“I think that’s all for the moment,” the district attorney said.
The coroner said, “I’m going to call Helen Monteith to the witness stand.” He turned to the coroner’s jury and said, “I don’t suppose Mr. Mason will want his client to make any statement at this time. She’ll probably decline to answer any questions, because she’s being held in the detention ward on the suspicion of murder, but I’m going to at least get the records straight by letting you gentlemen take a look at her and hearing what she says when she refuses to answer.”
Helen Monteith came forward, was sworn, and took the witness stand.
Mason said to the coroner, “Contrary to what you apparently expect, I am not advising Miss Monteith to refuse to answer questions. In fact, I am going to suggest that Miss Monteith turn to the jury and tell her story in her own way.”
Helen Monteith faced the jury. There was extreme weariness in her manner, but also a certain defiance, and a certain pride. She told of the man who had entered the library, making her acquaintance, an acquaintance which ripened into friendship, and then into love. She told of their marriage; of the weekend honeymoon spent in the cabin in the mountains. Bit by bit she reconstructed the romance for the jury, and the shock which she had experienced when she had learned of the tragic aftermath.
Raymond Sprague fairly lunged at her, in his eagerness to cross-examine. “You took that gun from the museum exhibit?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do it?”
“My husband asked me for a gun.”
“Why didn’t you buy a gun?”