On and on--finally to reach the spot where stood Robert Fairchild and Harry, and there they stopped.

A lean finger, knotted by rheumatism, darkened by sun and wind, stretched out.
"Yes, I know who did it, and I know who got killed.

It was 'Sissie' Larsen--he was murdered.

The man who did it was a fellow named Thornton Fairchild who owned the mine--if I ain't mistaken, he was the father of this young man--" "I object!" Farrell, the attorney, was on his feet and struggling forward, jamming his horn-rimmed glasses into a pocket as he did so.
"This has ceased to be an inquest; it has resolved itself into some sort of an inquisition!" "I fail to see why." The coroner had stepped down and was facing him.
"Why?
Why--you 're inquiring into a death that happened more than twenty years ago--and you 're basing that inquiry upon the word of a woman who is not legally able to give testimony in any kind of a court or on any kind of a case! It's not judicial, it's not within the confines of a legitimate, honorable practice, and it certainly is not just to stain the name of any man with the crime of murder upon the word of an insane person, especially when that man is dead and unable to defend himself!" "Are n't you presuming ?" "I certainly am not.

Have you any further evidence upon the lines that she is going to give ?" "Not directly." "Then I demand that all the testimony which this woman has given be stricken out and the jury instructed to disregard it." The official smiled.
"I think otherwise.