If Nick had had any doubt of this man’s innocence it was all gone now, for Law was no actor; just a plain, honest farmer--bull-headed, quick-tempered, and unreasonable, perhaps, but no murderer, and he couldn’t have told his story of the afternoon in that straightforward way, if he had been guilty. “Mr. Low,” said Nick, after a pause, “Judson is dead.” “Dead!” repeated the farmer, in a tone that showed the greatest surprise. “How long since, Mr. Nicholas?” “He died while you were at the door to his room.” “You don’t mean it!” “He was murdered.” “Wha-a-at!” “Thrown from his window to the sidewalk.” “Good heavens! Then that was what those men were runnin’ for.” “Yes--they went to pick him up.” The farmer sat with his elbows on his knees, staring open-mouthed at Nick. “That’s awful, ain’t it?” he whispered. “It is,” said Nick, “and there’s something else that is still more awful.” He paused, but Low said nothing. “It is perfectly well known,” Nick added, “that you started up to Judson’s room just before the deed.” Low became very attentive, but it was plain that the truth was not dawning on him yet. “And that you came down again in a hurry,” added the detective, “immediately afterward. It is also well known that you threatened Mr. Judson----” This was enough, and the light burst upon the honest farmer suddenly. In the moonlight his face was ghastly white, and his voice almost choked, as he said: “Mr. Nicholas, you don’t mean to set thar an’ tell me thar’s folks as say I done it?” “That is what they say,” returned Nick quietly. Low groaned, and buried his face in his hands. “My wife has often told me,” he sobbed, “that that sharp tongue of mine would git me into trouble. I see! It all fits in like the handle into an ax. My God! will anybody believe me?” “Listen,” said Nick. “There isn’t going to be as much trouble as you think for. I may be able to help you. I am a detective, Mr. Low.” The farmer uncovered his face and looked frightened now. “I said my name was Nicholas,” the detective went on, “and that was the truth, but only a part of it. My last name is Carter.” Low started. “From New York?” he gasped. “Yes.” The farmer shook from head to toes. He laid his trembling hands on Nick’s arm, and began: “Mr. Carter, I’ve hearn tell of you that you’re keen and hard when it comes to criminals, but you’re straight with innocent men. I swear----” “You don’t need to,” interrupted Nick; “you are as innocent as I am, and I know it. I believed it when I started out to see you, but I am going to arrest you for murder, nevertheless.” “Mr. Carter, I don’t understand! What will my poor wife say?” “You needn’t let her know. I want you to understand, though. Suspicion has been put on you by an enemy of yours. Now, if I lock you up overnight, it will make this enemy believe that I have finished my work. See?” “You want to blind him?” “Yes. Then I can hunt for the real murderer in my own way.” “All right, Mr. Carter.”