When he spoke again, his words startled me.
"Phil, when did you see Jean Pahusca last?"
"Last night, no, this morning, about one o'clock," I answered confusedly.
My father swung around in his chair and stared at me. Then his face grew stern, and I knew my safety lay in the whole truth. I learned that when I was a boy.
"Where was he?" The firing had begun.
"On the point of rock by the bushes on Cliff Street."
"What were you doing there?"
"Looking at the moonlight on the river."
"Did you see him first?"
"No, or he would not have seen me."