A minute he stood blinking, staring, then he caught sight of his wife and bawled out,
"She's here all right. Tol' you she was here. Can't fool me. Saw her go past in the hall."
I looked triumphantly at Dykeman and Cummings. Their star witness—drunk as a lord! So far he seemed to have sensed nothing in the room but his wife. Without turning, he reached behind him and slammed the door in the faces of those who had brought him, then advanced weavingly on the woman, with,
"Get up from there. Get your hat. I'll show you. You come 'long home with me! Ain't I your husband?"
"Doctor Bowman," peppery little old Dykeman spoke up from the depths of his chair. "Your wife was brought here to a—to a—"
"Meeting," Cummings supplied hastily.
"Huh?" Bowman wheeled and saw us. "Why-ee! Di'n' know so many gen'lemen here."
"Yes," the lawyer put a hand on his shoulder. "Conference—over the evidence in the Gilbert case. No time like the present for you to say—"
"Hol' on a minute," Bowman raised a hand with dignity.
"Cummings," said Dykeman disgustedly, "the man's drunk!"