“Absolutely not.”
“In the first place,” Mason said, “you needed that ten grand because you’d made a mistake in picking ponies. Is that right?”
“Yes. What of it? Lots of people play the races.”
“Uh huh,” Mason said. “But you need money in order to play the races.”
“Well, I got the money, didn’t I?”
“After you’d incurred the losses,” Mason said. “My best guess, Mattern, is that the original bets were made from money you’d embezzled from Tidings and the trust accounts. The audit of Tidings’ books would have left you in quite a spot if it hadn’t been for that ten grand.”
Mason needed no more than a look at Mattern’s dismayed countenance to serve as confirmation of his charge.
“All right,” he said. “There you are. You’ve been embezzling money. Tidings called you on Tuesday morning. He had the dope. He was going to send you to jail. You knew that if you could stall things along for a few hours, that Western Prospecting sale would go through, and you’d have money enough to make restitution. You figured you could juggle the books so that the original embezzlement could be covered. You got desperate and excited and pulled a gun on Tidings. Tidings came for you, and you pulled the trigger.”
“That’s a lie,” Mattern shouted.
“Perhaps it is,” Mason observed, “but you’d never make a jury believe it.”