This was growing interesting, decided Forrester. He could not remember having heard Prentice, the detectives, or anyone, refer to these uncanny surroundings. Possibly they had heard of them, but had scoffed at the idea. Perhaps, then, that had been one of the reasons why so little progress had been made. Forrester meant to get at the bottom of all this talk. "What is your name?" he inquired. "Joshua, suh." "That’s a good Bible name," commented Forrester. "I fancy a man with a name like that ought to tell the truth." "Ah does, Boss; hones’ Ah does," protested Joshua. "Ah belibes in de Lawd an’ goes to church reg’lar. But de Lawd, he can’t always stop de debil puttin’ hants in t’ings." "You really think this tree is haunted, do you, Joshua?" "Hones’, Boss. Dat’s de whole truf an’ nuffin but de truf." "Tell me what makes you think the tree is haunted," requested Forrester. "Done make me hab de shibers ebery time Ah talk ’bout dat, Boss. Yo’ see, dere’s a bad Jamaica niggah woman libes back in dem woods. She an’ her husband done come yere ’bout two yahs ago. Dis yere tree all right den, but she done murdah her husban’ one night." "If she murdered her husband," said Forrester, "how is it she is living here now? Why wasn’t she hung or put in jail?" "De trouble was, Boss, dere wasn’t no ebidence!" "Then how do you know she murdered her husband?" "Jes’ a minute, Boss, jes’ a minute! Yo’ done got me all frustrated. Yo’ done axe so many questions—an’ axe dem so fas.’" "All right, Joshua," laughed Forrester. "You tell the story your own way." "As Ah was sayin’, Boss, she done murdah her husban.’ Nobody done see her do it, an’ de polisman dat wen’ huntin’ roun’ nebber foun’ nuthin’. She said her husban’ jes’ run away. But we-all knows she done kill him, 'cause eber since he been missin’ he done hant dat tree." There was a slight pause as Joshua collected his wits. After the previous warning Forrester remained silent until the colored man was ready to go on with his story. "One Sunday night, mah wife an’ me come by yere on our way from church. An awful still night, Boss, an’ ter’ble dark. When we got jes’ yere, we heered a noise—click, click, click—jes’ like dat. Den we heered cuss words—blasphemin’ de Lawd something ter’ble. Den we heered mo’ click, click. An’ after dat—_sighs_. We don’t wait to heah no mo’, Boss. We jes’ runned home an’ got our heads under de cobers—quick! Marthy’s awful fat, Boss, but mah goodness, how dat woman can run! "Nex’ mo’nin’ Ah says to Marthy: What yo’all t’ink dat was we heered las’ night? "’Joshua,’ she says, ’don’t you know what dat was? Dat was dat Jamaica niggah woman’s husban’ diggin’ his own grave! Dey such bad peopull de Lawd done sen’ him away an’ he had to come back yere an’ dig a hole for hisself.’