“They can’t fix it onto me,” he whispered doggedly. “They can, unless you can prove that you were not at the farm at six-thirty. You don’t seem to realize that you’re in almost as bad a position as Mr. Leslie.” “Supposin’ she didn’t see me?” The man was evidently wavering. “If you saw her she probably saw you.” The logic of this was so obvious that it reached the tramp’s brain, warped though it was with suspicion. He considered it for a moment; then, raising himself on his elbow, brought his face close to Fayre’s. “I’ve been a fool,” he whispered. “I see it now. But I was afraid of gettin’ in bad with the police. Will you promise not to pass it on without I tell you?” “I told you I wouldn’t. Go on.” “It was this way. I see the woman, like I told you, and I watched her go into the Lodge. Then I went on to the Lodge, meanin’ to ask for a bite of something. When I got there I see something lyin’ in the road and I picks it up. It was a purse. It ’adn’t got much in it, only a ’alf-crown.” He paused, evidently at a loss as to how to proceed. “And you pocketed the half-crown and put the purse back where you found it,” suggested Fayre calmly. He knew now why the man had kept silence and marvelled at his mentality. Better, apparently, to risk the gallows for a crime he hadn’t committed than risk “getting in bad with the police” for one he had. The one evil he understood, the other he hadn’t sufficient imagination to realize. “That’s right, mister. But I wasn’t goin’ to tell the cops that, was I?” “No, I suppose not. You can trust me, but, I warn you, you’ll probably have to make a clean breast of it in the end if you want to clear yourself of something much more serious.” “Seems to me I’m for it, whether I tells ’em or whether I don’t. Never did ’ave no blinkin’ luck, did I?” Fayre had risen to his feet and stood looking down at the man in the bed. He was not a prepossessing object, with his furtive eyes and weak chin. But probably, as he had said, he had never had any luck and Fayre was conscious of a sudden feeling of pity as he realized the utter friendlessness of this wretched, homeless creature who existed only on the sufferance of other men more fortunate and stronger than himself. No wonder he trusted no one and felt instinctively that every man’s hand was against him. “Look here,” said Fayre, speaking on impulse. “I’ll do this for you. I’ll go to the Lodge myself and see the woman there. If she remembers you, well and good; you’ll have your alibi ready then if you need it. As to the purse, I’ll settle with her myself over the half-crown. You’ve spent it, I suppose?” “Most of it, mister. The rest’s there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the table by his bed. On it lay the contents of the dirty red handkerchief he had been carrying when he was picked up. The police had been through them and found nothing worth confiscating.