“If Your Honour will permit me, I’ll explain why these documents are being introduced,” remarked Mr. Lambert briskly. “They are being introduced in order to attack the credibility of one of the prosecutor’s star witnesses; they are being introduced in order to prove conclusively and specifically that Miss Melanie Cordier is a liar, a perjurer, and a despoiler of homes. I again offer this letter in evidence—I shall have another one to offer later.”
Judge Carver eyed the blue scrap in Mr. Lambert’s fingers with an expression of deep distaste. “You say that this proves that the witness was guilty of perjury?”
“I do, Your Honour.”
“Very well, it may be admitted.”
Mr. Farr permitted himself a gesture of profound annoyance, hastily buried under a resigned shrug. “Very well, Your Honour, no objection.”
“The envelope containing this letter is postmarked Atlantic City, June 20, 1926,” remarked Mr. Lambert with unction. “It says:
“Dear Frieda:
“Well, you will be surprised to get this, I guess, and none too pleased either, which I am not blaming you for. The fact is that I have decided that we had better not see anything more of each other, because Melanie and I, we have decided that we can’t get along any longer without each other and so she has come to me and I have got to look after her.
“The reason that I did not come to see you this week-end was that I went out to Rosemont to see her and she had got in wrong with Mrs. Ives and she was in a dreadful state about this Mrs. Bellamy being killed, and she is very delicate, so I am going to see that she gets a good rest.
“I hope that you will not feel too bad, as this is the best way. Melanie does not know that I am writing, as she is of a very jealous nature and does not want me writing any letters to you, so no more after this one, but I want everything to be square and aboveboard, because that is how I am. It won’t do you any good to look for me, so you can save yourself the trouble, because no matter how often you found me, I wouldn’t come back, as Melanie is very delicate and needs me. Hoping that you have no hard feelings toward me, as I haven’t any toward you,
“Yours truly,
“Adolph Platz.”
Adolph Platz’s wife sat listening to this ingenuous document with an inscrutable expression on her small, colourless face. It was impossible to tell whether, in spite of the amiable injunctions of the surprising Mr. Platz, she yielded to the indulgence of hard feelings or not.
“Have you ever seen Mr. Platz since the receipt of this letter, Mrs. Platz?”
“No, sir.”