This he proceeded to do in his cross-examination of the defendant. Halloran was, at best, not quick-witted, and now, before he could get out his full answers, O’Brion worried, tore and twisted them into seeming contradictions. The effect was as if Carnera had been bound to a post, with Bomber Louis left free to slug him in the face as he would. And after O’Brion had got through with his bear-baiting, Babson, who had once himself been a prosecutor, could not refrain from taking a hand and showing by his questions that he regarded Halloran’s explanation of the loss of his revolver as fantastic.
Indeed, when the defendant climbed down and stumbled back to his seat, Mr. Tutt’s worst fears had been realized. True or not, no jury would ever believe his story!
“Nora, please take the stand.”
Hugging her baby, Mrs. Halloran came timidly forward. O’Brion, flushed with victory, proceeded to put his foot in it. “Sob stuff!” he croaked, for the benefit of the jury.
Mr. Tutt saw an expression of disapproval flit across the face of No. 7 and took courage.
“You are the wife of the defendant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell us, Nora, the date upon which you were married to Vance Halloran.”
O’Brion, still gambling on the overwhelming proof of guilt to swamp technical errors, leaped up. Babson, now wholly lost, simply followed his lead.
“Object!”
“Sustained.”
“Does Your Honor deny to this woman the right to show that her child was born in lawful wedlock!”
“That is not an issue in this case,” sneered O’Brion. “It is immaterial whose this child is, or whether it was borrowed for the occasion!”
Mr. Tutt turned furiously on the prosecutor.
“Such remarks are unconscionable and highly prejudicial to the defendant! I ask the court to declare a mistrial.”
“Motion denied,” retorted Babson, still smarting under the lash of Mr. Tutt’s reference to a Nazi court of justice.
“I take an exception,” said Mr. Tutt.... “That is all, Nora!”
“Wait a moment!” ordered O’Brion. “You say your flat was burglarized and that six dollars and a bracelet were taken?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you tell your husband about it?”
“Naturally.”
“Did he in turn, tell you that his gun had been stolen?”
The witness lowered her eyes.
“No.”
O’Brion exultantly faced the jury.
“That is all!”
Mr. Tutt shivered in spite of himself. As far as the facts went, she had done more harm than good. What a case! He had no other witnesses, save those as to character! Impressively as he could he called Father O’Conner, the parish priest; Murphy, the boss truckman of the Star; Schwartz, the butcher; Lefkowitz, the tailor; Tibberman, the undertaker; and Donovan, a retired policeman—all of whom swore that Vance Halloran’s reputation for honesty and truthfulness, peace and quiet, was good. O’Brion did not so much as glance at them, indicating by his manner that anyone—even a murderer—could obtain character witnesses for the asking.
“The defense rests.”
“The People rest.”
“Go to the jury!”
Mr. Tutt, with shoulders hunched, walked slowly to the front of the box.
“Mr. Foreman and gentlemen of the jury,” he began quietly enough, “the New York Code of Criminal Procedure was enacted for the purpose of insuring to every defendant accused of crime a fair and impartial trial under the established rules of evidence—a right asserted by the signers of our Declaration of Independence and guaranteed to us under the Constitution of the United States. The personal safety of each and every one of you depends upon the preservation of the inviolability of due legal process, uninfluenced by any sort of pressure, official or unofficial——”
“One moment! I object!” interrupted O’Brion. “This harangue has nothing to do with the case!”
Babson took the hint. He had a feeling that things were not going just right and that, somehow or other, the old man was putting something over on him. The jury must not get the idea that Mr. Tutt was running the show.
“Confine yourself to the evidence, counselor.”
“Does Your Honor mean to suggest that I may not comment upon the constitutional guaranties under which this and every other defendant must be legally tried?”
“I merely said to confine yourself to the evidence.”
“I surely have the right to explain the rights for which our forefathers fought and died.”
“I will take care of all that!”
“I conceive it my duty to take care of it myself.”
Judge Babson drew in his lips.
“Proceed, counselor.”
Mr. Tutt turned again to the jury.
“Gentlemen, you are the sole judges of the evidence. While His Honor may comment upon the testimony, even he cannot substitute himself for you in determining what that testimony may or may not establish.”
Babson was narrowing his eyes.
“Much more, then, is it beyond the right of the district attorney to attempt to sway your judgment by innuendo, unfair emphasis, false construction or by official pressure.”
Bang! went the gavel. “That will be enough. It is within my judicial discretion to limit the speeches of counsel. Get off generalities. Come down to business.”
“Very good, Your Honor.... Then, gentlemen, if I am to come down to my business, let me but point out to you that the much-heralded fact that this defendant was indicted and brought to trial in the record time of fourteen days is not evidence of his guilt, nor the obvious intention of Mr. O’Brion to exclude every fact favorable to our side of the case and to attempt, by securing a conviction at any cost, to advance his own political fortunes.”
“I object!” bawled O’Brion.
“The galled jade will wince!” Mr. Tutt taunted him.
“Stop!” exclaimed the miserable Babson. “I will permit no more of this! The jury will pay no attention to statements of counsel.”
“If the court will not allow me to sum up my case in my own way——”
“You may, but within proper bounds!”
Mr. Tutt’s face froze.
“I cannot tell what Your Honor may regard as proper bounds,” he answered sternly. “Under the circumstances, I refuse to sum up this case, let the consequences be what they will!”
He sat down and bowed his face in his hands. Jury, spectators, court officers held their breath. Nothing like this had ever occurred in their experience.
Babson, not knowing what to do, decided to do nothing. Swallowing his wrath, he said: “Were this not a crucial moment in an important trial, I would deal with this incident in summary fashion. As it is, I shall not do anything which might prejudice the defendant’s interests. If his counsel does not see fit to go on—whatever his reasons may be—you may proceed with your summation, Mr. District Attorney.”
Caught off guard by being thus thrown unexpectedly into action, O’Brion hesitated as to what course to pursue. Curse the old shyster! He’d thrown a nut into the whole legal machinery; had managed to put both Babson and himself