“But it is an ugly circumstance, and must be accounted for.”
“Oh, what difference does it make?” I retorted petulantly. “Leave me alone.”
“A few little trifles like this may make the difference of your neck,” muttered Epstein, and he looked disturbed.
“Captain,” continued the district-attorney, “just one thing more. Do you recognize this handkerchief?”
“Yes; it was found in the pocket of the prisoner when he was searched at the station-house.”
My lawyer got hold of the handkerchief and exhibited it to me. It was stained dull brown. “This is blood,” he said. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t an idea,” was the utmost I could respond. Epstein looked more uneasy than before.
“That’s enough, Captain,” said the prosecutor.
“But before you leave the stand,” put in Epstein, “kindly tell us what the prisoner’s conduct was from the time you took charge of the premises down to the time you locked him up.”
“At first he acted as though he was crazy; raved and carried on like a madman. Afterward he became quiet and sort of dull. At the station-house he fainted away.”