“What did you say when you came up and saw the dead man?”
“I said, ‘Mine got away, Jeff.’”
“What else did you say?”
“I said, ‘What’s the difference, any of us would’ve done it if we had the chance.’”
“Whiting’s gun had been fired?” asked the attorney, working back.
“Yes.”
“One question more and I will excuse you,” said the attorney, with a show of friendliness––“I see it is hard for you to testify against your friend. Did you, standing there with the facts fresh before you, conclude that Jeffrey Whiting had fired the shot which killed Rogers?”
To this Emmet Dardis vigorously objected that it was not proper, that the answer would not be evidence. But the Judge overruled him sharply, reminding him that this witness had been called by the prosecution, that it was not the business of opposing counsel to protect him. The witness found himself forced to answer a simple yes.
One by one the other men who had been present that fatal morning were called. Their answers were identical, and as each one was forced to give his yes to that last fateful question, condemning Jeffrey Whiting out of the mouths of his friends who had stood on the very ground of the murder, it seemed that every avenue of hope for him was closing.