But he himself read the papers, after dinner.
Before nine he set out for the house of Lawyer Maxwell. He was received without cordiality. “Well?” said Maxwell.
“I want to offer my services in the trial. I’ve got an idea. Why couldn’t I go on the stand and swear I was there, and she pulled the gun first and he wrestled with her and the gun went off accidentally?”
“And perjure yourself?”
“Huh? Yes, I suppose it would be perjury. Oh— Would it help?”
“But, my dear fellow! Perjury!”
“Oh, don’t be a fool! Excuse me, Maxwell; I didn’t mean to get your goat. I just mean: I’ve known and you’ve known many and many a case of perjury, just to annex some rotten little piece of real estate, and here where it’s a case of saving Paul from going to prison, I’d perjure myself black in the face.”
“No. Aside from the ethics of the matter, I’m afraid it isn’t practicable. The prosecutor would tear your testimony to pieces. It’s known that only Riesling and his wife were there at the time.”
“Then, look here! Let me go on the stand and swear—and this would be the God’s truth—that she pestered him till he kind of went crazy.”
“No. Sorry. Riesling absolutely refuses to have any testimony reflecting on his wife. He insists on pleading guilty.”