His chin and lips quivered as he asked the question and he leaned more heavily against the wheel of the carriage. Tom did not reply, and Max went on: “Lord bless you, that’s so. You didn’t do it, but somebody did, and the law must be vin-_di_-ca-ted, they say. Somebody must be arrested, and so they took you. You see, it’s this way. That coroner didn’t know beans, nor the jury neither, hurryin’ up things before anybody had time to think, or tell what they seen and heard. When they did begin to talk, didn’t it go like chain lightnin’;—the inquest and verdict was knocked into a cocked hat,—more’s the pity; better of let it stood and not get me inter this scrape, arrestin’ _you_. This is what they say. Mr. Percy knocked you down, and made you mad. You was heard to say you’d like to kill him. You was lookin’ for him. The folks at Miss Hansford’s seen you go by. Miss Elithe seen you shoot and throw the pistol away and cut for the woods. Seth Walker found it with your initials on it and give it to Miss Hansford the mornin’ Mr. Percy died. She hid it in her chist with sheets and things. Seth told his wife and she told all creation and they’ve made the old lady give it up, and the bullet fits it exactly. Quite a case of circumstantial, but I don’t believe a word of it. Nobody does. Mebby you shot him, but ’twas an accident, and all you have to do is to say so and explain. Folks thought you would when you got back. Anyway I’ve got to do my duty and it makes me sweat like a butcher. Oh, Lord, Lord!” Max had finished his speech, which covered the whole ground, and advanced a step towards Paul still clinging to the wheel into the spokes of which he had thrust his arm as he listened. At the beginning of Max’s story he had held his head high, conscious of his own innocence and that no evidence could be brought against him. But as Max went on he felt the ground slipping from under his feet and saw by inspiration the chain of circumstances which was to encircle him. “Elithe saw me shoot, and Miss Hansford hid my revolver! Oh, Max,—Oh, Tom, what does it mean?” he said, shaking until his knees bent under him. “Don’t blame the old lady,” Max said. “She’s madder ‘n a hen, and ready to fight everybody. Last night at prayer meetin’ she hollered so loud for the Lord to save the innocent, you could hear her all over the island. Some thought ’twas a fire alarm and was goin’ to call out the department. They say the amens was powerful. As for the little girl, what she seen slipped out before she thought, and you can’t get a word from her now. I’ll bet there’s been forty reporters there to see her. She’s cryin’ her eyes out, they say, and won’t see a soul.” Here was a grain of comfort and Paul pulled himself up, but put out a hand to Tom. “Did you know all this?” he asked, and Tom replied, “I knew something of it, but don’t take it so hard. You shall not be harmed. Lean on me and sit down on the steps.”