Knowles glared at him in startled doubt, and slowly turned over one of the pointed russet shoes. “He hed ’em on the night he gin the show in the Cove,” said Haines. “I seen him that night,” said Knowles conclusively. “He hed on no sech cur’ous clothes ez them, else I’d hev remarked ’em, sure!” “Ye ’lowed ’twar night an’ by the flicker o’ the fire, an’ ye war in a cornsider’ble o’ a jigget ’bout’n yer lime.” “Naw, sir! naw, sir! he hed on no sech coat ez that, ennyhow,” protested Knowles. Then, with rising anger, “Ye air a pore shoat fur sense, Owen Haines! Ef they air his gyarmints, what’s the reason he hid ’em so secret an’ whar the quicklime would deestroy ’em; bein’ so partic’lar ter ax o’ me ef ’twould burn boots an’ clothes an’ bone,--_bone_, too?” “I dunno,” said Haines, at a loss, and turning the black-and-red blazer vaguely in his hands. “I do; them folks over ter New Helveshy wears sech fool gear ez these,” Knowles insisted, from his superior knowledge, for in the interest of his lime-trade he had visited New Helvetia more than once,--a rare trip for a denizen of Etowah Cove. “Thar ain’t nobody missin’ at New Helveshy!” Haines argued, against his lingering hope. “How do you-uns know?” exclaimed Knowles hurriedly, and with a certain alert alarm in his face. “Somebody comin’ ez never got thar! Somebody goin’ ez never got away!” He had risen excitedly to his feet. What ghastly secret might be hidden beneath the residue of quicklime in that dark cavern, the responsibility possibly to be laid at his door! Owen Haines, looking up at him with childlike eyes, was slowly studying his face,--a fierce face, with the savagery of his cowardice as predatory an element as the wantonness of his malice. “These hyar air his clothes,” Haines reiterated; “I ’members ’em well. This hyar split buttonhole at the throat”-- “That’s whar he clutched the murdered one,” declared Knowles tumultuously. --“an’ these water-marks on these hyar shoes,--they hed been soaked,--an’ this hyar leather belt, whar two p’ints hed been teched through with a knife-blade, stiddier them round holes, ter draw the belt up tighter ’n it war made ter be wore,--I could swar ter ’em,--an’ this hyar”--