Montani said the man had large brown eyes, which was true.
He remembered that he had talked with a good American accent, and used words not common to the criminal, which was also more or less true.
He suddenly recalled a gold-filled tooth in the robber’s upper right-hand jaw, a point already furnished by informants.
In fact, as this new examination went on, it became clear to the Commissioner that Montani was actually describing Kinsman, changing only one detail. He said that the robber had had a dark mustache, while it was certain that Kinsman had been smooth-shaven.
Suddenly the Commissioner tried what is known as a “shot.”
The examiner in such an inquiry is often in possession of incriminating evidence. Instead of producing it bluntly as evidence, however, he will perhaps let it slip out bit by bit, as though by awkwardness, meanwhile maintaining an appearance of absolute confidence in the suspect’s integrity. A classic example of this device is found in the Russian writer Dostoieffsky’s “Crime and Punishment.” The skillful “shot” is usually far more disconcerting than evidence produced openly to overwhelm. For the suspect assumes that the examiner really knows nothing, and has merely blundered. So he is on his guard outwardly. But he also worries inwardly, and this trying conflict between inner doubt and the need for keeping up outer calm will often break him down completely.
Dougherty’s “shot” was a photograph of Kinsman.
By pre-arrangement an assistant came into the office and began turning over some papers on the Commissioner’s desk. The photo of Kinsman popped out where Montani could see it plainly, and then was hurriedly put out of sight again. The Commissioner scolded his assistant, and the latter stood shamefaced and silent.
But in this instance the device failed.
Montani not only betrayed no interest in Kinsman’s picture, but took the awkward assistant’s part, and asked the Commissioner not to scold him.