The young woman watched him speechlessly.
Satterthwaite caressed his chin with that little gesture which was habitual to him when commencing the cross-examination of a witness. He began in the suave, deliberate tones familiar to the Courts.
“What is the last thing you can remember, Mr. Tremaine?” he asked.
Tremaine stared at him.
“I—I think——” he began, hesitatingly, almost automatically responsive to Satterthwaite’s seductive voice. Then he stopped, the baffled look again in his eyes. “What the devil has it got to do with you?” he demanded, in exasperation.
Satterthwaite was unruffled.
“It has a great deal to do with me, Mr. Tremaine,” he said, “and with all of us here. So please try to answer my questions.”
Tremaine’s eyes blazed at him.
“What right have you to question me?—What are you doing here at all, that’s what I want to know?”