It seemed to Mrs.Bunting that she had been sitting there a long time - it was really about a quarter of an hour - when her official friend came back.
"Better come along now," he whispered; "it'll begin soon."She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps, and so into the Coroner's Court.
The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike a chapel, the more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, a gallery evidently set aside for the general public, for it was now crammed to its utmost capacity.
Mrs.Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces.Had it not been for her good fortune in meeting the man she was now following, it was there that she would have had to try and make her way.And she would have failed.Those people had rushed in the moment the doors were opened, pushing, fighting their way in a way she could never have pushed or fought.
There were just a few women among them, set, determined-looking women, belonging to every class, but made one by their love of sensation and their power of forcing their way in where they wanted to be.But the women were few; the great majority of those standing there were men - men who were also representative of every class of Londoner.
The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or three steps below the surrounding gallery.Just now it was comparatively clear of people, save for the benches on which sat the men who were to compose the jury.Some way from these men, huddled together in a kind of big pew, stood seven people - three women and four men.
"D'you see the witnesses?" whispered the inspector, pointing these out to her.He supposed her to know one of them with familiar knowledge, but, if that were so, she made no sign.
Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of little platform, on which stood a desk and an arm-chair.Mrs.Bunting guessed rightly that it was there the coroner would sit.And to the left of the platform was the witness-stand, also raised considerably above the jury.
Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring than the scene of the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on that bright April day, in the village inn.There the coroner had sat on the same level as the jury, and the witnesses had simply stepped forward one by one, and taken their place before him.
Looking round her fearfully, Mrs.Bunting thought she would surely die if ever she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in that curious box-like stand, and she stared across at the bench where sat the seven witnesses with a feeling of sincere pity in her heart.
But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted.Each woman witness looked eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be the centre of attention and attraction to the general public.It was plain each was enjoying her part of important, if humble, actress in the thrilling drama which was now absorbing the attention of all London - it might almost be said of the whole world.
Looking at these women, Mrs.Bunting wondered vaguely which was which.Was it that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person who had certainly, or almost certainly, seen The Avenger within ten seconds of the double crime being committed? The woman who, aroused by one of his victims' cry of terror, had rushed to her window and seen the murderer's shadowy form pass swiftly by in the fog?
Yet another woman, so Mrs.Bunting now remembered, had given a most circumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, it was supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
Those two women now before her had been interrogated and cross-examined again and again, not only by the police, but by representatives of every newspaper in London.It was from what they had both said - unluckily their accounts materially differed - that that official description of The Avenger had been worked up - that which described him as being a good-looking, respectable young fellow of twenty-eight, carrying a newspaper parcel.
As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a boon companion of the dead.
Mrs.Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gaze on another unfamiliar sight.Specially prominent, running indeed through the whole length of the shut-in space, that is, from the coroner's high dais right across to the opening in the wooden barrier, was an ink-splashed table at which, when she had first taken her place, there had been sitting three men busily sketching; but now every seat at the table was occupied by tired, intelligent-looking men, each with a notebook, or with some loose sheets of paper, before him.
"Them's the reporters," whispered her friend."They don't like coming till the last minute, for they has to be the last to go.
At an ordinary inquest there are only two - maybe three - attending, but now every paper in the kingdom has pretty well applied for a pass to that reporters' table."He looked consideringly down into the well of the court."Now let me see what I can do for you - "Then he beckoned to the coroner's officer: "Perhaps you could put this lady just over there, in a corner by herself? Related to a relation of the deceased, but doesn't want to be - " He whispered a word or two, and the other nodded sympathetically, and looked at Mrs.Bunting with interest."I'll put her just here," he muttered.
"There's no one coming there to-day.You see, there are only seven witnesses - sometimes we have a lot more than that."And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where the seven witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready - aye, more than ready - to play their part.
For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs.Bunting, but soon those who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realised that she had nothing to do with the case.She was evidently there as a spectator, and, more fortunate than most, she had a "friend at court," and ,so was able to sit comfortably, instead of having to stand in the crowd.
