“In about a quarter of an hour, your honor, Mr. Neuman he comes back and stands leaning up against the railing across the way; and pretty soon crosses over and goes past us without speaking a word and enters the house, the door being open, and goes up the stairs.” My lawyer turned sharply to me. “Is this true?” he whispered. “No, it is entirely false,” I answered. But I did not care.
“This,” resumed the district-attorney, “was at about what hour?”
“Sure, you can reckon it for yourself, sir. It was a little after twelve.”
“Very good. Now, at what hour did you shut up the house?”
“It was after one o’clock.”
“Had the prisoner meantime gone out?”
“He had not.”
“So that consecutively from the moment of his reëntrance to the hour of your closing up, he was in the house?”
“He was, sir.”
“Meanwhile, who else had entered?”