“Why, to defend, to exonerate yourself.”
“No.”
“I feared as much. My friend, your life depends upon it.”
“What do I care for my life?”
“But your good name—you cherish your good name, do you not?’
“No,” I replied, stubbornly.
He attempted to plead, to reason with me. “No, no, no,” I insisted. He went his way.
“Your honor,” he said next day in court, “I ask that the jury be directed to render a verdict of not guilty, on the ground that the prosecution has failed to show any motive on the part of my client for the crime of which he is accused. Where the evidence is wholly circumstantial, as in the present case, a failure to show motive is fatal.”
“I shall not hamper the jury,” said the judge. “They must decide the case on its merits.” Epstein called, “Mrs. Burrows.” My landlady took the witness-chair and testified to my excellent character. He called a handful more to testify to the same thing; then said, “I am ready to sum up, your honor.”
“Do so,” replied the Court.