“Wangen asserts that he distinctly remembers the place where the signing took place,” said the clerk.
“Well, perhaps I might be allowed to know where it was, too,” said Norby, innocently.
The clerk turned towards Wangen. “Wasn’t it at the Grand Café?”
Wangen rose, and his eyes shone as brightly now when he said it took place at the Grand as when he said he was innocent.
To Norby this gave a welcome touch of comicality, and he answered with deep conviction: “That document was not signed by me.”
At these words he heard a little sarcastic laugh from Wangen, which made him boil with rage. “I’ll give him something to laugh at,” he thought. “Wait a little!”
Then something happened, which came quite unexpectedly upon Norby. The clerk took out a paper and handed it to him. “Here is the document,” he said, “and there is your name. Will you see whether it resembles your signature? You might possibly have forgotten the matter.”
For a moment Norby saw his name, as he himself had written it. It had the effect of a ghost. He would not look at it. He looked at Lawyer Basting, who was looking askance at him, and this made him quite angry, and he threw the document upon the table, saying: “I don’t need to look at that thing. I know what I’ve done.”
At this Basting asked permission to put a question, and rising, came nearer to the witness-box. “Has Wangen never asked you to be surety for him?” he asked.