When he was asked if he knew anything about the matter he only stammered, "Thank you kindly, Doctor, and you, General, and hoping that I have the honour of seein' you in good health, and that all is well with you at home and your good ladies and the childer!" The General, who thought that he spoke in a mood of mockery, cautioned him that they were met there on a business of life and death, and were in no mood to be trifled with. Therefore, he, Boyd Connoway, had better keep his foolery for another time! But the Doctor, being by his profession accustomed to diagnose the moods of souls, discerned the laboured pant of one who has been breathed by a long run from mortal terror--who has, as my father would have said, "ridden a race with Black Care clinging to the crupper"--and took Boyd in hand with better results. He agreed to tell all he knew, on being promised full and certain protection. And it was something like this that he told his story, as it proved the only direct evidence in the case, at least for many and many a day. "Doctor dear," he began, "ye are a married man yourself, and you will not be misunderstanding me when I ask that anything I may say shall not be used against me?" The Fiscal looked up quickly. "I warn you that it will," he said, "if you have had any hand in this murder!" "Murder, is it?"--(Boyd Connoway gave a short grunting laugh)--"Aye, maybe, but 'tis not the murder that has been, but the murder that will be, if my wife Bridget gets wind of this! That's why I ask that it should be kept between ourselves--so that Bridget should not know!" "Women," said the Fiscal oracularly, "must not be allowed to interfere with the evenhanded and fearless administration of justice." "Then I take it," said Boyd, with a twinkle of the old mirth flickering up into his white and anxious face, "that your honour is not a married man!" "No," said the Fiscal, with a smile. "Then, if I may make so bould, your honour knows nothing about how it is 'twixt Bridget and me. His riverence the Doctor now----" "Tell us what you know without digressions," said the Fiscal; "no use will be made of your evidence save in pursuing and bringing to justice the criminal." "He's gone," said Boyd Connoway solemnly, "and a good riddance to the parish!" "Wha-a-at?" cried the three magistrates simultaneously. And the Fiscal started to his feet. "Who has gone?" he cried, and mechanically he drew from his pocket a silver call to summon his constables from the kitchen, where my uncles and they were having as riotous a time as they dared while so many great folk sat pow-wowing in the parlour near at hand. "Who?" repeated Boyd Connoway, "well, I don't know for certain, but perhaps this little piece of paper will put you gentlemen on the track."