In breathless silence the Court awaited his answer. The District
Attorney saw his advantage in the pause, and judging the man rightly,
spoke with a show of fairness deliberately planned to his own purposes.
"You can decline to answer upon the ground that it will tend to
incriminate you."
As he expected, Warren flushed angrily, and flashed a scornful glance at
his questioner.
What a noble sensation it must give one to convict a man of murder by a
trick!
"You do not decline to answer? Then tell us, Warren, do you feel any
regret for the death of this man?"
"None whatsoever."
The answer was given slowly and distinctly with his face full to the
jury.
Oh, how my heart sank as I heard his words! I felt it was useless, but I
tried to soften them by explanation.
"Mr. Warren, tell the jury why you have no regret for the man's death."
"Because I saw him do foul murder which no law would reach. Because I
looked in the creature's face and saw in it something far lower than the
lowest brute, and I killed him in the same spirit as I would kill any
dangerous beast."
I suppose I should have foreseen the awful hush which followed and
prevented it with a flood of questions no matter how futile or
meaningless. But at that moment, and in this place reeking with the
breath of falsehood, his answer rang forth so true and brave that I
closed the case without another word and began my summing up to the
jury.
Dearest, I cannot now remember a single phrase I uttered. Twelve men sat
before me, but I could only see one face, and to that face I spoke.
Again and again the District Attorney interrupted, claiming that what I
said was outside the record, but I paid no heed. Behind me the crowd was
restless, and, once or twice, I think, the Justice rapped for order with
his gavel on the desk, but I never paused. This man's life was dearer to
me than life itself, yet, in that moment of supreme effort, I failed.
Yes, I know it now, I utterly failed. But I did not realise it, dearest,
even when I heard the pitiful feebleness of my argument exposed in the
cool and cutting words of the District Attorney. Why could I not have
seen the fatal weakness of my plea before it mocked me through the
maddening calmness of the Judge's charge, to echo all these weary hours
from every nook and corner of this dreadful room!
Why did I not insist that he have some able counsel! To think that
I--his closest friend, did not do for him what some hired advocate
could have done! His blood is on my hands--the hands he grasped as the
jurors filed from the Court Room--and I did not hide my head in shame.
How gloomy this place is. I shudder at its every shadow, and the very
air is poison. They're lighting more gas jets now. That's better. I
could not have stood it much longer.
I can at least be quiet in my humiliation. They shall not startle me
again, and I will write on calmly.
Are you ashamed of me? You must be. You believed in me--thought me a man
of some power--not a weakling who failed his friend. And you are right.
I will never----