“When did Mr. Ware set out for Memphis?” asked the judge at length.
“Early yesterday. He goes there pretty often on business.”
“You talked with Mr. Ware before he left?” Hicks nodded. “Did he speak of Miss Malroy?” Hicks shook his head. “Did you see her during the afternoon?”
“No—maybe you think these niggers ain't enough to keep a man stirring?” said Hicks uneasily and with a scowl. The judge noticed both the uneasiness and the scowl.
“I should imagine they would absorb every moment of your time, Mr. Hicks,” he agreed affably.
“A man's got to be a hog for work to hold a job like mine,” said Hicks sourly.
“But it came to your notice that Miss Malroy has been in a disturbed mental state ever since Mr. Norton's murder? I am interested in this point, Mr. Hicks, because your experience is so entirely at variance with my own. It was my privilege to see and speak with her yesterday afternoon; I was profoundly impressed by her naturalness and composure.” The judge smiled, then he leaned forward across the desk. “What were you doing up here early this morning—hasn't a hog for work like you got any business of his own at that hour?” The judge's tone was suddenly offensive.
“Look here, what right have you got to try and pump me?” cried Hicks.
For no discernible reason Mr. Cavendish spat on his palms.
“Mr. Hicks,” said the judge, urbane and gracious, “I believe in frankness.”