Responding to the simplest question, determined to please MacIntyre, such a fine gentleman, Smith instinctively raised a hand to his mouth to hide his snaggle-teeth, then, asked to speak up more clearly this time, he lowered his hand abruptly, blushing and flustered. Sliding in sweat, stumbling, all the speeches he had rehearsed again and again were lost to him. He heard himself talking, those were his lips moving, but he had no idea what he was saying. In fact, bleeding vitriol and incoherence in equal parts, painfully aware of MacIntyre’s impatience and the grinning simians on the press bench, he did manage to blurt out that the accused, in the presence of his brothers and Tim Callaghan, had offered him a bribe of fifteen thousand dollars to let three American bootleggers go free. Then, even as he warmed to his tale, he grasped that MacIntyre, obviously annoyed, was distancing himself from him. “Thank you very much, Mr. Smith.”
“But—”
“I have no more questions.”
Later MacIntyre, pontificating in his boardroom before the firm’s most recent law graduates, would explain: “I knew I never should have allowed that malignant little man to testify. No sooner did he take the oath than I felt the ill-wind on the back of my neck. You see, boys, it was no use. There wasn’t anybody in that courtroom who hadn’t once been stopped and had his baggage searched by just such a punctilious little turd.”
MacIntyre’s questioning of him done, Smith was suddenly aware of somebody else swimming into focus, the portly Langlois, raising titters as he established that Smith was a Boy Scout leader who didn’t drink or smoke. And probably, Langlois ventured, didn’t have a sense of humour either or he would have realized when he was being teased by Mr. Bernard, a well-known practical joker.
“No bribe was offered,” Mr. Bernard testified, “but Smith came to the warehouse office when we happened to be checking out the contents of our safe, our monthly receipts out on the desk, maybe fifteen thousand dollars, and winking at my brothers, nudging Callaghan, I happened to say, hey, kid, how would you like some of this money? You could get those teeth fixed. Buy a pair of shoes that didn’t squeak …”
Laughter rose from the reporters.
“… treat your Boy Scout troop to ice-cream sodas. Maybe take out a girl for once. Wowee!”
Morrie said, “I can’t help but feel sorry for Mr. Smith, really such a nice, polite boy, but it was all a misunderstanding.”
Callaghan swore that no bribe had been offered in his presence.
And then Solomon took to the stand, aware of Smith sitting there, rocking in place, a hand held to his mouth, his eyes empty.
“Am I correct in saying,” MacIntyre said, “that you asked to speak to Mr. Smith alone?”
“Yes, but he wanted a witness.”
MacIntyre chuckled.
“So Callaghan stayed behind,” Solomon said.
“And was present when you warned Mr. Smith not to testify against you?”
“I did not warn him. I advised him not to testify.”
“But to take the money that was still on the table?”
“To take it or leave it, as he saw fit.”
“And then,” MacIntyre said, smiling at the witness over his reading glasses, “possibly you even said unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.”
Judge Leclerc looked up, amazed. Before Langlois could intervene, MacIntyre continued, “If you recognize the quote …”
“The New Testament?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know about you, Mr. MacIntyre, but I’ve always found sequels something of a disappointment, especially Matthew.”
“Just who do you think you are to say a thing like that?”
“I am that I am, if you recognize the quote.”
Judge Leclerc hastily adjourned the court, announcing that it would reconvene at the usual hour the following morning.
And that night a troubled Mr. Bernard drove out to Ste.-Adèle again, where the judge was waiting.
“Guilty or not,” Mr. Bernard said, “it goes against my nature to turn in my own brother. I’d rather take my medicine like a man.”
“More’s the pity.”
“But if MacIntyre really, really wants to get at the truth I suggest that he get in touch with this man,” he said, passing him a slip of paper. “He will be arriving at the Windsor Hotel tomorrow afternoon.”
A couple of days later, Stu MacIntyre, questioning Solomon again, seemed to wander without point, defence lawyers leaping up to protest the irrelevance of his queries, Judge Leclerc overruling them, displaying uncharacteristic patience and good humour.
“I take it,” MacIntyre said, “that you are something of a gambling man?”
“Yes.”
“Horses?”
“Yes.”
“Snooker?”
“On occasion.”
“Like the night you sent Willy McGraw down to the railroad station, where he was killed by unknown gunmen?”
Arthur Benchley shot out of his seat, infuriated. Judge Leclerc, taking his point, reprimanded MacIntyre. MacIntyre apologized and was then allowed to proceed.
“Poker?”
“Yes.”
“As a matter of interest, for high stakes?”
“I’ve got a feeling we’re going to see a surprise witness here.”
“You haven’t answered the question, Mr. Gursky.”
“Just because you indicate a garden path, sir, doesn’t mean I have to follow it only to be confronted by a liar.”
Following a caution to the witness from Judge Leclerc, MacIntyre put the question to Solomon again.
“For high stakes. Yes.”
“Didn’t you once wager your father’s general store, as well as a good deal of cash against—”
“You’re forgetting the blacksmith’s shop and Charley Lin’s two rooming houses.”
“That as well then, against the deed to the Queen Victoria Hotel, then the property of the late Willy McGraw?”
“Yes.”
“Did you win?”
“Fortunately.”
“My own card-playing is limited to the occasional rubber of bridge, so please correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Gursky, but I would imagine in games played for such stakes it is crucial that the players trust each other to both honour their debts and play strictly according to the rules.”
“What you lack in subtlety, sir, you do make up for in prescience.”
“Would you please—”
“Answer the question?”
“Yes.”
“You are correct.”
“Am I also correct in assuming that if a player were suspected of cheating he would no longer be welcome at the tables?”
“If you are looking for a game, sir, I could arrange it. Outside the confines of this courtroom, I’m sure you wouldn’t dare play with a stacked deck.”
“Would you please answer the questions as they are put to you, Mr. Gursky.”
“Yes, an unscrupulous player would soon be discovered and find himself persona non grata at the tables, to say the least.”
“So had somebody threatened to compromise your no doubt enviable reputation as an honourable player it would have been a serious matter?”
“A very serious matter.”