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           Finch,doyouthinkJemkilledBobEwell?Doyouthinkthat?"

           "YouheardwhatScoutsaid,there’snodoubtaboutit.ShesaidJemgotupandyankedhimoffher—heprobablygotholdofEwell’sknifesomehowinthedark...we’llfindouttomorrow."

           "Mis-terFinch,holdon,"saidMr.Tate."JemneverstabbedBobEwell."

           Atticuswassilentforamoment.HelookedatMr.Tateasifheappreciatedwhathesaid.ButAtticusshookhishead.

           "Heck,it’smightykindofyouandIknowyou’redoingitfromthatgoodheartofyours,butdon’tstartanythinglikethat."

           Mr.Tategotupandwenttotheedgeoftheporch.Hespatintotheshrubbery,thenthrusthishandsintohishippocketsandfacedAtticus."Likewhat?"hesaid.

           "I’msorryifIspokesharply,Heck,"Atticussaidsimply,"butnobody’shushingthisup.Idon’tlivethatway."

           "Nobody’sgonnahushanythingup,Mr.Finch."

           Mr.Tate’svoicewasquiet,buthisbootswereplantedsosolidlyontheporchfloorboardsitseemedthattheygrewthere.Acuriouscontest,thenatureofwhicheludedme,wasdevelopingbetweenmyfatherandthesheriff.

           ItwasAtticus’sturntogetupandgototheedgeoftheporch.Hesaid,"H’rm,"andspatdrylyintotheyard.HeputhishandsinhispocketsandfacedMr.Tate.

           "Heck,youhaven’tsaidit,butIknowwhatyou’rethinking.Thankyouforit.JeanLouise—"heturnedtome."YousaidJemyankedMr.Ewelloffyou?"

           "Yessir,that’swhatIthought...