The parrot twisted its head first to one side, then the other, leered about him at the courtroom with twinkling, wicked little eyes; then, as Mason set the cage on the table, the bird hooked its beak on the cross-wires of the cage, and completely circled it, walking over the top, head downward, to return to the perch as though proud of the accomplishment.
“Nice Polly,” Mason said.
The parrot shuffled its feet on the perch.
Helen Monteith turned to regard the parrot. “Why,” she said, “that’s Casanova... The sheriff told me he’d been killed.”
The parrot, tucking its head slightly to one side, said in a low, throaty voice, “Come in and sit down, won’t you? Come in and sit down, take that chair... Squawk... Squawk... Put down that gun, Helen... don’t shoot... Squawk... Squawk... My God, you’ve shot me.”
The spectators stared wide-eyed at the drama of the parrot apparently accusing the witness.
“ That’s Casanova!” Helen Monteith exclaimed.
The district attorney said dramatically, “I want the words of this parrot in the record. The parrot is accusing the witness. I want the record to show it.”
Mason regarded the district attorney with a half smile twisting his lips. “Do I understand,” he inquired, “that you’re adopting this parrot as your witness?”
“The parrot has made a statement. I want it in the record,” the district attorney insisted.