The crowd roared with laughter, which Scanlon made no effort to check. When it had subsided, he said, “Come forward and be sworn, anyway, Mr. Weyman.”
“I’m not going to tell anything,” Weyman said doggedly.
The good-natured smile didn’t leave the coroner’s lips, but his eyes suddenly became hard. “I think,” he said gently, “you’re in error on that point, Mr. Weyman. Officer, bring him forward.”
The officer took Weyman’s arm and said, “Come on, buddy. This way.”
Weyman, his temper flaring up, jumped back and lashed out a blow at the officer. The next instant he found himself grabbed with a strangle hold, spun neatly around, and then rushed down the corridor toward the witness chair, while the spectators set up a delighted tittering.
Scanlon said, “Hold him there just a minute, Mr. Officer. I want to say something to him... Now, Mr. Weyman, this is an inquest. The coroner has the power to subpoena witnesses and make them testify. If you disobey me you’re going to jail. I don’t want to have any trouble, but if you know anything about this case, we’re going to find it out... Have you been drinking?”
Weyman said in a surly voice, “I’ve had a drink or two.”
“Raise your right hand and be sworn,” the coroner ordered sternly.
The officer released his hold, and Weyman, scowling savagely, raised his right hand and was sworn.
Scanlon indicated the witness chair, and Rodney Cuff stepped forward. “Mr. Weyman,” he said, “you remember the automobile accident which took place in front of Walter Prescott’s home?”