“Did you make any protestations of love or affection to Mrs. Prescott?”
“I did,” Driscoll said, with some feeling. “I couldn’t bear the thought of her being unhappy. My emotions got the best of me. I took her in my arms and told her I still loved her; that I had always loved her.”
He was leaning slightly forward in the chair now, breathing rapidly. Press photographers pushed forward. Cameras clicked audibly.
The coroner said, “Let’s not have any misunderstanding about this, Mr. Driscoll. Did you kill Walter Prescott?”
“I did not.”
“Did you know he was dead?”
“Not until long after I had left the house.”
“Will you describe just what you did in the house after, let us say, eleven-thirty?”
“I was talking with Mrs. Prescott about her financial aflairs and the embezzlement of some twelve thousand dollars of her money by her husband. He had deliberately manipulated her affairs so he could steal this money.”
“Do I understand you communicated these sentiments to Walter Prescott’s wife?”