovery that Morris Thornton had come to London, and had thereafter disappeared.

"I was naturally very anxious," said Eversleigh. "Mr. Thornton was an old and dear friend, and his only child, a daughter, had lived with us for some years."

"Was Mr. Silwood also a friend of the deceased?"

"Almost as much as I was."

"There was no ill feeling between them?"

"I am quite sure there was not."

"Have you any explanation to offer, or any suggestion to make, regarding the finding of Mr. Thornton's body in your partner's private apartments?"

"I can account for it in no way. It is a profound mystery to me. No one was more surprised than I was when the body was discovered in Mr. Silwood's sitting-room. The shock was so great, indeed, that I fainted away."

"What was the date on which Mr. Silwood departed for his holiday—I understand he went to Italy?"

"He went on the very night that Mr. Thornton disappeared, or the following morning. A note was received from him on the Saturday morning saying he was off—that was the day after Mr. Thornton's disappearance."

Here Inspector Gale interposed, and said it would be proved that Mr. Silwood left on the Saturday morning.

The words caused an immense sensation in the room; the feeling was general that this had an important bearing on the case; in the breast of almost every one present there was the impression that the dead man had been murdered by Silwood. Black despair clutched at Francis Eversleigh's heart-strings.

Gilbert was next called, and said what he had to say in a manly, straightforward manner.

Inspector Gale now came upon the stand, and put before the jury the facts as he knew them. In brief, he said the facts were that Mr. Thornton, on the Friday night in question, left his hotel with the declared intention of going for a walk in Holborn or in Chancery Lane; that he did not return; and that his body, fifteen days later, was found in Stone Buildings, which was a part of Lincoln's Inn, practically in Chancery Lane. Also, that the room in which the body was discovered belonged to Mr. Silwood, who had left London the morning next after the disappearance of Mr. Thornton. The conclusion was obvious; yet, on the other hand, there were two considerations to which importance must be attached: one was the absence of motive on the part of Silwood, the other was that on the very night of the disappearance, a man, dressed as a workman, had been seen to issue from Lincoln's Inn, from the Stone Buildings end of the Inn, and that he had not been able to find out anything about this workman. In these circumstances he suggested that the jury should return an open verdict.

Gale's reference to the mysterious workman was the first intimation the public had received of that person; it had the effect somewhat of casting doubt on the certainty of Silwood's guilt.

"An open verdict," said the coroner, with a curious inflection of voice. "Wait till we have heard the medical evidence."

Dr. Gilson, an eminent man, called and sworn, said that he had made an autopsy on the body, according to instructions from the coroner.

"With what result?" asked the coroner.

"I found no trace of violence on the body; there was absolutely nothing to indicate Mr. Thornton came by his death by foul means. On the contrary, my examination showed conclusively that death came from the bursting of an aneurism. Mr. Thornton undoubtedly died of heart-disease. In other words, he died from natural causes."

"From natural causes!"

The thing seemed beyond belief.

The coroner, who had been prepared for what was coming, glanced at Gale, and on his face was the ghost of a smile.

Every one in the room looked at every one else with blank amazement.

"From natural causes!" they repeated to each other. Then Morris Thornton had not been murdered after all. But on reflection they saw that the mystery was not solved, and now they inquired, how had he come to die "from natural causes" in Cooper Silwood's rooms?

When Francis Eversleigh heard the doctor's words, a light of gladness came upon his face. For the first time for days he seemed to breathe more like a man; but like the rest he was astonished and asked the same question all were asking.

A second doctor, of equal eminence with the other expert, confirmed the statement of his colleague.

"There is not the faintest shadow of doubt," said he, "that Mr. Thornton died from the bursting of an aneurism. He was not murdered, he died from natural causes—so much is absolutely certain."

After this there was very little to be done.

The jury brought in a verdict that Morris Thornton died from natural causes.

But the Lincoln's Inn Mystery was as great as ever.