"And now," continued Oakes, "what did it do? Did it float away?"
The boy thought a moment, then his quick brain came to his aid.
"No, no, Master Oakes; it splashed, sure enough it did. It went down—so help me Gawd!"
"Good!" said Oakes. "It contained something heavy, then. Now, Joe," he continued, slowly and clearly, "tell me, when you heard the evidence that the murderer was the man with a mark on his arm, why did you say, 'Oh, Gawd!' and run away?"
We all felt uneasy—the question was so unexpected, to some of us at least.
The negro hesitated, stammered, and lurched forward in his chair. Great beads of perspiration stood out on his brow and on the back of his hands. Oakes was behind him, and in a caressing way slid his left arm across the boy's chest. We divined instantly that that arm was ready to shoot up around the boy's neck for a strangle hold.
Joe tried to speak, but could not. I saw Hallen prepare for a spring, and Martin edge toward the door. Dr. Moore's breathing came deep and fast, and I began to feel like shouting aloud. What did it mean?
"Come! Speak, boy, speak!" said Oakes.
No answer.