"Excuse me, kid. I--I always get riled when I think of him getting the worst of anything. I'm sure we'll both be terrible grateful to Chris--to Mrs. Jenison. She's an angel,--as of course you know, kid. Sending me books, eh? Tell her I like Dickens, will you? And, say, there's _one_ book she needn't go to the trouble of sendin' me." "You mean the--the Bible?" "Yes." "Dick, you don't really mean that. You--" "I've already got one," said the prisoner simply. His eyes fell with curious inconsistency. They saw his chin and lower lip quiver ever so slightly. He scraped the floor with his foot a time or two, and his fingers tightened on the bars. "It's a little one my mother gave me when I was a kid. I've always kept it. Funny little old Bible, with print so small you can't hardly read it, 'specially that place where all them guys with the jay names were being begot. They seem to run together a good deal--I mean the names. I guess they must have run together considerable themselves, if accounts are true. Yes, my ma gave it to me for being a good boy once." His eyes were wet when he looked up at David's face again. His smile seemed more twisted than usual. "Where is it now, Dick?" asked Jenison, a lump coming into his throat. Joey was plainly, almost offensively amazed. "Why,--why, Ernie's got it. He didn't have anything else to read, so he took it a couple of weeks ago. I--I guess I'll ask him for it some day soon. Oh, yes, there _is_ something I want to speak to you about, Joey. A couple o' years ago I took out a life insurance policy in favor of Ernie, and also an accident policy. I couldn't keep up the accident one, but the other's paid up to next January. Maybe I won't have to pay on it again. It's for five thousand. I want you to see that he gets the money if--if I--well, you know. The policy is in the safe over at old Isaac's pawnshop,--you know the place. I'll write and ask him to come down and see me, and I'll tell him to give you the paper, if you don't mind, Joey." "Sure, Dick. I'll take charge of it. You're very good to Ernie, and thoughtful, lad." "Well, I guess I ought to be," remarked Dick dryly. David from the first had been more or less certain that Dick was not the one who shot Grand. He could not drive the ugly conviction from his mind. It occurred to him at this juncture to put his theory to the test, hoping to catch Dick off his guard. "The police are now saying that you did not do the shooting, Dick." He watched the other's face narrowly. There was not so much as a flicker of alarm. "They don't think the old boy committed suicide, do they?" asked Dick, with a chuckle of scorn for the obtuseness of the police. "No. They're working on some new evidence, that's all."