Mr. Fox, who was lavishly decorated with freckles, whose coat was about three inches too tight for him, and whose tie was about three shades too green, shifted his chewing gum dexterously to the other cheek and kept a wary eye on Mr. Farr.
“There were a good many cars getting gas at your station on fine Saturday nights in June, weren’t there?”
“Sure there were.”
“Yet this car and its occupants are indelibly stamped on your memory?”
“If you mean do I remember the both of them, sure I do. They wasn’t just getting gas; the dame—the lady—she wanted a drink of water, and it was me who got it for her. That was what made me remember them, see?”
“And all you know is that it was some time after nine, because you didn’t come on duty until nine?”
“That’s right. I don’t never come on until then; and sometimes I’m a couple of minutes late, at that.”
“But it might have been two minutes past nine instead of twenty-five minutes past, as Mrs. Ives claims?”
“No, sir, it couldn’t have been nothing of the kind. People don’t get eight gallons of gas, and pay for it, and get change, and ask for glasses of water and get them, and drink them and get away all in two minutes. It must have been more than ten minutes past, no matter if they were the first ones to come along after I checked in.”
Mr. Farr contemplated him with marked disfavour. “I didn’t ask you for a speech, Mr. Fox. The only fact you are able to state to us positively as to the time is that you came on duty at nine o’clock, and that Mrs. Ives and Mr. Bellamy appeared after you had arrived.”