“Yes, I have a right,” Hart said, “and I propose to use it. How much did you owe him?”
“Some thousands,” and now Ames’s frown became a real scowl.
“And his will gives you a bequest of many thousands. It is a fortunate occurrence for you.”
I thought and still think that Harper Ames had a right to get angry at the Coroner. If Hart suspected his witness he should have said so, and not cast these innuendoes at him.
Yet Ames said nothing. He contented himself with such a venomous glance of hatred at the Coroner, that I shivered at the sight. Keeley Moore, too, looked amazed at the way things were going. Then we both realized that this was doubtless Hart’s first murder case. Such things didn’t often happen up here in the peaceful lake region, and the sudden responsibility and authority had rather gone to Hart’s head and made him a little uncertain of procedure.
Next he flung out the query, “Are you a good diver?”
At this Ames gave a sardonic smile.
“No,” he returned, “I am not. To begin with I didn’t kill Sampson Tracy, I didn’t jump out of the window of his locked room, and I didn’t bedeck his bed with flowers and ornaments. If these are the things you want to know, I am telling you.”
“Yes,” and the Coroner’s air was imperturbable, “but I have only your unsupported word for all that.”
Harper Ames stared at him as if he would like to drive a nail into his half-witted head, and then, drawing himself up with a new dignity, he said: