"Then why should you hang?"
"I ain't going to hang. Don't you make any mistake about it, and don't let nobody else make any mistake about it neither. I ain't going to hang."
"But, my good fellow, in these kind of affairs they generally hang someone; if they can't find anyone else, it will probably be you. How are you going to help it?"
Baker opened and closed his mouth like a trap, once, twice, thrice, and nothing came out of it. There was a perceptible pause; he was possibly revolving something in his sluggish brain. Then he asked a question,--
"Is that all you've got to say?"
"Of course it's not. My stock of language isn't quite so limited. Only I want you to see just where you're standing, and just what the danger is that's threatening. And I want you to know that I know that you know who handled that knife; and that probably the only way of saving you from the gallows is to let me know. You understand that it doesn't necessarily follow that I'm going to tell everyone; the secret will be as safe with me as with you. Only this is a case in which, if I'm to do any good, I must know where we are. Now, Baker, tell me, who was it who used the knife?"
Again Baker's jaws opened and shut, as if automatically; then, after another interval, again he asked a question.
"You ain't yet told me if it was Miss Arnott as sent you?"
"And you haven't yet told me why Miss Arnott should send me?"
"That's my business. Did she? Do you hear me ask you--did she?"