"Why didn't you consult Mr. Jones?" asked Marvin.
"Because Mrs. Jones was the sole owner," sneered Hammond.
Marvin looked him in the eye and said, slowly:
"You had seen the records?"
Hammond grunted in acquiescence and Marvin went on, each question bringing his victim nearer to an outburst of temper, which he hoped would lead to the self-contradictions he was sparring for.
"Now you testified that you first met Mr. and Mrs. Jones about seven months ago. Do you remember the exact date?"
"No, I don't recall the exact date. Perhaps you can," he emphasized, with a contemptuous twist of his black mustache. "It was the day I brought the sheriff there with a warrant for your arrest."
Marvin, undaunted by this attempt to slander him, took occasion to give a thrust at Blodgett, who had been glaring at him all through the case. "Possibly the sheriff will remember the date," he said, with a smile, while Blodgett squirmed in his chair. "And you also met Mr. Thomas on that same day, did you not?"
Hammond made no reply. It was his desire to make the court think that he and Thomas had never known each other previous to this transaction. He directed an imploring and searching squint toward Thomas. Receiving no help and seeing trouble in the gray pallor that had spread over Thomas's face, he floundered on, "Yes, I think that was the day I met Raymond Thomas—and Miss Buckley was there, too."
"Are you sure you had never met Miss Buckley or Mr. Thomas before? In his office in San Francisco, for instance?"