Loyce fought his way through the people. He stumbled and half fell. Through a blur he saw rows of faces, curious, concerned, anxious. Men and women halting to see what the disturbance was. He fought past them toward his store. He could see Fergusson inside talking to a man, showing him an Emerson TV set. Pete Foley in the back at the service counter, setting up a new Philco. Loyce shouted at them frantically. His voice was lost in the roar of traffic and the murmur around him. "Do something!" he screamed. "Don't stand there! Do something! Something's wrong! Something's happened! Things are going on!" The crowd melted respectfully for the two heavy-set cops moving efficiently toward Loyce. * * * * * "Name?" the cop with the notebook murmured. "Loyce." He mopped his forehead wearily. "Edward C. Loyce. Listen to me. Back there--" "Address?" the cop demanded. The police car moved swiftly through traffic, shooting among the cars and buses. Loyce sagged against the seat, exhausted and confused. He took a deep shuddering breath. "1368 Hurst Road." "That's here in Pikeville?" "That's right." Loyce pulled himself up with a violent effort. "Listen to me. Back there. In the square. Hanging from the lamppost--" "Where were you today?" the cop behind the wheel demanded. "Where?" Loyce echoed. "You weren't in your shop, were you?" "No." He shook his head. "No, I was home. Down in the basement." "In the _basement_?" "Digging. A new foundation. Getting out the dirt to pour a cement frame. Why? What has that to do with--" "Was anybody else down there with you?" "No. My wife was downtown. My kids were at school." Loyce looked from one heavy-set cop to the other. Hope flicked across his face, wild hope. "You mean because I was down there I missed--the explanation? I didn't get in on it? Like everybody else?" After a pause the cop with the notebook said: "That's right. You missed the explanation." "Then it's official? The body--it's _supposed_ to be hanging there?" "It's supposed to be hanging there. For everybody to see." Ed Loyce grinned weakly. "Good Lord. I guess I sort of went off the deep end. I thought maybe something had happened. You know, something like the Ku Klux Klan. Some kind of violence. Communists or Fascists taking over." He wiped his face with his breast-pocket handkerchief, his hands shaking. "I'm glad to know it's on the level." "It's on the level." The police car was getting near the Hall of Justice. The sun had set. The streets were gloomy and dark. The lights had not yet come on. "I feel better," Loyce said. "I was pretty excited there, for a minute. I guess I got all stirred up. Now that I understand, there's no need to take me in, is there?" The two cops said nothing. "I should be back at my store. The boys haven't had dinner. I'm all right, now. No more trouble. Is there any need of--"