“It convinced you as I told it, and because of your peculiar sense of the traits and resources of Murray Davenport. But can you impart that sense to any one else? And can you tell the story as I told it? I'll wager you can't tell it so as to convince a lawyer.”
“How much will you wager?” said Bagley, scornfully, the gambling spirit lighting up in him.
“I merely used the expression,” said Turl. “I'm not a betting man.”
“I am,” said Bagley. “What'll you bet I can't convince a lawyer?”
“I'm not a betting man,” repeated Turl, “but just for this occasion I shouldn't mind putting ten dollars in Mr. Larcher's hands, if a lawyer were accessible at this hour.”
He turned to Larcher, with a look which the latter made out vaguely as a request to help matters forward on the line they had taken. Not quite sure whether he interpreted correctly, Larcher put in:
“I think there's one to be found not very far from here. I mean Mr. Barry Tompkins; he passes most of his evenings at a Bohemian resort near Sixth Avenue. He was slightly acquainted with Murray Davenport, though. Would that fact militate?”
“Not at all, as far as I'm concerned,” said Turl, taking a bank-bill from his pocket and handing it to Larcher.
“I've heard of Mr. Barry Tompkins,” said Bagley. “He'd do all right. But if he's a friend of Davenport's—”
“He isn't a friend,” corrected Larcher. “He met him once or twice in my company for a few minutes at a time.”