"Well—Well—"
But for a moment Judge Harvey could get out no more. He just stared.
Then in a voice of dryest sarcasm: "Would you consider it impudent on my part—I wouldn't be impudent for the world, you know—to inquire what might be your real name? I have heard you variously called Mr. Simpson, Mr. Preston, Mr. Pyecroft. Perhaps you have a few other aliases."
"I have had—yes. My real name is Eliot Endicott Bradford. That name has the advantage of never having appeared in any complaint or police report. For that matter, I may add that under none of my names have I ever been arrested. Eliot Bradford is a man against whom no legal fault can be found."
"A testimonial from you," exclaimed the Judge—"what could possibly be better!"
"But the hour?" gently insisted the other.
Judge Harvey stared; his eyes narrowed. Then, suddenly—
"Nine-thirty," said he.
"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Bradford; and slipped a hand through Miss Gardner's arm.