The singing surged:

Glad, glad, glad, oh, so glad

I got Jesus in my soul . . .

He got down from the pipes and stood; he had to tear himself away from this. Then, with the springy movement of a runner poised waiting for the crack of the pistol, he bolted from the spot and collided brutally with the green-papered wall. The spell was broken. He blinked and glared about in the darkness.

He crawled back through the dark tunnel to the sewer and stood once more in the current, breathing heavily; the physical exertion afforded him respite from tension. Well, what was there left for him to do? He did not know. But he knew that if he stood here until he made up his mind, he would never move. He scampered over the coal pile and through the hole and stood again in the basement of the building where he had stolen the money. He mounted the box beneath the window and hoisted himself up into the areaway. He climbed the rain pipe and squinted through the two-inch opening. He saw the steel safe and heard excited voices. What was going on? A man wearing a blue suit passed between him and the safe. He strained forward. Yes, the man looked familiar. Then the man turned and he saw a star on his chest. Lawson! He understood now; they had discovered the robbery. His heart pounded as he saw Lawson’s white finger shaking, pointing to someone.

“Nobody but you had the combination to this safe!” Lawson’s voice boomed.

There was a mumbled reply which he could not hear. He felt sorry for the man who was being accused as he had once been accused of a crime he had not committed. Perhaps he should tear all of the money off the walls and dump it in the basement and send them a note telling them where to look for it? Naw, he said softly. What good would that do? The man was guilty; he had been stealing money. Although the man was not guilty of the crime of which he was now being accused, he was guilty; he had always been guilty. He nodded understandingly, feeling that this unfounded accusation was merely serving to bring to the man’s attention, for the first time in his life, the secret of his existence. Now he could see nothing; Lawson had gone beyond the line of his vision. At times Lawson shouted:

“Shut up! Shut up!”

He heard a soft whimpering sound so poignantly that it seemed that the accused man was standing at his shoulder, weeping. Then he saw the blonde-haired, blue-eyed white girl standing in the middle of the floor nervously knotting a handkerchief in her fingers and staring distractedly. There was one time when she looked up and her eyes were wide and grief-stricken and held an expression that made him think that she had seen him. He trembled. The girl looked down. No, she had not seen him. She left the room and then for the first time he saw the guilty man; he was tall, lean, young, with a straightforward, clean-shaven face. There were lines about his mouth and eyes that denoted strain.