After using the spittoon, the fellow pushed it over beside the chair with his foot. Then he sat down comfortably. “Fire away,” said he.
“In the first place,” said Tom, “I’ll show you, as I did Mr. Gaines, why, in my opinion, I couldn’t have killed this man.” Then he ran over the evidence just as I have already done, showing, by the position of the blow, that he could not have given it. Daly listened in silence, every now and then nodding his head; but he did not speak a word until Tom had ended. Then he looked up.
“Very true—very true, indeed,” said he. “It satisfies me an’ your other friends; but it won’t go down with a jury, just now. Reckon you ha’n’t seen the papers lately?”
Daly nodded his head; “I guess your folks ha’ kept ’em from you,” he said; “there’s nasty tales going about in ’em just now—tales about you an’ your mate deserting a ship, an’ leaving the captain and the crew to drown in her.”
“But,” said Tom, “I didn’t leave the ship with my own free will—I was taken off by force.”
“That may all be very true; I don’t question your word at all—only this is the report of the committee who examined you an’ your friend. You ought to ha’ told ’em how you were taken off; you had the chance.”
“But I wasn’t going to tell ugly things against my mate, when he wouldn’t tell of them himself.”
“That’s all very fine, but he ha’n’t in prison for murder.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with the matter, anyhow.”