"I thought as much, when I shipped ye. Sit up, and tell me; but
first listen to this. All trouble's big to a boy, but one o' your
age don't often do what's past mendin', if he takes it honest.
That's comfort, hey? Very well: now haul up and inspect damages, and
we'll see what's to be done."

"It's about a Jew, sir," I stammered at length.

He nodded. "Now we're making headway."

"He--he was murdered. I saw him--"

"Look here," said Mr. Jope, very grave but seemingly not astonished:
"hadn't you best get under the seat?"

"I--I didn't do it, sir. Really, I didn't."

"I'm not suggestin' it," said Mr. Jope. "Still, all circumstances
considered, I'd get under the seat."

"If you wish it, sir."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say _that_: but 'tis my advice." And
under the seat I crawled obediently. "Now, then," said he, with an
absurd air of one addressing vacancy; "if you didn' do it, who did?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Then where's your difficulty?"

"But I saw a man staring in at the window--it was upstairs in a room
close to the roof; and afterwards I found him on the roof, and he was
all of a tremble, and in two minds, so he said, about pitching me
over. I showed him the way down. If you please, sir," I broke off,
"you're not to tell anyone about this, whatever happens!"

"Eh? Why not?"

"Because--" I hesitated.

"Friend of yours?"

"Not a friend, sir. He's a young man, in the Army; and his aunt--she
used to be very kind to me. I ran away at first because I was
afraid: but they can't do anything to me, can they? I didn't find
the--the--the--Mr. Rodriguez, I mean--until he was dead. But if they
catch me I shall have to give evidence, and Mr. Archie--though I
don't believe he did it--"

"Belay there!" commanded Mr. Jope! "I'm beginning to see things
clearer, though I won't say 'tis altogether easy to follow ye yet.
Far as I can make out, you're not a bad boy. You ran away because
you were scared. Well, I don't blame ye for that. I never seen a
dead Jew myself, though I often wanted to. You won't go back if you
can help it, 'cos why? 'Cos you don't want to tell on a man: 'cos
his aunt's a friend o' yourn: and 'cos you don't believe he's guilty.
What's your name?"

"Harry, sir: Harry Revel."

"Well, then, my name's Ben Jope, and as such you'll call me.
I'm sorry, in a way, that it rhymes with 'rope,' which it never
struck me before in all these years, and wouldn't now but for
think