“I beg your pardon?” he said, as if he hadn't heard me.
“Evidences are pointing toward you as the criminal,” I said, determined to disturb his composure if I could.
Instead of showing surprise or anger, he gave a slight smile, as one would at an idea too ridiculous to be entertained for an instant. Somehow, that smile was more convincing to me than any verbal protestation could have been.
Then I realized that the man was doubtless a consummate actor, and he had carefully weighed the value of that supercilious smile against asseverations of innocence. So I went on:
“When did you first learn of the accident to the Atlantic liner, the North America?”
“I suppose you mean that question for a trap,” he said coolly; “but I haven't the least objection to answering it. I bought a late 'extra' in New York City the night of the disaster.”
“At what hour did you buy it?”
“I don't know exactly. It was some time after midnight.”
Really, there was little use in questioning this man. If he had bought his paper at half-past eleven, as I felt positive he did, and if he had come out to Sedgwick on the twelve o'clock train, he was quite capable of answering me in this casual way, to throw me off the track.
Well, I would try once again.