“The twenty-fifth of August, as you may see by the obituary notice in your possession.”
“Ah! but in what year?”
The colonel’s well-guarded face changed. He seemed disturbed, but quickly recovered himself, and answered:
“Oh! why, in the year 18—, the same year, of course, as well as the same month, in which I have been accused of having married the California widow—which, as I am not endowed with ubiquity, is impossible.”
“You say, then, that your first wife died on August 25, 18—?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“On what date was this notice inserted, and in what paper?”
“In the London Times of the twenty-sixth. It is usual, I believe, to publish the obituary notice on the day after the death,” said the colonel, with great dignity, as if he considered this cross-examination rather irrelevant, if not even impertinent.
“London Times of the twenty-sixth of August, 18—?”
“Of course. Yes, your honor,” replied the colonel, scarcely able to control his annoyance.