In the moonlight, his face was ghastly white, and his voice almost choked, as he said:
“Mr. Nicholas, you don’t mean to set thar an’ tell me thar’s folks as say I done it?”
“That is what they say,” returned Nick, quietly.
Low groaned, and buried his face in his hands.
“My wife has often told me,” he sobbed, “that that sharp tongue of mine would git me into trouble. I see! It all fits in like the handle into an ax.”
“Listen,” said Nick. “There isn’t going to be as much trouble as you think for. I told you that I was not a lawyer, but that I might be able to help you. I am a detective, Mr. Low.”
The farmer uncovered his face and looked frightened now.
“I said my name was Nicholas,” the detective went on, “and that was the truth, but only a part of it. My last name is Carter.”
Low started.
“From New York?” he gasped.