James Ryan. Bad as he is, I wouldn't like to be an informer against any man. [All hurry away except Mrs. Tarpey, who remains behind her stall. Enter Magistrate and Policeman.]
Magistrate. I knew the district was in a bad state, but I did not expect to be confronted with a murder at the first fair I came to.
Policeman. I am sure you did not, indeed.
Magistrate. It was well I had not gone home. I caught a few words here and there that roused my suspicions.
Policeman. So they would, too.
Magistrate. You heard the same story from everyone you asked?
Policeman. The same story—or if it was not altogether the same, anyway it was no less than the first story.
Magistrate. What is that man doing? He is sitting alone with a hayfork. He has a guilty look. The murder was done with a hayfork!
Policeman [in a whisper]. That's the very man they say did the act; Bartley Fallon himself!
Magistrate. He must have found escape difficult—he is trying to brazen it out. A convict in the Andaman Islands tried the same game, but he could not escape my system! Stand aside—Don't go far—have the handcuffs ready. [He walks up to Bartley, folds his arms, and stands before him.] Here, my man, do you know anything of John Smith?