Yet, because the coroner was both conscientious and alert, he
caused a most rigorous search to be made of the ground overlooked
by the above mentioned window; a search in which the police
joined, but which was without any result save that of rousing the
attention of people in the neighbourhood and leading to a story
being circulated of a man seen some time the night before
crossing the fields in a great hurry. But as no further
particulars were forthcoming, and not even a description of the
man to be had, no emphasis would have been laid upon this story
had it not transpired that the moment a report of it had come to
Mrs. Hammond's ears (why is there always some one to carry these
reports?) she roused from the torpor into which she had fallen,
and in wild fashion exclaimed:

"I knew it! I expected it! He was shot through the window and by
that wretch. He never shot himself." Violent declarations which
trailed off into the one continuous wail, "O, my baby! my poor
baby!"

Such words, even though the fruit of delirium, merited some sort
of attention, or so this good coroner thought, and as soon as
opportunity offered and she was sufficiently sane and quiet to
respond to his questions, he asked her whom she had meant by
that wretch, and what reason she had, or thought she had, of
attributing her husband's death to any other agency than his own
disgust with life.

And then it was that his sympathies, although greatly roused in
her favour began to wane. She met the question with a cold stare