“Two of the tenants, Mr. and Mrs.————, the tenants of the first flat.”
“Any one else?”
“No one else.”
“That will do, Mrs. Marshall.”
My lawyer cross-questioned her for an hour. His utmost art was powerless to shake her. She reiterated absolutely and word for word what she had already sworn to.
“John Marshall!” called the prosecutor.
It was the husband of the janitress. He confirmed her story, and like her, was impregnable to Epstein’s assaults.
“That’s our case, your honor,” said the district-attorney to the judge.
“Then we will adjourn until to-morrow,” replied the latter.
I was handcuffed and led back to the Tombs, a crowd following. Epstein joined me in my cell.