“What’s the document?”
Wolfe started to pick up the confession, but Lynch hastened to prevent him.
“It’s private,” he said. “I can’t let you read it, you know. All I wish of you is that you put your name on as a witness to the genuineness of my signature.”
“That’s funny,” muttered Bern. “I don’t often sign anything unless I know what I’m hitching my name to.”
“I’m not asking you to sign it. I’m asking you to append your name as a witness to my signature. I give you my word that it won’t get you into any trouble. Here, I’m going to put my name to it.”
Mike did so, writing his name in big, flourishing letters.
“Sit down,” he said, getting up from the chair and covering the paper with a blank sheet which left no more than the bottom line and his own signature in view.
Wolfe took the chair and picked up a pen, dipping it into the larger ink bottle.
“Hold on!” cried Mike, catching his wrist and checking him. “Don’t use that ink.”
“Eh? Why not?”