“What kind of defense do you call that?”
I shook my head.
“No.
That is, we know that we’re guilty of practically everything under the sun if you look at it one way.
If you look at it another—”
He rose.
“Man, you don’t need a lawyer, you need a doctor.
I’ll see you later.
I’ve got to get this figured out in my mind before I can do a thing.”
“Sit down.
What do you think of this?” and I outlined what I had in mind.
“I think … I don’t know what I think.
I don’t know.
I’ll talk to you later.
Right now I want some fresh air,” and he left.
As most trials do, this one began with the usual blackening of the defendant’s character, or lack of it. (The men we’d blackmailed at the beginning had long since had their money returned, and they had sense enough to keep quiet.
That might have been because they’d received a few hints that there might still be a negative or two lying around.
Compounding a felony?
Sure.) With the greatest of interest we sat in that great columned hall and listened to a sad tale.
We had, with malice aforethought, libeled beyond repair great and unselfish men who had made a career of devotion to the public weal, imperiled needlessly relations traditionally friendly by falsely reporting mythical events, mocked the courageous sacrifices of those who had dulce et gloria mori, and completely upset everyone’s peace of mind.
Every new accusation, every verbal lance drew solemn agreement from the dignitary-packed hall.
Against someone’s better judgment, the trial had been transferred from the regular courtroom to the Hall of Justice.
Packed with influence, brass, and pompous legates from all over the world, only the congressmen from the biggest states, or with the biggest votes were able to crowd the newly installed seats.
So you can see it was a hostile audience that faced Samuels when the defense had its say.
We had spent the previous night together in the guarded suite to which we had been transferred for the duration of the trial, perfecting, as far as we could, our planned defense.
Samuels has the arrogant sense of humor that usually goes with supreme self-confidence, and I’m sure he enjoyed standing there among all those bemedaled and bejowled bigwigs, knowing the bombshell he was going to hurl.
He made a good grenadier.
Like this:
“We believe there is only one defense possible, we believe there is only one defense necessary.
We have gladly waived, without prejudice, our inalienable right of trial by jury.
We shall speak plainly and bluntly, to the point.
“You have seen the picture in question. You have remarked, possibly, upon what has been called the startling resemblance of the actors in that picture to the characters named and portrayed.
You have remarked, possibly, upon the apparent verisimilitude to reality.
That I will mention again.
The first witness will, I believe, establish the trend of our rebuttal of the allegations of the prosecution.”
He called the first witness.
“Your name, please?”
“Mercedes Maria Gomez.”
“A little louder, please.”
“Mercedes Maria Gomez.”
“Your occupation?”
“Until last March I was a teacher at the Arizona School for the Deaf.
Then I asked for and obtained a leave of absence.
At present I am under personal contract to Mr. Lefko.”
“If you see Mr. Lefko in this courtroom, Miss… Mrs.—” “Miss.” “Thank you. If Mr. Lefko is in this court will you point him out? Thank you.
Will you tell us the extent of your duties at the Arizona School?”
“I taught children born totally deaf to speak.
And to read lips.”
“You read lips yourself, Miss Gomez?”
“I have been totally deaf since I was fifteen.”