“Can you swear to that?” asked Alan with secret dismay, for this reply seemed to prove that Sorley was guilty. “Yessir. I kin swear hard I kin,” said Jotty with a frank smile. “Are you sure that Mr. Grison didn’t give the peacock to someone, say a day or so before he met with his death?” “Him give it away,” cried Jotty with supreme contempt, “why sir, he es wos good t’ me, ses t’ me es he’d rather die nor give up thet shiny thing. An’ die he did, when it wos took.” “Who took it, boy?” demanded Dick suddenly. “Him es slipped the knife int’ th’ pore cove.” “Are you sure that Grison had the peacock on the night he died?” asked Alan, fighting against hope for Marie’s sake. “I’d swear t’ it anywhere, sir,” said Jotty confidently. “I liked t’ hev a look et that there shiny thing, and him es wos good t’ me, he shows it t’ me most every night, saying wot lots of swell things it cud buy. Every night he showed it t’ me,” repeated Jotty with emphasis, “and afore he went t’bed that night he let me ’ave a squint.” “On the night he was murdered.” “On the night he was done for,” said Jotty in his own simple way. “That seems conclusive, Alan,” put in Latimer. “Yes,” said the lawyer with a sigh, then added under his breath. “Poor Marie, what a shock for her. Jotty, you liked Mr. Grison, didn’t you?” “Yessir, no end. He wos good t’ me, and guv’ me things t’ eat an’ drink. Oh my,” Jotty rubbed his lean stomach vulgarly, “the baked taters an’ corfee and saveloys I hed when he stood sam.” “Then you would like the man who stabbed him to be punished?” pursued Fuller artfully. “Yessir; and bring him t’ th’ gallers I shell somehow.” “But you have no idea who murdered Mr. Grison?” remarked Latimer quickly. “Oh hevn’t I? Perhaps not, and praps I ain’t sich a fool es you’d think me t’ be, mister. I knows whot I knows anyhow.” “What is that, Jotty.” The lad looked indescribably cunning. “I ain’t agoin’ t’ tell till I’m a dead cert es I’m right.” “But if you tell me, Jotty, I can help you.” “I don’ want no help,” said the boy sullenly. “If I speak to Inspector Moon you’ll have to tell,” said Dick sharply. “Sha’n’t, so there,” growled Jotty, his shrill voice becoming gruff as if the change to manhood had suddenly taken place. “You shall.” Jotty made no reply, but looked at both gentlemen with a mulish expression evidently determined not to speak. “It’s wuth a quid or two,” he muttered after a long pause. “What is worth a quid or two?” demanded Alan, eyeing him with a strong dislike, for he objected to the brat’s obstinacy. “What I knows.” “What do you know?” “That’s tellin’s.” “If I give you a quid, as you call it, will you tell.” “Yessir,” said Jotty promptly, and held out a curved claw in which Alan, as promptly, placed a sovereign. The boy bit it to prove its quality and then spat on it for luck. “I knows someone es wos with him es wos good t’ me, on that night,” said Jotty, agreeably supplying the information.