“As a matter of fact,” Mason said, “didn’t you say words to this effect, ‘Jason, this man claims to be your Uncle Alden.’”
“Well, something like that.”
Mason smiled. “That is all,” he said.
Kittering frowned. “My next witness,” he said, “is Oscar Baker... The court will pardon me. I am not proving the corpus delicti in the regularly accepted order. Some of these witnesses have asked to be excused, and it will be necessary for me to connect some of these things up later.”
“You will have an opportunity to connect up your evidence,” Judge Knox said. “The court wishes to hear the fullest proof.”
“Oscar Baker,” Kittering said.
A sallow-skinned lad in the early twenties, whose clothes were the cheapest of ready-mades, yet cut in most extreme style, pinch-waisted his way across the courtroom, held up his hand, and was sworn. He gave his name as Oscar Baker, his occupation as a waiter, his age as twenty-three, his residence as in a rooming house.
“Where are you working?” Kittering asked.
“At the Blue and White Restaurant.”
“You are employed as a waiter there?”