"The mulatto did it," said Durgan, sternly.
"Very probably, my dear sir; but there is as yet no proof. In such a place, whoever did it could throw the knife where it would remain hidden forever. There is no proof that this mulatto committed the deed before he went down the mountain; none that Adam did not do it when he returned later."
"Adam is a better man than I am. I am as certain of him as of myself."
"I entirely take your word for it. I am convinced by what you say. But men of the law, my dear sir, think only of what will convince the men in the box."
Having told all this of his own accord, Durgan became aware that in the course of conversation he was being questioned, and very closely.
Where had he gone when he left the sisters? How long had he rested? Where did he go then? Why did he wait? Did he remember exactly the place in which he waited? None of these questions were asked in categorical form, yet he had soon rather reluctantly told his every movement, except what he had seen of Miss Smith's actions when the moon rose, and the location of the particular tree. He was wholly determined that what he had so unexpectedly spied should never pass his lips.
"You were very kind in guarding the house. This colored man was evidently a dangerous character. You had reason, no doubt, for suspecting that he would be about at that hour, Mr. Durgan?"
"I knew nothing about his movements. I can tell you nothing more."