Look 'ere. It ain't a plant, is it? I'm a bad lot, I know, about as bad as they make 'em, but when it comes to committin' a murder, it ain't in me to do it. If I 'ad the 'eart to kill a man, I ain't got the pluck--Wot's that yer say? I 'ad a 'and in it? I'll take my oath on my mother's Bible I 'adn't. I don't remember my mother--I wos chucked on the world wery young, guv'nor--and I don't know as she ever 'ad a Bible, but that don't make no difference, do it? If she did 'ave a Bible, and it was afore me now, I'd take my oath on it. I can't speak fairer nor that, can I? I wos there--I don't deny I wos there when it wos done but I 'adn't no more to do with it than the babby unborn. If it wos the last word I 'ad to speak with my dyin' breath, I'd swear I didn't 'ave no 'and in it, and I couldn't prevent it no more nor you could, guv'nor, bein', as I dessay you wos, a 'undered mile away at the time. Why, it come upon me like a clap of thunder, and upon Mr. Louis, too, pore chap, and there 'e wos--good Lord! I can 'ardly bring my tongue to say it--there 'e wos, layin' on the flore, stone dead, and the blood porein' out of 'im.
'Ere, I can't stand it no longer, I can't. From that night to this I've never 'ad a easy minute. 'Underds and 'underds of times since then I've seed 'im layin' afore me as 'e laid that night. It wos only yesterday, while I wos playin' a game o' pyramids, and the red balls wos scattered all over the table, that all of a suddent there wos the pore chap layin' on the green cloth in the middle of a dozen large, round clots o' blood. It was only a wision, I know, like any number of others I've 'ad, but it turned me sick, and put me off my play so that I couldn't pot a ball all through the game. Never a green field I see but there 'e is, layin' in the middle of it, with the grass all red about 'im. It ain't a pleasant sight, guv'nor, is it? It sets me all of a tremble, and over and over again I've sed to myself, "Make a clean breast of it, Jack, and bring it 'ome to the man wot done the deed. You can't be 'ung for it, you can't, Jack," ses I to myself, "cos your 'and wos never raised agin 'im. Make a clean breast of it, wunst and for all, and get rid of the wisions that's a 'aunting of yer day and night." And now, on the top o' that, you come to me, guv'nor, and ses, "Yer've got to tell me everythink, Jack, about that there murder. Prove to me yer didn't do it, and not a 'air of your 'ead shall be touched. Scot free yer shall go, and for wunst in your life yer'll 'ave the satisfaction of bein' on the right side o' justice." Ses you to me, "Keep yer mouth shut, and yer'll find yerself in a 'ole. Queen's evidence is your game, Jack, if yer know wot's good for yerself."