“Do you suggest that the visit was intended for you—in your bedroom, alone, at that hour of the night? Consider what your suggestion implies.”
“I never said that any one came.”
“You as good as said so. But we will have it from you in another form. Who was it, Mr. Ferguson, who came through your bedroom window?”
Beads of perspiration were already standing on my forehead.
“I have told you,” I shouted, “that I decline to answer!”
Jordan turned to the coroner.
“Perhaps you will allow me to explain, Mr. Coroner, that the police are in possession of a body of evidence which tends to implicate a particular person. This fact the witness is aware of and resents. He has not only thrown obstacles in the way of the police, but has gone so far as to assert his own guilt. That this assertion rests on no basis of truth there can be no sort of doubt. Its only purpose can be to throw dust in the eyes of the police; and, especially, to render his own evidence ineligible. His own evidence is of capital importance. And I ask your assistance, Mr. Coroner, in my endeavour to prevent a miscarriage of justice, owing to Mr. Ferguson’s refusal to answer any questions which I may put to him.”
“Certainly. Witness, you will answer any proper questions which are put to you, at once, and without any beating about the bush.”
“I rather fancy that that’s a point on which I shall please myself.”
The coroner banged his hand upon the table.