Dr. Leighton wrote in his book: “Pete, Jetteau’s laundry.” “I wish it had been a better witness,” he said regretfully.
“There was a better witness,” said Duncan, his satisfaction now breaking forth into a broad grin, “Mr. Sedgwick.”
Dr. Leighton closed his notebook with a snap. “Did he see you here?” he demanded eagerly.
“Yes, sir. He came a little before eight to invite Sam to supper the next day.” Duncan’s face took on a rueful look as he added, “I forgot to tell Sam until this morning.”
“You ought to have given me his name in the beginning.” Dr. Leighton spoke reprovingly, but with evident relief.
“Mr. Sedgwick came last,” answered Duncan, demurely. “I was giving the witnesses in exact order.”
Dr. Leighton laughed, a frank, natural, unprof-like laugh. “You always were a joker, Duncan, but take care how you joke with the faculty. Some of us don’t understand jokes.”
Duncan grinned in silent comprehension.
“But why didn’t you tell this to Mr. Alsop?” pursued Dr. Leighton, now serious again. “It Would have saved all this misunderstanding.”
“He didn’t give me any chance,” said Duncan. “He spent all his time trying to make me confess I’d done what I hadn’t done.”