The Witness
Mr. George Elliott, aristocratic, well-to-do clubman and all-round agreeable fellow, lived in bachelor apartments on the upper West side of New York.
He was engaged now in the brokerage business, but, times having been dull, he found it rather difficult to occupy himself and was anticipating taking a vacation—but where, he had not yet decided.
Events were shaping themselves, however, to bring him into the happenings at Mona as one of our party.
On the corner, near the apartment, was a boot-blacking stand, presided over by one Joe, an intelligent and wide-awake colored youngster, whose general good-nature and honesty had made him popular with many. Among his patrons and general well-wishers was Mr. Elliott, to whom Joe had taken a particular liking, and whose opinions the young negro had often sought in an off-hand way; for, despite his general air of reserve and hauteur, Elliott was kindness itself at heart, and a man who could be easily approached by those who were suffering from worry and hardship.
At about the time of the beginning of this story, Joe's mother had been taken sick and had died in Troy, and the boy had gone up there for a few days.
Then he had gone to Lorona, a little town farther south, and from thence to Mona on his way home to New York. At Mona he had seen a terrible thing—a murder.