“Hold on; my name’s William Nelson. T’other one I just used to blind the cops, see?”
“I, William Nelson, do solemnly swear—” The singsong voice of the clerk, and the heavier bass of the prisoner seemed interminable to Peggy, whose nerves were getting beyond her control. She wished he would get through his confession quickly. It was awful sitting in callous judgment on a human being, no matter how guilty he might be.
“Now, William Nelson, alias John Smith,” said the coroner, sternly, “I am told you have volunteered to confess—”
“Nix, no confession,” interrupted Nelson. “Just an account of how I came to get mixed up in this deal.”
“Well, remember you are on oath, and that every word will be used against you.”
The prisoner nodded, cleared his throat, then spoke clearly and with deliberation.
“I came to Washington just to get certain papers. We knew those papers were kept in the Attorney General’s private safe. I used to be a messenger at the Department of Justice, and knew this house well, as I often brought papers to the Attorney General in his private office here. I had my kit with me, and broke in by way of the window over the pantry. The safe is an old one, and I found the combination easy. But, though I crack safes—by God! I am no murderer! When I opened that door I found the lady there—dead!” The man rose. “I know no more than you who killed her, so help me God!”
Nelson’s deep voice, vibrating with intense feeling, carried conviction. There was no doubting the effect his words had upon the jury and the spectators.
“I ain’t no coward, but the sight of that figure crouching there, and I looking down into her dead eyes, struck cold to my marrow bones. I ain’t been able to sleep since,” and the prisoner’s hand shook as he wiped the beads of perspiration off his forehead.
“Quite a dramatic story,” said the coroner, dryly. “And the proof?”