To Goodlaw it was all a mystery.  He did not know how to begin the examination.  He started at a venture.

“Are you Robert Burnham’s son?”

“No, sir,” replied Ralph, firmly.  “I ain’t.”

There was a buzz of excitement in the room.  Old Simon sat staring at the boy incredulously.  His anger had changed for the moment into wonder.  He could not understand the cause of Ralph’s action.  Sharpman had not told him of the interview with Rhyming Joe—­he had not thought it advisable.

“Who are you, then?” inquired Goodlaw.

“I’m Simon Craft’s grandson.”  The excitement in the room ran higher.  Craft raised himself on his cane to lean toward Sharpman.  “He lies!” whispered the old man, hoarsely; “the boy lies!”

Sharpman paid no attention to him.

“When did you first learn that you are Mr. Craft’s grandson?” continued the counsel for the defence.

“Last night,” responded Ralph.

“Where?”

“At Mr. Sharpman’s office.”

The blood rushed suddenly into Sharpman’s face.  He understood it all now; Ralph had overheard.

“Who told you?” asked Goodlaw.

“No one told me, I heard Rhymin’ Joe—­”

Sharpman interrupted him.

“I don’t know,” he said, “if the court please, what this boy is trying to tell nor what wild idea has found lodgement in his brain; but I certainly object to the introduction of such hearsay evidence as counsel seems trying to bring out.  Let us at least know whether the responsible plaintiff in this case was present or was a party to this alleged conversation.”

“Was Mr. Craft present?” asked Goodlaw of the witness.

“No, sir; I guess not, I didn’t hear ’im, any way.”

“Did you see him?”

“No, sir; I didn’t see ’im.  I didn’t see either of ’em.”

“Where were you?”

“In the room nex’ to the street.”

“Where did this conversation take place?”

“In the back room.”

“Was the door open?”

“Just a little.”

“Who were in the back room?”

“Mr. Sharpman an’ Rhymin’ Joe.”

“Who is Rhyming Joe?”

“He’s a man I used to know in Philadelphy.”

“When you lived with Craft?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was his business?”

“I don’t know as anything.  He used to bring things to the house sometimes, watches an’ things.”

“How long have you known Rhyming Joe?”

“Ever since I can remember.”

“Was he at Craft’s house frequently?”

“Yes, sir; most all the time.”

An idea of the true situation of affairs was dawning upon Goodlaw’s mind.  That Ralph had overheard Rhyming Joe say to Sharpman that the boy was Simon Craft’s grandson was evident.  But how to get that fact before the jury in the face of the rules of evidence—­that was the question.  It seemed to him that there should be some way to do it, and he kept on with the examination in order to gain time for thought and to lead up to the point.