“You contend then that James Patterson was killed by a bullet from a thirty-two caliber revolver, Doctor Mayo?” asked Penfield.
“I do.”
“Thank you, that is all,” and Mayo returned to his desk, while the Morgue Master took his place in the witness chair and corroborated his testimony.
“Recall Mr. Walter Ogden,” directed Penfield, as the Morgue Master stepped down from the platform, and a second later Ogden was once again in the witness chair.
“Mr. Ogden,” began Penfield. “You testified regarding cartridges for your rifle; why did you not mention that you also kept cartridges to fit a thirty-two caliber revolver in your desk in the den?”
“Because I don’t own a revolver,” declared Ogden. “And I had only thirty-eight caliber rifle cartridges in my desk. I am speaking on oath,” he added, seeing Penfield’s dubious expression.
“Then probably a revolver cartridge got accidentally slipped among your rifle cartridges,” suggested the coroner.
“No, it didn’t,” retorted Ogden. “The two unopened boxes contained thirty-eight caliber rifle cartridges which the shop was late in delivering, and I did not take them to Maine with me. In fact, my wife never untied the bundle but placed it just as it came from the shop in my desk drawer. She is in the next room and can verify my statement.”
“You are excused,” announced Penfield, curtly, and turning, ordered the Morgue Master to bring in Mrs. Ogden.
Although plainly agitated over her first appearance at an inquest, Mrs. Ogden was concise in her answers to the coroner’s questions, assuring him that the package of cartridges had never had the seal on the boxes broken, and that they had remained for several months in her husband’s desk, forgotten by both until the unfortunate fire of the night before.