"I do not. But I frankly admit I must have been mistaken in denying that they ever occurred."
"I trust, Mr. Fosdick," said Morris, "your memory will not fail you to the extent that you will forget you are on oath."
The muscles in Fosdick's spare jaws could be seen working violently. Morris was going too far, entirely too far, in realism for the benefit of the public. "Is it part of your privilege as examiner," said he, with more than a suggestion of master-to-servant, "to insult an old man upon his failing mind?"
"As none of these transactions was of older date than three years ago," replied Morris coldly, "and as the note bore date of only six months ago—the week before Sigourney died—it was not unnatural that I should be anxious about your testimony. We do not wish false ideas, detrimental to the standing of so notable and reputable a man as yourself, to get abroad."
A titter ran around the room; Fosdick flushed and the storm veins in his temples swelled. He evidently thought his examination was over, for he took a better hold on his coat and was rising from the chair. "Just a few minutes more," said Morris. "In the course of Mr. Westervelt's testimony another matter was accidentally touched on. We feel that it should not go out to the public without your explanation."
Fosdick sank back. Until now, he had been assuming that by some accident his plan to destroy Armstrong had miscarried, that Morris and Westervelt, to save the day, had by some mischance been forced into a position where they were compelled to involve him. But now, it came to him that Morris's icily sarcastic tone was more, far more, arrogant and insolent than could possibly be necessary for appearances with the public. The lawyer's next words changed suspicion into certainty. "We found several other items, Mr. Fosdick, which we requested Mr. Westervelt to explain—payments of large sums to your representatives—so Mr. Westervelt testifies they are—and to your secretary, Mr. Waller, and to your son—Hugo Fosdick. He is one of the four vice-presidents of the O.A.D., is he not?"
"He is," said Fosdick, and his voice was that of a sick old man.
"It was on your O.K. that one hundred thousand dollars were paid out to furnish his apartment?"
"You mean the uptown branch of the O.A.D.?" said Fosdick wearily, his blue-black eyelids drooped.
"Oh! We will inquire into that, later. But—take last year, Mr. Fosdick. Take this omnibus lease, turning over to corporations you control properties in Boston and Chicago which cost the O.A.D. a sum, two per cent. interest on which would be double the rental they are getting from you. Mr. Westervelt informs us that he knows you get seventeen times the income from the properties that you pay the O.A.D. under the leases they executed to you—you practically making the leases, as an officer of the company, to yourself as another corporation. My question is somewhat involved, but I hope it is clear?"