The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man.  Lifting an edge of the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body, altogether naked and showing in the candle light a clay-like yellow.  It had, however, broad maculations of bluish-black, obviously caused by extravasated blood from contusions.  The chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten with a bludgeon.  There were dreadful lacerations; the skin was torn in strips and shreds.

The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk handkerchief, which had been passed under the chin and knotted on the top of the head.  When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had been the throat.  Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better view repented their curiosity, and turned away their faces.  Witness Harker went to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick.  Dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man’s neck, the coroner stepped to an angle of the room, and from a pile of clothing produced one garment after another, each of which he held up a moment for inspection.  All were torn, and stiff with blood.  The jurors did not make a closer inspection.  They seemed rather uninterested.  They had, in truth, seen all this before; the only thing that was new to them being Harker’s testimony.

“Gentlemen,” the coroner said, “we have no more evidence, I think.  Your duty has been already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to ask you may go outside and consider your verdict.”

The foreman rose ­a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad.

“I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner,” he said.  “What asylum did this yer last witness escape from?”

“Mr. Harker,” said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, “from what asylum did you last escape?”

Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin.

“If you have done insulting me, sir,” said Harker, as soon as he and the officer were left alone with the dead man, “I suppose I am at liberty to go?”

“Yes.”

Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch.  The habit of his profession was strong in him ­stronger than his sense of personal dignity.  He turned about and said: 

“The book that you have there ­I recognize it as Morgan’s diary.  You seemed greatly interested in it; you read in it while I was testifying.  May I see it?  The public would like ­”

“The book will cut no figure in this matter,” replied the official, slipping it into his coat pocket; “all the entries in it were made before the writer’s death.”

As Harker passed out of the house the jury reentered and stood about the table on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharp definition.  The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced from his breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper, and wrote rather laboriously the following verdict, which with various degrees of effort all signed: 

“We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands of a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits.”