“Possibly.”
“So that if Mr. Thorne had finished his dinner at about eight, he would have arrived at Orchards shortly before nine?”
“I really couldn’t tell you, Mr. Farr. You know quite as much about that as I do.”
Mr. Conroy’s small, harassed, unhappy face looked almost defiant for a moment, and then wavered under the geniality of the prosecutor’s infrequent smile.
“I believe that you are right, Mr. Conroy.” He turned abruptly toward the court crier. “Is Mr. Douglas Thorne in court?”
“Mr. Douglas Thorne!” intoned the crier in his high, pleasant falsetto.
A tall lean man, bronzed and distinguished, rose promptly to his feet from his seat in the fourth row. “Here, sir.”
“Mr. Thorne, will you be good enough to speak to me after court is over? . . . Thanks. That will be all, Mr. Conroy. Cross-examine.”
Mr. Lambert approached the witness box with a curious air of caution.
“It was entirely at your suggestion that Mr. Thorne brought the keys, was it not, Mr. Conroy?”