There was a stir all over the court-room. Here at last was a suggestive admission. The examination was approaching a crisis!
Q. And you have said it was not a person. Was it not an animal?
A. It was.
“An animal!” we all ejaculated with the unanimity of a Greek chorus. So audible were the exclamations of incredulity which arose from the spellbound audience that the crier’s gavel had to be brought into requisition before Maitland could proceed.
Q. Did you train a little Capucin monkey to strike this blow?
A. I did.
A great sigh, the result of suddenly relieved tension, liberally interlarded with unconscious exclamations, swept over the court-room and would not be gavelled into silence until it had duly spent itself.
Even the Judge so far forgot his dignity as to give vent to a half-stifled exclamation.
Maitland proceeded:
Q. In order that this monkey might not attack the wrong man after you had armed him, you taught him to obey certain signals given by little twitches upon the cord by which you held him. A certain signal was to creep stealthily forward, another to strike, and still another to crawl quickly back with the weapon. When circumstances seemed most favourable to the success of your designs,—that is, when Miss Darrow’s voice and the piano prevented any slight sound from attracting attention,—you gently dropped the monkey in at the window and signalled him what to do. When Mr. Darrow sprang to his feet you recalled the monkey and hastened away. Is not this a fairly correct description of what occurred?