And with a long, thin finger, generously edged with grime, he pointed to the woman in seedy black hat and shabby tweed jacket who sat quite close to Luke de Mountford.
"Never mind about his mother just now," admonished the coroner. "We want your statement first. You realize that you are on oath?"
"Yes, sir. I've sworn my Bible oath."
"And you understand the importance of an oath?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you swear that the body of the murdered man whom you saw in the mortuary chamber this morning is that of your son?"
"I swear to that, sir."
I believe that had coroner and jury and practically every man there present, dared to put their thoughts into words at that moment, the ejaculation: "Well! I am blowed!" or "I'm d——d!" as the case might be—would have been generally heard throughout the room. The women, on the other hand, were far too excited even to think.
"Now," resumed the coroner, "tell the jury please when you first identified the deceased as your son?"
"This morning, sir."