“The defence is that Mark says that he didn’t.”
“Quite, quite,” Lomas nodded. “It’s not the strongest case in the world, but I have had convictions on worse. The jury will go by what they made of Mark in the box.”
“And hang him for his face.” Reggie turned over a paper and held out the portrait of a bull-necked, square-headed young man.
“I wouldn’t say they’d be wrong,” Lomas said. “Who’s the judge? Maine? He’ll keep ’em straight.”
“I wonder. What is straight, Lomas?”
“My dear fellow, it all turns on the way this lad gave his evidence, and that you can’t tell from a report.”
“He don’t conciliate me,” Reggie murmured. “Yet I like evidence, Lomas.”
“Why, this is adequate, if it’s true. And Mark didn’t challenge it.”
“I know. Adequate is the word. Just enough and nothing more. That’s unusual, Lomas. Well, well. What about tea?”
They picked their way over some prostrate bodies to the saloon and again gave up the Carwell case.