Babbitts said you couldn’t have believed it if you hadn’t seen it—he and O’Mally looking stumped at each other and between them that great ox of a man, lying in the bed crying like a baby. Then Himself, being fearful that maybe they’d done the man harm, rose up to go after a nurse, but O’Mally caught him by the coat, whispering, "Keep still, you goat," then turned and said very pleasant to Ford: "Knocked you out, old man. That’s natural, nerves still weak. Keep it up till you feel better. Don’t mind us—we’re used to it." So there they sat, Babbitts still uneasy, but O’Mally, calm and patient, tilting back in his chair looking dreamy out of the window. He said afterward that he knew that hysterical fit for what it was—relief, and that was why he wouldn’t let Babbitts call a nurse. Presently the sobs began to ease off and Ford, groping under the pillow for a handkerchief, said, all choked up: "How did you come to connect him with me?" "By papers found in his desk—records of a real-estate business you and he’d been in some years ago at Syracuse." "That’s the man," said Ford, between his hiccuppy catches of breath, "and he’s dead?" "Dead as Julius Cæsar." O’Mally leaned forward, his voice dropping, "You _knew_ he was the chap that attacked you?" Ford, his head drooped, his shoulders hunched up like an old woman’s, nodded: "Yes, I lied when I said he was a stranger to me." "Why did you do that?" asked Babbitts. It was just what you might know he’d ask. One of the cutest things about Himself is that he never can understand why anyone, no matter what the provocation, has to lie. Ford didn’t answer and O’Mally, giving his chair a hitch nearer to the bed, said kind and persuasive: "Say, Ford, you’d better tell us all you know. We got the papers, and most of the information. The man’s dead. Clean it up and we’ll let it drop." Without raising his head Ford said, low and sort of sullen: "All right—if you agree to that. I was in business with him and I—I—didn’t play fair—lit out with some of the money." He turned a lowering look on Babbitts. "_That’s_ the answer to your question," then back to O’Mally, "I didn’t run across him or hear of him in all this time and supposed the whole thing was buried and forgotten till he came into my room Tuesday night. He was blazing mad, said he’d been waiting for a chance to even up, and had at last found me. To keep him quiet I said I’d give him some money. I had some." "Yes, yes," said O’Mally, nodding cheerfully, "the legacy your uncle left you." Ford shot a look at him, sharp and quick: "Oh, you know about that?" "Naturally. Inquiries have been made in all directions. Go on." "I hadn’t much cash there—a few dollars, but I thought I’d hand him that and agree to pay him more later. He said he didn’t want money, _that_ wouldn’t square our accounts, and as I went to the desk he came up behind me and struck me. That’s all I know." "Did he say how he’d located you?"