Archer, wrestling with this thought, found that the fisherman had risen and was patting him roughly on the shoulder. "That's all right," he was saying. "Don't look so cut up. That's all right. 'T was n't you. He started out drunk—jus' got drowned, that's all. You did n't no more 'n give him a clip on the shoulder, jus' bruised him. That's straight. If ye had n't, I'd 'a' given worse to him. An' if ye had done it, I'd 'a' owed ye one. He's a good riddance. Don't ye see, sir, he was crooked, bad clean through. It's better for her now that he's gone. Don't take on, now. 'T was him that killed the little boy."
Archer was ashamed that he could receive better comfort than he had given this man. He pulled himself together.
"You said there was no time to lose," he ventured, remembering dizzily. "Well, what's to be done?"
"That's it!" cried Peter, with bitterness. "What? It's a bad business. Matt Lehane—the old man—they told 'im it was you that done for Beaky. He thinks it was
