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?

BARTLEY. Of John Smith! Who is he, now?

POLICEMAN. Jack Smith, sir--Red Jack Smith!

MAGISTRATE (_coming a step nearer and tapping him on the
shoulder_). Where is Jack Smith?

BARTLEY (_with a deep sigh, and shaking his head slowly_). Where is
he, indeed?

MAGISTRATE. What have you to tell?

BARTLEY. It is where he was this morning, standing in this spot,
singing his share of songs--no, but lighting his pipe--scraping a
match on the sole of his shoe--

MAGISTRATE. I ask you, for the third time, where is he?