'Yes, he knew it.'
There was a long pause. Then came this heavy verdict—
'If the man was drunk, and the boy knew it, the boy murdered that man. This is certain.'
Faint, sickening sensations crept along all the fibers of my body, and I seemed to know how a person feels who hears his death sentence pronounced from the bench. I waited to hear what my brother would say next. I believed I knew what it would be, and I was right. He said—
'I know the boy.'
I had nothing to say; so I said nothing. I simply shuddered. Then he added—
'Yes, before you got half through telling about the thing, I knew perfectly well who the boy was; it was Ben Coontz!'
I came out of my collapse as one who rises from the dead. I said, with admiration—
'Why, how in the world did you ever guess it?'
'You told it in your sleep.'