The table was spread with the things I enjoyed most—­big brown biscuits and a great comb of honey surrounded with its nectar and a pitcher of milk and a plate of cheese and some jerked meat and an apple pie.

“Set right down an’ eat—­I just want to see ye eat—­ayes I do!”

Aunt Deel was treating me like company and with just a pleasant touch of the old company finish in her voice and manner.  It was for my benefit—­there could be no doubt of that—­for she addressed herself to me, chiefly, and not to Mr. Dunkelberg.  My absence of a few days had seemed so long to them!  It had raised me to the rank of company and even put me above the exalted Dunkelbergs although if Mrs. Horace Dunkelberg had been there in her blue silk and gold chain “big enough to drag a stone boat,” as Aunt Deel used to say, she might have saved the day for them.  Who knows?  Aunt Deel was never much impressed by any man save Silas Wright, Jr.

Mr. Grimshaw came soon after we had finished our luncheon.  He hitched his horse at the post and came in.  He never shook hands with anybody.  In all my life I have met no man of scanter amenities.  All that kind of thing was, in his view, I think, a waste of time, a foolish encouragement to men who were likely to be seeking favors.

“Good day,” he said, once and for all, as he came in at the open door.  “Baynes, I want to have a talk with you and the boy.”

I remember how each intake of his breath hissed through his lips as he sat down.  How worn and faded were his clothes and hat, which was still on his head!  The lines on his rugged brow and cheeks were deeper than ever.

“Tell me what you know about that murder,” he demanded.

“Wal, I had some business over to Plattsburg,” my uncle began.  “While I was there I thought I’d go and see Amos.  So I drove out to Beekman’s farm.  They told me that Amos had left there after workin’ four days.  They gave him fourteen shillin’s an’ he was goin’ to take the stage in the mornin’.  He left some time in the night an’ took Beekman’s rifle with him, so they said.  There was a piece o’ wood broke out o’ the stock o’ the rifle.  That was the kind o’ gun that was used in the murder.”

It surprised me that my uncle knew all this.  He had said nothing to me of his journey or its result.

“How do you know?” snapped Mr. Grimshaw.

“This boy see it plain.  It was a gun with a piece o’ wood broke out o’ the stock.”

“Is that so?” was the brusque demand of the money-lender as he turned to me.

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

“The boy lies,” he snapped, and turning to my uncle added:  “Yer mad ‘cause I’m tryin’ to make ye pay yer honest debts—­ain’t ye now?”

We were stunned by this quick attack.  Uncle Peabody rose suddenly and sat down again.  Mr. Grimshaw looked at him with a strange smile and a taunting devilish laugh came out of his open lips.

Uncle Peabody, keeping his temper, shook his head and calmly said:  “No I ain’t anything ag’in’ you or Amos, but it’s got to be so that a man can travel the roads o’ this town without gettin’ his head blowed off.”