"Extraordinary, isn't it," he said, "that Winters should have done it? Awful clever of the police, too, to ferret it out so soon, don't you think so?"
I was annoyed at this unhesitating assumption of Winters's guilt, and somewhat out of humor also, I have no doubt, and I asked him sharply:
"How do you know Winters did it?"
"Why, you haven't any doubt about it, have you?" he asked.
"Certainly," I said, "it isn't proven yet."
"Well, if it isn't proven, I never saw a case that was."
"Look here, fellows!" he called out to a lot of men who were seated nearby talking and who looked up inquiringly at his hail; "Dallas don't believe Winters did it."
I realized at once that a man holding my office could not afford to be quoted as an exponent of Winters's innocence, and therefore disclaimed any such expression of opinion.
"No," I said; "I merely decline to accept his guilt as a fact until he shall be convicted."
"That's all right, Dallas," one of them answered, "we all understand you mustn't express an opinion under the circumstances of course, but we all know what you really think, and we hope you will go in and convict the fellow quickly. Sit down and take a drink with us, we were just talking about the case."