“Don’t believe him, the red-handed murderer!” broke out the woman, fiercely.  “He is probably a thief; he killed my poor husband, and then sat down like a cold-blooded villain that he is, and gorged himself.”

Things began to look very serious for poor Carl.

“Your husband is larger and stronger than myself,” he urged, desperately.  “How could I overpower him?”

“It looks reasonable, Maria,” said the man.  “I don’t see how the boy could have killed Mr. Brown, or lifted him upon the hook, even if he did not resist.”

“He murdered him, I tell you, he murdered him!” shrieked the woman, who seemed bereft of reason.  “I call upon you to arrest him.”

“I am not a constable, Maria.”

“Then tie him so he cannot get away, and go for a constable.  I wouldn’t feel safe with him in the house, unless he were tied fast.  He might hang me!”

Terrible as the circumstances were, Carl felt an impulse to laugh.  It seemed absurd to hear himself talked of in this way.

“Tie me if you like!” he said.  “I am willing to wait here till some one comes who has a little common sense.  Just remember that I am only a boy, and haven’t the strength of a full-grown man!”

“The boy is right, Maria!  It’s a foolish idea of yours.”

“I call upon you to tie the villain!” insisted the woman.

“Just as you say!  Can you give me some rope?”

From a drawer Mrs. Brown drew a quantity of strong cord, and the man proceeded to tie Carl’s hands.

“Tie his feet, too, Walter!”

“Even if you didn’t tie me, I would promise to remain here.  I don’t want anybody to suspect me of such a thing,” put in Carl.

“How artful he is!” said Mrs. Brown.  “Tie him strong, Walter.”

The two were left alone, Carl feeling decidedly uncomfortable.  The newly-made widow laid her head upon the table and moaned, glancing occasionally at the body of her husband, as it still hung suspended from the hook.

“Oh, William, I little expected to find you dead!” she groaned.  “I only went to the store to buy a pound of salt, and when I come back, I find you cold and still, the victim of a young ruffian!  How could you be so wicked?” she demanded fiercely of Carl.

“I have told you that I had nothing to do with your husband’s death, madam.”

“Who killed him, then?” she cried.

“I don’t know.  He must have committed suicide.”

“Don’t think you are going to escape in that way.  I won’t rest till I see you hung!”

“I wish I had never entered the house,” thought Carl, uncomfortably.  “I would rather have gone hungry for twenty four hours longer than find myself in such a position.”

Half an hour passed.  Then a sound of voices was heard outside, and half a dozen men entered, including besides the messenger, the constable and a physician.

“Why was he not cut down?” asked the doctor, hastily.  “There might have been a chance to resuscitate him.”