outward appearance of a court of justice--a raised seat, on a sort of
dais, for the Coroner; a box for the jury; a table for officials and legal
gentlemen; a stand for witnesses, and accommodation for the general
public. Clearly, it was evident that when any one died as poor old Daniel
Multenius had died, the law took good care that everybody should know
everything about it, and that whatever mystery there was should be
thoroughly investigated.

The general public, however, had not as yet come to be greatly interested
in the death of Daniel Multenius. Up to that moment the affair was known
to few people beyond the police, the relations of the dead man, and his
immediate neighbours in Praed Street. Consequently, beyond the interested
few, there was no great assemblage in the court that morning. A reporter
or two, each with his note-book, lounged at the end of the table on the
chance of getting some good copy out of whatever might turn up; some of
the police officials whom Lauriston had already seen stood chatting with
the police surgeon and a sharp-eyed legal looking man, who was attended by
a clerk; outside the open door, a group of men, evidently tradesmen and
householders of the district, hung about, looking as if they would be glad
to get back to their businesses and occupations. Melky, coming in a few
minutes after Lauriston had arrived, and sitting down by him, nudged his
elbow as he pointed to these individuals.

"There's the fellows what sits on the jury, mister!" whispered Melky.
"Half-a-crown each they gets for the job--and a nice mess they makes of
it, sometimes. They've the power to send a man for trial for his life, has
them chaps--all depends on their verdict. But lor' bless yer!--they takes
their tip from the Coroner--he's the fellow what you've got to watch."

Then Melky looked around more narrowly, and suddenly espied the legal-