The witness laughed.
“Old Bill would know the trick,” he said. “They would ask the banker to give the combination. They would write it down as he gave it; then they would wait a little while and ask him again, and if he had made it up, he would not be able to remember. That’s an old trick. It was done in the North Hampton bank robbery, where they burned the cashier’s feet for lying.”
The big attorney swung around toward his clients.
“Did you ever hear of that, Bill?”
“No,” said the prisoner, “I never did.”
Again the attorney laughed that vague, futile laugh.
“I believe you, Bill,” he said, “although nobody else does—I’m paid to believe you.”
He turned back to the witness.
“What happened then?”
The big prisoner with the folded white handkerchief for a cravat was mumbling incoherently.