He found him in a strange humor.
"Well, my poor boy," he began, "this is a terrible business." "Who do you mean it is a terrible business for, Mr.Porson, me or him ?" Ned spoke in a hard unnatural voice, without the slightest tone of trouble or emotion.

Mr.Porson perceived at once that his nerves were brought up to such a state of tension by the events of the preceding forty-eight hours that he was scarce responsible for what he was saying.
"I think I meant for you, Ned.

I cannot pretend to have any feeling for the man who is dead, especially when I look at your face." "Yes, it is not a nice position for me," Ned said coldly, "just at the age of seventeen to be suspected of the murder of one's stepfather, and such a nice stepfather too, such a popular man in the town! And not only suspected, but with a good chance of being hung for it." "Ned, my dear boy," Mr.Porson said kindly, "don't talk in that way.

You know that we, your friends, are sure that you did not do it." "Are you quite sure, sir ?" Ned said.

"I am not quite sure myself.