“Give us a chance to hear!” the crowd broke out again.  “Put ’m on the box!  Put ’m on the box!”

St. Vincent was helped up, and began with eager volubility.

“I didn’t do it, but I saw it done.  There weren’t two men—­only one.  He did it, and Bella helped him.”

A wave of laughter drowned him out.

“Not so fast,” Bill Brown cautioned him.  “Kindly explain how Bella helped this man kill herself.  Begin at the beginning.”

“That night, before he turned in, Borg set his burglar alarm—­”

“Burglar alarm?”

“That’s what I called it,—­a tin bread-pan attached to the latch so the door couldn’t open without tumbling it down.  He set it every night, as though he were afraid of what might happen,—­the very thing which did happen, for that matter.  On the night of the murder I awoke with the feeling that some one was moving around.  The slush-lamp was burning low, and I saw Bella at the door.  Borg was snoring; I could hear him plainly.  Bella was taking down the bread-pan, and she exercised great care about it.  Then she opened the door, and an Indian came in softly.  He had no mask, and I should know him if ever I see him again, for a scar ran along the forehead and down over one eye.”

“I suppose you sprang out of bed and gave the alarm?”

“No, I didn’t,” St. Vincent answered, with a defiant toss of the head, as though he might as well get the worst over with.  “I just lay there and waited.”

“What did you think?”

“That Bella was in collusion with the Indian, and that Borg was to be murdered.  It came to me at once.”

“And you did nothing?”

“Nothing.”  His voice sank, and his eyes dropped to Frona, leaning against the box beneath him and steadying it.  She did not seem to be affected.  “Bella came over to me, but I closed my eyes and breathed regularly.  She held the slush-lamp to me, but I played sleep naturally enough to fool her.  Then I heard a snort of sudden awakening and alarm, and a cry, and I looked out.  The Indian was hacking at Borg with a knife, and Borg was warding off with his arms and trying to grapple him.  When they did grapple, Bella crept up from behind and threw her arm in a strangle-hold about her husband’s neck.  She put her knee into the small of his back, and bent him backward and, with the Indian helping, threw him to the floor.”

“And what did you do?”

“I watched.”

“Had you a revolver?”

“Yes.”

“The one you previously said John Borg had borrowed?”

“Yes; but I watched.”

“Did John Borg call for help?”

“Yes.”

“Can you give his words?”

“He called, ’St. Vincent!  Oh, St. Vincent!  Oh, my God!  Oh, St. Vincent, help me!’” He shuddered at the recollection, and added, “It was terrible.”

“I should say so,” Brown grunted.  “And you?”