Molineux acknowledged that he knew the husband. The prosecutor nodded significantly to the jurymen. They, being men of the world, and some of them bull-necked men of the world, did not seem to take it very seriously. Molineux seemed rather ashamed of it. Osborne, however, would not let go. Three times he went over it, as a woman wipes a dish, turning it first on this side and then on that. At last the good gray judge wearied of it. “He’s already answered all that,” he said quietly. Osborne flashed up like gunpowder. All the savagery in him showed in an instant. It was as though a bulldog had shown his teeth. He took a step forward toward the bench and half snarled, half shouted: “Your Honor, I can’t cross-examine this witness if you interrupt me like that!” Mr. Jerome clutched his assistant’s arm and tried to quiet him, but Osborne shook him off. Justice Lambert looked at him and smiled his enigmatic, up-the-State smile. “I will interrupt you, Mr. Osborne,” he said, “whenever I think it necessary. Now go on.” Mr. Osborne went back to his place and drank a large glass of water. That soothed him, but for the rest of the session his nerves were out of tune, and then the burden of politeness lay heavy upon him. Then for a little while he questioned the prisoner as to his knowledge of chemistry. Molineux admitted that his attainments were fairly good. He knew of it all a paint maker need know. So far Osborne had been defeated all along the line. The defendant had answered every question unhesitatingly and with engaging frankness. He had parried every thrust, even that deadly lunge of his fifteen-year-old co-respondent. The Assistant District Attorney seemed to think in lumps. He jumped backward and forward in his cross-examination in a way that would have baffled an ordinary witness.