“Well, Skippy!” he said pleasantly. “How’s the boy?”
Skippy winced and a frown darkened his face. He could not forget that Inspector Jones’ testimony had helped to take his father from him.
“I feel sick on accounta my Pop, that’s what,” said he bitterly. “You helped make things worse for him too, Mr. Jones, on account of the things you told about what he said that day after you inspected the Minnie M. Baxter.”
Inspector Jones’ bland countenance looked immediately troubled.
“I told the truth, Skippy,” he said kindly. “I told only what your father had said and my men were there to prove it.”
“You needn’t have said that Pop said he was gonna fix Mr. Flint ’cause you mighta known he really didn’t mean it. Pop was mad then, but he promised me before we left for the Apollyon that night that he wouldn’t lose his head. Gee, he’s even sworn since he didn’t take Mr. Flint’s life an’ don’t you suppose I know when my Pop’s tellin’ the truth?”
“I guess so,” Inspector Jones answered with real feeling in his voice; “I guess you know your Pop better than anybody, Skippy. I’m sorry, the law required me to testify against him. But it was my duty—can’t you see?”
“Then you believe they’ll be keepin’ my Pop in jail when he’s innocent, too, huh?” Skippy asked excitedly.
“I’m rather inclined to believe that your father didn’t shoot Flint,” answered the inspector. “But I can’t do anything about it, Skippy, and I doubt if my testimony alone would convict him. It’s that District-Attorney and Marty Skinner that’s made it so tough for your father. You know Skinner swore he saw Toby at the porthole and the D. A. put it over to the jury that he was dropping the gun which did the job.”
“Yeah, but that diver didn’t find no gun,” Skippy replied, “an’ my Pop swore he wasn’t near no porthole an’ besides nobody tried findin’ out about that kicker that was around when we come up. I’ll betcha the feller what did the killin’ got away in it.”