Penfield scribbled a line and passed the folded note to the Morgue Master, then he again addressed Leonard McLane.
“We won’t detain you longer, Doctor,” and hardly waiting for McLane to vacate the chair, he called the deputy coroner to the stand. The preliminaries were quickly gone through with, and then the coroner took the witness.
“You performed the autopsy on James Patterson, did you not?” he asked.
“I did; in the presence of the Morgue Master and Dr. Leonard McLane.”
“And what was the cause of death, Dr. Mayo?”
The deputy coroner held up an anatomical chart and traced a line on it with the reverse end of his pencil.
“James Patterson was struck by a bullet under the shoulder blade which penetrated a vital point, and he died probably within three to five minutes of the time he was struck.”
“You probed for the bullet?”
“I did,” Dr. Mayo laid down the chart and took a small piece of lead from his pocket. “It was shot from a thirty-two revolver.”
The deputy coroner’s words acted as a live wire upon the few reporters present, while men sitting in the back of the court room, crowded forward to vacant front seats, eager curiosity stirring each and all. The deputy coroner’s words promised a sensation, and they did not mean to miss one word of future proceedings.