“Under certain circumstances, yes,” Mason said, “but you could never get a jury to believe those circumstances existed. In the minds of the jury and, save for certain exceptions, within the compass of the law, a man’s house is his castle. Within that house, he has the right to do pretty much as he pleases. A person who makes an illegal entry takes his life in his hands. A man has the right to defend his home, his life, and his property. The person who makes an illegal entry is presumed to be the aggressor. Whatever the householder did under those circumstances would be considered as defending himself, not as in the nature of an attack.”
“Well,” she said, “it’s most interesting. I wish I could remember what happened. It might be of some help.”
“It might,” Mason conceded without enthusiasm.
“Did these witnesses say anything about how I acted when I came out of the house?”
“Yes. You paused on the front porch long enough to shove something down in that bag of yours, then you ran down to the curb. They recognized you, that’s when they decided to get out of there.”
“I was running?”
“Yes.”
She sighed and settled back against the pillows, “Well, Mr. Mason,” she said, “it’s all very complicated. I’m certain I don’t envy you your job.”
Mason said grimly, “If I lose this case, I’ve just lost a case but if you lose this case, you know what it means to you.”
“I suppose,” she said, “you’re trying to break it to me gently that I’d be convicted of first-degree murder.”