"What did he say?" the old man was repeating Eades’s question; he always repeated each question before he answered it--"what did he say? Well, sir, he said, so he did, he said he was going to kill a detective here. That’s what he said, sir. I wouldn’t lie to you, no, sir, not me--I wouldn’t lie--no, sir." "That will do," said Eades. "Now tell us, Mr. Marsh, what, if anything, Koerner said to Detective Quinn in your presence?" "What’d he say to Detective Quinn? What’d he say to Detective Quinn? Well, sir," the old man paused and spat out his saliva, "he said the same thing." "Just give his words." "His words? Well, sir, he said he was going to kill that fellow--that detective--what’s his name? You know his name." The garrulous old fellow ran on. There was something ludicrous in it all; the crowd became suddenly merry; it seemed to feel such a gloating sense of triumph that it could afford amusement. The old man in the witness-chair enjoyed it immensely, he laughed too, and spat and laughed again. It was with difficulty that Marriott and Eades and Glassford got him to recognize Marriott’s right to cross-examine him, and when at last the idea pierced its way to his benumbed and aged mind, he hesitated, as the old do before a new impression, and then sank back in his chair. His face all at once became impassive, almost imbecile. And he utterly refused to answer any of Marriott’s questions. Marriott put them to him again and again, in the same form and in different forms, but the old man sat there and stared at him blankly. Glassford took the witness in hand, finally threatened him with imprisonment for contempt. "Now you answer or go to jail," said Glassford, with the most impressive sternness he could command. Then Marriott said again: "I asked you where you had been staying since you came to town and who provided for you?" The old man looked at him an instant, a peculiar cunning stole gradually into his swimming eyes, and then slowly he lifted his right hand to his face. His middle finger was missing, and thrusting the stump beneath his nose, he placed his index finger to his right eye, his third finger to his left, drew down the lower lids until their red linings were revealed, and then he wiggled his thumb and little finger. The court-room burst into a roar, the laughter pealed and echoed in the high-ceiled room, even the jurymen, save Broadwell, permitted themselves wary smiles. The bailiff sprang up and pounded with his gavel, and Glassford, his face red with fury, shouted: "Mr. Sheriff, take the witness to jail! And if this demonstration does not instantly cease, clear the courtroom!"