“Because,” Sam went on, “if you do, I think maybe there’s something you ought to hear. It just might affect that business you’re on.” He turned to Ella. “Tell them, Miss McDaniel,” he said. “Tell them what you told me.”

She was crying, her eyes were red and puffed, and her face was streaked; but when Ella looked at Joey, she caught her breath and said: “It was a lie.”

There was, at first, no reaction whatever to the words. Then Shipman’s hands curled slowly into fists. “What’s that?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

“It was a lie,” Ella repeated. “Everything. Everything I said about”—she pointed—“him. All of it.”

Still Shipman did not seem to understand. He took a step. “What the devil you mean?”

“She means,” said Adam Cramer quickly, “that her father told her to cover up for the nigger; and that’s what she’s doing.” He gestured at Sam Griffin, who continued to smile. “That man, I happen to know, is in the pay of the NAACP. He’s a pro-­integrationist. Don’t believe a word he says to you!”

The Reverend Lorenzo Niesen called, “What’s all this talk? If we’re gonna do something, let’s do it and be about our business!”

“Right!” said Adam. “Verne, listen: If McDaniel was willing to go to the hospital for this thing, you know and I know goddamn well he isn’t going to mind letting his daughter get raped!”

The crowd stirred, moved forward slightly. Bart Carey said, “Hell yes, that’s it.”

“We’re wasting time,” shouted another.

But Shipman did not move. His face was pale now. To Ella he said, “Girl, listen here to me. Why’d you ever want to go and tell a story like that in the first place, if it wasn’t true?”

Sam Griffin chuckled. “That’s what I asked myself,” he said. “And that’s why I went to visit Miss McDaniel—”

“What’s your interest in this, anyway?” interrupted Shipman.

“Personal,” Sam replied, winking at Adam. “But, y’see, it didn’t smell right to me, just like all of a sudden it don’t smell right to you, Mr. Shipman. That was the thing: Why would she tell such a story if it wasn’t true?”

“Well?”

“Well, hold on, now. She wouldn’t talk at first, and her grand-daddy give me a pretty rough time. But, see, I deal with people; have for years. It’s my job. So I give her plenty of line and reeled in slow, so she wouldn’t notice. I told her I been looking around, sort of studying this whole thing, and I had a theory. My theory was that young Mr. Cramer here had made her tell that lie—”

“Verne, look! This guy’s a nut. I—”

Shipman glared at Adam. “Shut up,” he said; then: “Go on, Griffin. We’re listening.”