“Did he say why he wanted the gun?”
“No.”
“You knew it was stealing to take that gun?”
“I wasn’t stealing it, I was borrowing it.”
“Oh, Sabin promised to return it, did he?”
“Yes.”
“And you want this jury to understand that Fremont C. Sabin deliberately asked you to steal the gun, with which he was killed, from a collection?”
Mason said, “Don’t answer that, Miss Monteith. You just testify to facts. I think the jury will understand you, all right.”
Sprague turned savagely to Mason and said, “I thought we weren’t going to have any technicalities.”
“We aren’t,” Mason assured him smilingly.
“That’s a technical objection.”
“It isn’t an objection at all,” Mason said. “It’s simply an instruction to my client not to answer the question.”
“I demand that she answer it,” the district attorney said to the coroner.
The coroner said, “I think you can question Miss Monteith just about facts, Mr. Sprague. Don’t ask her what she wants the jury to understand.”
Sprague, flushing, said, “How about that parrot?”
“You mean Casanova?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Sabin bought it... that is, that’s what I understood.”
“When?”
“On Friday, the second of September.”
“What did he say when he brought the parrot home?”
“Simply said that he’d always wanted a parrot, and that he’d bought one.”
“And you kept that parrot with you after that?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you on Sunday, the fourth of September?”
“I was with my husband.”
“Where?”
“At Santa Delbarra.”
“You registered in a hotel there?”
“Yes.”
“Under what name?”
“As Mrs. George Wallman, of course.”
“And Fremont C. Sabin was the George Wallman who was there with you?”
“Yes.”
“And did he have this gun there at that time?”
“I guess so. I don’t know. I didn’t see it.”
“Did he say anything about going up to this cabin for the opening of the fishing season?”
“Of course not. He was leading me to believe he was a poor man, looking for work. He told me that Monday was a holiday, but he had some people he wanted to see anyway — so I went home Monday.”
“That was the fifth?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you on Tuesday, the sixth?”
“I was in the library part of the day, and... and part of the day I drove up to the cabin.”
“Oh, you were up at this cabin on Tuesday, the sixth?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“And what did you do up there?”
“Simply drove around and looked at it.”
“And what time was that?”
“About eleven o’clock in the morning.”
“What was the condition of the cabin at the time?”
“It looked just like it had when I’d last left it.”
“Were the shutters down?”
“Yes.”
“Just the same as is shown in that photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear a parrot?”
“No.”
“The cabin seemed deserted?”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice whether there was any car in the garage?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“Just drove around there for a while, and then left.”
“Why did you go up there?”
“I went up to... well, simply to see the place. I had some time off, and I wanted to take a drive, and I thought that was a nice drive.”
“It was quite a long drive, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Now, you understand that the evidence points to the fact that Fremont C. Sabin was killed at approximately ten-thirty or eleven o’clock on the morning of September sixth?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And that he arrived at the cabin on the afternoon of Monday, September fifth?”
“Yes.”
“And did you want the coroner’s jury to understand that you found the cabin with the shutters closed, saw no evidence of any occupancy, heard nothing of a parrot, and did not see Mr. Sabin at that time?”
“That’s right. I found the cabin just as I have described, and I did not see Mr. Sabin. I had no idea he was there. I thought he was in Santa Delbarra, looking for a location for a grocery store.”
Mason said, “I think this witness has given all the information which she has to impart. I think any further questions are in the nature of a cross-examination, and argumentative. There is no new information being elicited. I will advise the coroner and the district attorney that, unless some new phase of the case is gone into, I’m going to advise the witness not to answer any more questions.”
“I’ll open up a new phase of the case,” the district attorney said threateningly. “Who killed that parrot which was kept in your house?”
“I don’t know.”
“This parrot was brought home to you on Friday, the second?”
“That’s right.”
“And on Saturday, the third, you left with your husband?”
“No, my husband left on Saturday afternoon and went to Santa Delbarra. Monday was a holiday. I drove up to Santa Delbarra Sunday, and spent Sunday night and Monday morning with him in the hotel. I returned Monday night to San Molinas. My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Winters, had been keeping the parrot. I arrived too late in the evening to call for it. The next day, Tuesday, the sixth, I didn’t have to be at the library until three o’clock in the afternoon. I wanted to be away from people. I got up early in the morning, and drove to the cabin, and returned in time to go directly to the library at three o’clock.”
“Isn’t it a fact,” the district attorney persisted, “that you returned to your house at an early hour this morning for the purpose, among other things, of killing the parrot which was in the house, the parrot which your next-door neighbor, Mrs. Winters, had kept while you spent your so-called honeymoon with the person whom you have referred to as your husband, in this mountain cabin?”
“That is not a fact. I didn’t even know the parrot was dead until the sheriff told me.”
The district attorney said, “I think perhaps I can refresh your recollection upon this subject, Miss Monteith.”
He turned and nodded to his deputy, a young man who was standing near the doorway. The deputy stepped outside long enough to pick up a bundle covered with cloth, then hurried down the aisle, past the rows of twisted-necked spectators, to deliver the bundle to Sprague.
District Attorney Sprague dramatically whipped away the cloth. A gasp sounded from the spectators as they saw what the cloth had concealed — a bloodstained parrot cage, on the floor of which lay the stiff body of a dead parrot, its head completely severed.
“That,” the district attorney said dramatically, “is your handiwork, isn’t it, Miss Monteith?”
She swayed slightly in the witness chair. “I feel giddy,” she said. “... Please take that away... The blood...”
The district attorney turned to the spectators and announced triumphantly, “The killer quails when confronted with evidence of her...”
“She does no such thing,” Mason roared, getting to his feet and striding belligerently toward Sprague. “This young woman has been subject to inhuman treatment. Within the short space of twenty-four hours, she has learned that the man whom she loved, and whom she regarded as her husband, was killed. No sympathy was offered her in her hour of bereavement. Instead of sympathy being extended, she was dragged out into the pitiless glare of publicity and...”
“Are you making a speech?” the district attorney interrupted.