—Mr.—is it Cannot?" he said doubtfully, "may come forward."
There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat, with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from the place where he had been standing among the general public, to the witness-box.
"This is somewhat out of order, Mr.—er—Cannot," said the coroner severely. "You should have sent me this note before the proceedings began. This gentleman," he said, addressing the jury, "informs me that he has something of the utmost importance to reveal in connection with our investigation."
"I have remained silent—I have locked what I knew within my own breast"—began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, "because I am so afraid of the Press! I knew if I said anything, even to the police, that my house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men… I have a delicate wife, Mr. Coroner. Such a state of things—the state of things I imagine—might cause her death—indeed, I hope she will never read a report of these proceedings. Fortunately, she has an excellent trained nurse"
"You will now take the oath," said the coroner sharply. He already regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been lacking in most of those who had preceded him.
