He did not move. His lips trembled. His perceptions seemed out of focus; these men did not seem to be the same men of whom he had thought so constantly while underground. Why? Sprawling within him were the ideas he wanted to shout, but the solid presence of these men seemed to make it impossible for his ideas and feelings to assume the form of words. In a dim way he had the feeling that these men were a part of himself, stifling upon his emotions.

“Listen here, boy,” Murphy said uneasily, “let me tell you something for your own goddamn good, see? We don’t want you. You are free, free as air. Go home to your wife and son and forget about it. It was a son she had, didn’t you know? We don’t want you to sign anything . . . It was all a mistake, see? We caught the guy who killed Mr. and Mrs. Peabody. He wasn’t a colored boy at all . . . He was an Eyetalian . . .”

“Shut up!” Lawson screamed at Murphy. “Have you no sense?”

The room was quiet. Why were they fussing? His coming back to surrender ought to have established peace.

“I’m back now,” he whispered in a childlike tone. “I’m guilty . . .”

Lawson puffed at his cigarette, eyeing him coldly.

“Guilty of what?” Lawson asked.

“I was down in the basement,” he began after taking a deep breath; he spoke as though repeating a lesson learned by heart; “and I went into a movie . . .” His voice trailed off. No, he was getting ahead of his story. He ought to tell them first about the people singing in the church, but what words could he use? He looked at them appealingly; he would find words to tell about the church later. “I went into a shop and stole a lot of money, a whole sackful of money. And I stole some diamonds and rings and watches and a gun and a radio.” As he talked his eyes held a vacant look; he saw before him the dirt room and he mentioned the objects in it as he saw them. “And I stole a meat cleaver and a tool chest and a man’s lunch . . . But I didn’t steal ’em to use ’em. They’re down there now. I’ll give ’em all back. I just took ’em and pasted the hundred-dollar bills on the wall . . .”

“What wall?” Lawson asked with puzzled eyes.

“The wall of the cave,” he said smiling. “And I hung up the rings and I put the diamonds on the dirt floor and stomped ’em into the ground.” He paused, trying to tell from the expressions on their faces just how much they were understanding of what he was saying. Their eyes were hard, cold, disbelieving. Panic was in him again.

“What are you talking about, boy?” Lawson demanded.

Lawson reached out with his open palm and slapped him hard across the face. He fell back and into a chair. He tried to rise but Murphy pushed him back into a sitting posture.