“Mr. Brooklyn was suspected—wrongly—of murder.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now. And you know Mr. Brooklyn? How interesting.”
Moorman lowered his voice. “He was in the office with that stick on the very day on which the murders were committed.”
“Dear, dear. It is coming back to me. There was something about the stick in the papers. How odd it should be like mine.”
“It was found in the room where one of the murders took place.”
“And you saw Mr. Brooklyn with the stick when he left this office the same day. Dear me, that must have looked very bad for him. But he was released, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, the police let him go.”
“And did you give evidence, Mr. Moorman? Did you have to say you had seen him leave this office with that stick in his hands? It must be a terrible ordeal to be a witness—terrible.”
“I didn’t have to give evidence, and in any case I didn’t see the stick when Mr. Brooklyn left the office.”
“Oh, I see. He hadn’t the stick with him when he left. Then, of course, it wouldn’t go so much against him, it being found. Why, it might have been my stick”—and Mr. Porter gave a curious high laugh. “Well, Mr.—is it Moorman?—thank you. You’ve told me just what I wanted to know—about my mortgage. I will write in, sending all the documents. Good-morning.”