“No. She came but seldom to the office during the day.”
“Do you mean that it was her habit to go there often at night?”
“As to that, I cannot say, because I am not with the Attorney General at night unless some special work has to be done.”
At that moment a note was handed to the coroner. He read it twice; then addressed the secretary, saying:
“I think that is all just now.”
Clark bowed and retired. Coroner Wilson turned and addressed the jury.
“I have just received a note from the Chief of Police. He says that his prisoner, the burglar who was captured after leaving these premises, has asked to be allowed to make a statement before this jury. Therefore he has been sent here under guard. Up to the present time he has stubbornly refused to answer any questions, although every influence has been brought to hear to make him speak. I expected to call him later, anyway.”
The coroner’s remarks were interrupted by the entrance of the guard with their prisoner. He was of medium height, and insignificant enough in appearance save for his small, piercing blue eyes. His abundant red hair was plastered down on his round, bullet-shaped head, and his numerous freckles showed up plainly against the pallor of his face.
“Swear the prisoner,” ordered the coroner.
The clerk rose and stepped up to the man. “Place your hand on this book and say after me: ‘I, John Smith—’”