"I dunno, Master Oakes--but it was a banana, I think." "What!" said Hallen; "a banana?" The negro looked worried. "Yes, it did look like one of dose red, white, spotted cloths wat de niggers down South wear on their heads." We all laughed. "Oh, a bandana handkerchief, Joe." And Joe laughed also, in relief. "And now," continued Oakes, "what did it do? Did it float away?" The boy thought a moment, then his quick brain came to his aid. "No, no, Master Oakes; it splashed, sure enough it did. It went down--so help me Gawd!" "Good!" said Oakes. "It contained something heavy, then. Now, Joe," he continued, slowly and clearly, "tell me, when you heard the evidence that the murderer was the man with a mark on his arm, why did you say, 'Oh, Gawd!' and run away?" We all felt uneasy--the question was so unexpected, to some of us at least. The negro hesitated, stammered, and lurched forward in his chair. Great beads of perspiration stood out on his brow and on the back of his hands. Oakes was behind him, and in a caressing way slid his left arm across the boy's chest. We divined instantly that that arm was ready to shoot up around the boy's neck for a strangle hold. Joe tried to speak, but could not. I saw Hallen prepare for a spring, and Martin edge toward the door. Dr. Moore's breathing came deep and fast, and I began to feel like shouting aloud. What did it mean? "Come! Speak, boy, speak!" said Oakes. No answer. Then Oakes stooped forward and said loudly enough for us all to hear, but right in the negro's ear: "Boy, you ran because _you_ have a scar on your left arm!" We were on our feet in an instant. "The murderer," we cried. The negro made a frantic effort to rise, but the arm closed on his neck and Oakes's right hand came down on his right wrist. Joe's left hand went to the arm at his neck, but he was powerless. In a voice as firm as a rock, clear and emotionless, Oakes cried out: "Don't move, boy! Don't try to run." And then he said to us: "This boy is _not_ the murderer; he is only a scared, unfortunate negro, and I will prove it." The meaning of the words came to the boy gradually, and he became limp in the chair. Oakes relaxed his hold. "Now, boy, if you try to run, we will bore you," and Chief Hallen drew his revolver and put it before him on the table. "Now, Joe, show us your arm!" commanded Oakes. The negro arose staggering, and took off his outer garment and his shirt. There, on his left arm, was a large irregular birthmark, blue and vicious-looking. Oakes looked at it. "Gentlemen, this boy is a victim of circumstances. This is no cross, but the coincidence of a mark on the left arm has scared him nearly to death. That, in my opinion, is why he was afraid, and why he acted so peculiarly." This was said deliberately, and with emphasis.