The cripple studied him for a long moment, taking in the ample proportions of the figure and the heavy, but not unsympathetic, face. Then he smiled one of his fleeting, ingenuous smiles. “Jus’ Porgy,” he said. “Yuh knows me, Boss. Yuh is done gib me plenty ob penny on King Charles Street.” “Of course, you’re the goat-man. I didn’t know you without your wagon,” he said amiably. Then, becoming businesslike, he asked: “This nigger, Crown. You knew him by sight. Didn’t you?” Porgy debated with himself for a moment, looked again into the Coroner’s face, was reassured by what he saw there, and replied: “Yes, Boss: I ’member um w’en he usen tuh come hyuh, long ago.” “You could identify him, I suppose?” Porgy looked blank. “You’d know him if you saw him again?” “Yes, Boss; I know um.” The Coroner made a note in his book, closed it with an air of finality, and put it in his pocket. During the brief interview, the detective had been making an examination of the room. The floor had been recently scrubbed, and was still damp in the corners. He gave the clean, pine boards a close scrutiny, then paused before the window. The bottom of the lower sash had been broken, and several of the small, square panes were missing. “So this is where you killed Crown, eh?” he announced. The words fell into the silence and were absorbed by it, causing them to seem theatrical and unconvincing. Neither Porgy nor Bess spoke. Their faces were blank and noncommittal. After a full moment, the woman said: “I ain’t onduhstan’, Boss. Nobody hyuh ain’t kill Crown. My husban’ he fall t’rough dat winduh yisterday when he leg gib ’way. He er cripple.” “Any one see him do it?” enquired the Coroner from the door. “Oh, yes, Boss,” replied Bess, turning to him. “T’ree or four ob de mens was in de street; dey will tell yuh all ’bout um.” “Yes, of course; more witnesses,” sneered the detective. Then turning to the Coroner, he asked with a trace of sarcasm in his tone: “That satisfies you fully, I suppose?” The Coroner’s nerves were becoming edgy. “For God’s sake,” he retorted, “do you expect me to believe that a cripple could kill a two-hundred pound buck, then tote him a hundred yards? Well, I’ve got what I need now anyway. As far as I’m concerned, I’m through.” They were passing the door of Maria’s shop when the detective caught sight of something within that held his gaze. “You can do as you please,” he told his unwilling companion. “But I’m going to have a look in here. I have never been able to get anything on this woman; but she is a bad influence in the neighborhood. I’d trust her just as far as I could throw her.” The Coroner heaved a sigh of resignation, and they stepped back, and entered the shop.