“Mr. Ives, there has been some talk here of this knife, State Exhibit 6. Miss Page has identified it as belonging to you. Is that correct?”
“Quite.”
“Will you tell us when you last saw it?”
“The last time that I remember seeing it before it was produced here in court was on the afternoon of my wife’s arrest—Monday the twenty-first.”
“Have you any idea where it was on the night of June nineteenth at half-past nine?”
“I have a very definite and distinct idea,” said Patrick Ives, and for the first time since he had mounted the stand the haggard restlessness of his face relaxed to something curiously approaching gaiety. “It was in my right-hand trousers pocket.”
Mr. Lambert’s exultant countenance was turned squarely to the jury. “How did it come to be there?”
“It was there because that’s where I stuck it when I took the boat upstairs to Pete at eight o’clock that evening, and it stayed there until I put it back on the desk Sunday morning after breakfast.”
“No chance of an error on that?”
“Not a chance.”