“I call as my second witness for the defense,” announced Lyman, “Franklin Ahearn.”

  DeWitt’s friend, wearing a look of complete stupefaction, rose from the group in which he was sitting and walked down the aisle and through the gate to the witness-stand. He was sworn in, gave his full name as Benjamin Franklin Ahearn and his West Englewood address. Lyman, hands in his pockets, asked mildly: “You are engaged in what occupation or profession, Mr. Ahearn?”

  “I am a retired engineer.”

  “Do you know the defendant?”

  Ahearn glanced at DeWitt and smiled. “Yes, sir, for six years. We are neighbors and he is my best friend.”

  Lyman said sharply: “Please answer only the question asked… Now, Mr. Ahearn, did you meet the defendant at the Exchange Club on the evening of Wednesday, September the ninth?”

  “Yes, everything Mr. DeWitt said is true.”

  Lyman again said sharply: “Please answer only the question asked.” Bruno, who had grasped the arms of his chair, closed his mouth, settled back and kept his eyes on the face of Ahearn, as if he had never seen the man before. “I did meet Mr. DeWitt at the Exchange Club on the evening stated.”

  “At what time, and where, did you first see him that evening?”

  “A few minutes before seven. We met in the foyer of the dining-room and immediately went in to dinner.”

  “Were you with the defendant continually from that moment until 10:10?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did he leave the Club and you at 10:10, as he just testified?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Ahearn, as Mr. DeWitt’s best friend, would you say that he is sensitive about his personal appearance or not?”

  “I would say - I do say decidedly - that he is sensitive about his personal appearance.”

  “Then would you say that his decision not to have his hand bandaged was consistent with this trait of his character?”

  Simultaneously with Ahearn’s hearty, “Undoubtedly!” Bruno objected to the question and answer, and was sustained by the Court, both being stricken from the record.

  “Did you notice Mr. DeWitt’s hurt finger during dinner that night?”

  “Yes. I noticed it even before we went into the dining-room, and I commented upon it. Mr. DeWitt related the story of his accident in the gymnasium and allowed me to examine the finger.”

  “Then you saw the finger. What was the condition of the wound when you examined it?”

  “It was raw and ugly-looking, a long deep gash about an inch and a half long on the underside of the finger. It had stopped bleeding, and the cut had already formed a rudimentary scab of dried blood.”

  “Did anything occur over the dinner-table or afterward which bears upon this point, Mr. Ahearn?”

  Ahearn sat thoughtfully in silence, stroking his jaw. He looked up. “Yes. Mr. DeWitt, I observed, held his right hand rather rigidly all evening, and at the dinner-table used only his left hand for eating purposes. It was necessary for the waiter to cut Mr. DeWitt’s chop.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Bruno.”

  Bruno strode up and down before the witness-stand. Ahearn waited quietly. Bruno thrust his jaw out and eyed Ahearn with hostility. “You testified a moment ago that you are the defendant’s best friend. His best friend, Mr.

  Ahearn. You wouldn’t perjure yourself for your best friend, would you, Mr. Ahearn?”

  Lyman stood up smiling, objected, even as someone in the jury-box tittered. Judge Grimm sustained.

  Bruno glanced at the jury as if to say. “Well, you get the idea, anyhow.” He turned squarely on Ahearn again. “Did you know where the defendant was going after he left you at 10:10 that evening?”

  “No.”

  “How is it that you did not leave with the defendant?”

  “Mr. DeWitt said he had an appointment.”

  “With whom?”

  “He didn’t say, and of course I didn’t ask.”

  “What did you do after the defendant left the Club?”

  Lyman was on his feet again, wearily smiling another objection. Again Judge Grimm sustained, and Bruno with a little gesture of disgust released the witness.

  Lyman came forward confidently. “For my third witness,” he said in a deliberate drawl, and glanced at the prosecutor’s table, “Inspector Thumm!” Inspector Thumm started guiltily, like a boy caught stealing apples. He looked at Bruno, and Bruno shook his head. The Inspector lumbered to his feet and, glaring at Lyman, took the oath, thudded into the witness-chair, and sat truculently waiting.

  Lyman seemed to be enjoying himself; he glanced in friendly fashion at the jury, as if to say: “You see! I’m not even afraid to call the great Inspector Thumm in defense of my client.” He wagged his finger roguishly at Thumm.

  “Inspector Thumm, you were in charge of the police investigation on the ferry boat Mohawk when Charles Wood was discovered murdered?”

  “I was!”

  “Where were you standing just before the body was fished from the river?”

  “On the upper passenger deck, north side of the boat, at the railing.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “No!” snapped Thumm, tightening his mouth.

  “Who was with you?”

  “The defendant and a Mr. Drury Lane. Some of my men were on the deck, too, but only DeWitt and Lane were at the rail with me.”

  “Did you notice at this time that Mr. DeWitt’s finger was cut?”

  “Yes!”

  “How did you come to notice it?”

  “He was leaning against the rail, holding his right hand stiffly upward, his elbow on the rail. I asked him what was the matter and he said he had cut himself at his Club that evening.”

  “Did you observe the cut closely?”

  “What do you mean - closely? I saw it - I’ve just told you that.”

  “Now, now, Inspector, don’t lose your temper. Please describe the appearance of the wound as you saw it at that moment?”

  Thumm shot a baffled glance at the District Attorney below, but Bruno’s head was resting between his hands, his ears alert. Thumm shrugged and said: “Well, the finger was swollen a bit, the cut looked sort of raw. There was a dried-blood scab formed over the entire length of the cut.”

  “The entire length of the cut, Inspector? The scab was absolutely in one piece, not broken anywhere?”

  A look of wonderment crept over Thumm’s hard face, and his voice lost its hostile note. “Yes. It looked very stiff.”

  “Would you describe the cut, then, as fairly well healed, Inspector?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it was not a brand-new cut that you saw? That is, you would say that the skin had not been lacerated just before you observed it at the railing?”

  “I don’t know what you mean exactly. I’m not a doctor.”

  Lyman pulled his upper lip, smiling. “Very well, Inspector. I’ll phrase the question differently. Was the cut that you saw a fresh cut, just made?” Thumm squirmed. “That’s a foolish question. How could it be a fresh cut when there was a scab on it?”

  Lyman grinned. “Exactly the point, Inspector… Now, Inspector Thumm, please tell the Court and the jury what happened after you noticed Mr. DeWitt’s wound.”

  “The body was grappled at that moment, and we made a dash for the stairway leading down to the lower deck.”

  “Did anything pertaining to Mr. DeWitt’s wound occur as you were doing this?”

  Thumm said sullenly: “Yes. The defendant reached the door first and grabbed the knob to open the door for Mr. Lane and me. He sort of cried out, and we saw that the cut on the finger had opened. It was bleeding.”

  Lyman leaned forward and tapped Thumm’s beefy knee, emphasizing each word. “The scab opened and the wound began to bleed merely from the defendant’s grasping the doorknob?”

  Bruno shook his head in a helpless way as Thumm hesitated. Bruno’s eyes were tragic.

  Thumm mumbled: “Yes.”

  Lyman continued rapidly. “Did you get a good look at the wound after it began to bleed?”

  “Yes. DeWitt held his hand up for a moment while reaching for his handkerchief, and we saw that the scab had split in several places and the blood was oozing from the broken places. Then he wrapped his hand in the handkerchief and we continued downstairs.”

  “Are you prepared to swear, Inspector, that the bleeding cut you saw at the door was exactly the same cut that you saw, unopened, at the railing a moment before?”

  Thumm said resignedly: “Yes. Yes.”

  But Lyman was persistent. “There was no new cut at all, not even a new scratch?”

  “No.”

  “That’s all, Inspector. Your witness, Mr. Bruno,” said Lyman with a significant smile at the jury, and he stepped away. Bruno shook his head impatiently and Thumm descended from the rostrum, his face a study in mingled emotions - disgust, astonishment, understanding. As Lyman moved forward again, the spectators on edge with excitement, whispering to each other, the press-staff frantically writing, attendants clamoring for order, District Attorney Bruno slowly turned his head and surveyed the courtroom, as if seeking a face.

  Lyman, calm, assured, called Dr. Morris to the witness-stand. The Exchange Club physician, a middle-aged man with an ascetic face, stepped from the audience, took the oath, gave his name as Hugh Morris, and his address, and sat down on the witness-chair.

  “Are you a medical doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Place of occupation?”

  “Official physician at the Exchange Club. On the visiting staff at Bellevue Hospital.”

  “Your experience as a licensed physician, Doctor?”

  “I have been practicing under a New York medical license for twenty-one years.”

  “Do you know the defendant?”

  “Yes. I have known him for ten years, the period in which he has been a member of the Exchange Club.”

  “You have heard the testimony of witnesses concerning a cut which Mr. DeWitt suffered on the forefinger of his right hand in the Club gymnasium the evening of September ninth. Is the testimony given so far concerning what happened in the gymnasium correct in every particular, to the best of your knowledge and belief?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you warn the defendant to be careful of his finger after he refused to allow it to be bandaged?”

  “Because the wound was such that any sudden stricture which would flex the forefinger would reopen the cut. The gash extended across the two upper joints of the forefinger. The normal closing of the hand any time Wednesday night, for example, would have distended the lips of the gash and broken the scab which was bound to form.”

  “And that was your professional reason for having desired to bind the hand?”

  “Yes. For if the wound did open, as was likely from the exposed nature of its locality, it would have the antiseptic protection of the medicated bandage.”

  “Very good, Dr. Morris,” said Lyman quickly. “Now, you have heard the testimony of the preceding witness, describing the condition of the wound and its scab when he saw it at the rail of the boat. Could this wound as the witness, Inspector Thumm, described it have been open, let us say fifteen minutes before he saw it, Dr. Morris?”

  “You mean could the original wound have opened fifteen minutes before Inspector Thumm first saw it, and have appeared as the Inspector described it?”

  “Yes.”

  The physician said with emphasis: “Positively not.”

  “Why?”

  “Had it been opened even an hour before, it could not have been in the condition Inspector Thumm described it - scabrous, unbroken, in one continuous piece, and all stiff and dry.”

  “Would you say, then, from Inspector Thumm’s description, that the wound had not been opened from the time you treated it at the Club until the time the defendant grasped the doorknob on the ferry?”

  Bruno was objecting strenuously at the same moment that Dr. Morris coolly replied: “Yes.” While the argument raged, Lyman kept glancing meaningly at the jury, who were whispering with some heat. Lyman smiled with serene satisfaction.

  “Dr. Morris, could the defendant have grasped and lifted a two-hundred- pound object a few minutes before Inspector Thumm saw his wound at the railing in the condition described, and shoved or hurled it over the railing and beyond the two-and-a-half foot shelf without opening that wound?” Again Bruno had jumped to his feet, perspiring with anger, objecting with all the energy of his lungs. But Judge Grimm overruled him, indicating that the professional opinion solicited was pertinent to the defense argument.

  Dr. Morris said: “Absolutely not. He could not have done what you have just described without opening the wound.”

  With a plain smile of triumph Lyman said: “You may cross-examine, Mr. Bruno.”

  Another uproar, and Bruno sucked his lower lip and scowled at the physician. He weaved back and forth before the witness-stand like a caged animal.

  “Dr. Morris!” Judge Grimm was hammering for silence. Bruno paused until the courtroom was still. “Dr. Morris. On oath, and under guise of your professional knowledge and experience, you have just testified that the healed condition of the defendant’s wound as described by a prior witness indicates that the defendant could not have used his right hand to throw a two- hundred-pound object over the rail without opening the cut…”

  Lyman said without excitement: “Objection, Your Honor. That was not the question to which the witness answered affirmatively. My question included, besides the railing, the two-and-a-half foot shelf which runs along the sides of the Mohawk’s upper deck.”

  “Restate the question correctly, Mr. District Attorney,” said Judge Grimm. Bruno complied.

  Dr. Morris replied calmly: “That is what I said ‘yes’ to, and I would stake my reputation on my opinion.”

  Lyman, back at the defense-table, whispered to Brooks: “Poor Bruno. He’s more rattled than I’ve ever seen him before. Imagine impressing that point on the jury by repetition!”

  But Bruno was not done. He said menacingly: “To which hand were you referring, Doctor?”

  “To the hand with the cut finger, the right hand. Of course.”

  “But the defendant could have used his left hand to perform the aforementioned act without opening the wound on his right?”

  “Naturally, if he didn’t use his right hand he wouldn’t open the cut on the right hand.”

  Bruno looked hard at the jury, as if to say: “You see, all this hullabaloo doesn’t mean a thing. Doesn’t apply at all. DeWitt could have done it with his left hand.” He sat down with an uncertain grin. Dr. Morris began to descend from the stand, but Lyman was already demanding the right to recall the witness. The doctor sat down again, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  “Dr. Morris, you have just heard the District Attorney insinuate that the defendant could have disposed of the body of the deceased by using only his left hand. In your opinion, could the defendant, using only his left hand and handicapped with an injured right hand, have lifted the two-hundred- pound unconscious body of Charles Wood, and shoved or hurled it over the railing and beyond the shelf to fall from the boat?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I have known Mr. DeWitt professionally for years. I know that he is right-handed, for one thing, and that his left arm, as is usual with dexterous persons, is the weaker member. I know that, small, frail, weighing only one hundred and fifteen pounds, he is a weak man physically. I would say, from these facts, that it would be impossible for a one-hundred-and-fifteen-pound man, using only one arm, and that the weaker of the two, to do what you have described with the dead weight of a two-hundred-pound body!”

  The noise was deafening. Several newspapermen ran out of the courtroom. The members of the jury were talking excitedly, nodding their heads. Bruno was on his feet, face purple, shouting, but no one paid any attention to him while court attendants made stentorian efforts to restore order. When the tumult had subsided, Bruno in a gurgling voice asked for an adjournment of two hours to secure further medical opinion.

  Judge Grimm snarled: “If there is any repetition of this disgraceful scene during the remainder of the trial, I will have the courtroom cleared and the doors closed! Motion for adjournment granted. Court adjourned until two o’clock this afternoon.”

  Somebody rapped with a gavel; everyone rose and waited until Judge Grimm had swept out of the room to his private chambers. Then pandemonium broke loose again as feet scraped, voices argued, and the jury retired. DeWitt, his poise ripped off, sat panting in his chair, an expression of incredulous relief on his white face. Brooks was pumping Lyman’s hand in congratulation. “Most astounding defense I’ve heard in years, Fred!”

  As the noise swirled about them, District Attorney Bruno and Inspector Thumm sat at the prosecutor’s table regarding each other in half-humorous anger. Newspaper reporters had surrounded the defense-table now, and a court attendant was having difficulty extricating DeWitt from the press.

  Thumm leaned forward. “Bruno’s folly,” he grunted. “Well, old hoss, the joke’s on you.”

  “On us, Thumm, on us,” snapped Bruno. “You’re as much the goat as I am. After all, it’s your department to collect evidence, mine to present it.”

  “Well, I can’t deny that,” said Thumm grumpily.

  “We’re the two prize idiots of New York,” groaned Bruno, slapping his papers into his briefcase. “You had the facts at your fingertips all the time and never once made the obvious leap to the truth.”

  “No comeback there,” rumbled Thumm. “I’m some sort of nanny, it’s true. But after all,” he said feebly, “you certainly saw DeWitt’s hand wrapped in the handkerchief that night, and you never thought to ask questions about it.”

  Bruno dropped his bag suddenly; his face flamed. “I’d like to see Fred Lyman take credit for this! Damn it, that’s what rankles. Let me hear him open his yap! Why, it’s as plain as the nose on your ugly face that-”

  “Sure,” growled the Inspector. “Lane, of course. The old coot!” he exclaimed softly. “Just plain bamboozled us, by God, and it serves us right for doubting him.”