A part of his speech is worthy of being quoted, and I give it _verbatim_:

"This case has aroused the interest of the entire community. Prior to the beginning of this trial the people, having heard but the distorted reports of the evidence against our client, were wondering what the defence was to be. I do not mind confiding to you now that we, the counsel for the defence, wondered also. It had been told in the newspapers, that Dr. Meredith, one of the attending physicians, had suspected morphine poisoning, before the death of Miss Sloane. We were informed that the autopsy, made by most eminent and skilful pathologists, had revealed evidences of this deadly drug. We heard later, that the chemical a.n.a.lysis had proven the actual presence of the poison itself. What defence could we rely upon to refute such d.a.m.ning evidence as that? We were in a quandary. We went to our client and revealed to him the gravity of his position, and we begged him to suggest some way out of the dilemma. What was his reply? Gentlemen of the jury, he said to me: 'I cannot invent any defence. I would not if I could. I would not accept my life, or my liberty, by means of any trick. But I know that I am innocent. Moreover, as a member of the medical profession, and as an acquaintance of the experts who have been at work for the prosecution, I rely upon their integrity and skill, to discover the true secret of this death, which was as shocking to me, as to the community.' Thus we were told by our client to formulate no defence in advance, but to wait for the evidence of the prosecution's expert witnesses, and from the very source from which conviction would be expected, he bade us pluck his deliverance.

At the time, it seemed to us a hazardous dependence, but, gentlemen of the jury, it has proven better than we had reason to expect, for it will be upon the testimony of the prosecution's witnesses, almost exclusively, that we will look to you for an acquittal. In evidence of what I have told you, I will ask you to recall the testimony of the first witness, Dr. Meredith. He claimed that the characteristic symptoms of morphine poisoning could alone indicate that death had been due to morphine. Then you will remember that my a.s.sociate, in cross-examination, formulated a hypothetical question in which he asked if it would not be possible for a patient dying of diphtheria to take morphine, and whilst exhibiting symptoms of that drug, still to die of diphtheria. I submit it to you, gentlemen, was not the hypothesis suggested by that question an ingenious one? I think so, and as such I think that my a.s.sociate is ent.i.tled to credit. But, gentlemen, it was the invention of a lawyer, conscientiously seeking for a loophole of escape for his client; it was not the true, the only proper, defence in this case. And it is this that explains the fact that the question has not been propounded to the other experts. It was, nevertheless, a shrewd guess on the part of Mr. Bliss, though being only the guess of a lawyer groping blindly amidst the secrets of medicine, it does not include the whole truth. But now, our defence has been made plain, illuminated, as it were, by the statements of the experts, who have testified, until even the minds of plain lawyers, like myself and my a.s.sociate, have grasped it. Then, and not until then, did our client give us information, which he will repeat to you presently, and which corroborates the view which we shall ask you to accept. The simple facts in this case are: Miss Sloane suffered terribly from Bright's disease, until through pain she was driven to take morphine, finally becoming addicted to it. Then came the attack of diphtheria, throughout which Dr. Medjora nursed her, procuring skilled physicians, and a competent nurse, until the arrival of the tragic day which ended her life. When the doctors believed that the worst phase of diphtheria had pa.s.sed, but when, as you have heard, she was still in danger from exhaustion, she experienced a severe attack of pain caused by the Bright's disease, and to relieve that, morphine was given as you shall hear. That night she died, whether of exhaustion from diphtheria, or whether, because of Bright's disease, morphine had been stored up in her system, until a fatal dose had acc.u.mulated, none of us will ever know. But that is immaterial, for in either case, she died a natural death, and thus our client is entirely blameless in this whole affair. The Doctor will now take the stand in his own behalf."

Dr. Medjora did as he was bidden by his counsel, and thus became the cynosure of all eyes. Mr. Dudley took his seat and Mr. Bliss conducted the examination.

"Dr. Medjora," he began, "will you please state what relation you bore to the deceased, Miss Mabel Sloane?"

"She was my wife!" he replied, thus producing a startling sensation at the very outset.

"When were you married, and by whom?"

"We were married in Newark, by the Rev. Dr. Magnus, on the exact day upon which Miss Sloane parted from her mother and left her home in Orange. The precise date can be seen upon the certificate of marriage."

Mr. Bliss produced a marriage certificate, which was admitted, and identified by Dr. Medjora, Mr. Bliss explaining that the clergyman who had signed it would appear later and testify to the validity of the doc.u.ment.

"Did you and your wife live together after marriage?"

"Yes. For more than a year. Then I had occasion to go to Europe for several months, and she went to live at the Twenty-sixth Street house."

"How was it that at that place she pa.s.sed as a single woman?"

"Because before I went away, I took from her the marriage certificate, and her wedding-ring. I then instructed her to keep our marriage a secret, threatening to abandon her if she did not obey me."

"What explanation have you to make of such conduct?"

"Shortly after our marriage, I discovered that my wife was afflicted with Bright's disease, for which I treated her with much apparent success. Unfortunately, however, previous to our marriage, she had become addicted to the use of morphine for relief until she had almost become an _habitue_. I used every effort to cure her, and thought that I had succeeded, when, just before my departure for Europe, I found her one day with morphine tablets and a new hypodermic needle, in the act of administering the drug. In despair I simulated great rage, took away her marriage certificate and ring, and threatened that if during my absence she should use the drug, I would never acknowledge her as my wife. Thus, my apparent cruelty was intended as a kindness. I knew that she loved me, even more than she did morphine, and I hoped to compel her to abandon the drug, by causing her to fear the loss of her love."

"Did you take any further steps for her safety!"

"Yes. I confided her secret, and mine, to a dear friend and skilful physician, who promised to watch over her, and shield her from pain or other harm during my absence."

"Will you state who this friend is?"

"Was, you mean. He no longer is my friend, if he ever was. He proved himself to be a traitor to friendship, for he tried to alienate my wife's affections from me, in which, however, he failed utterly. That man was Dr. Meredith, the false friend who charged me with this crime."

Here was a sensation so entirely unexpected, and the situation became so intense, that people held their breaths, awed into silence. Dr.

Meredith, who was in court, held his eyes down and gazed steadfastly at a knot in the floor, whilst those nearest to him saw that he trembled violently. Mr. Bliss, quick to recognize that his client was making a most favorable impression, with true dramatic instinct, paused some time before continuing. Finally he asked:

"Then Dr. Meredith knew that Miss Sloane was your wife?"

"He did."

"Also that she was addicted to morphine?"

"I told him so myself."

"That she had Bright's disease?"

"Yes."

"How soon after your return did you learn that he had been too attentive to your wife?"

"I must object, your Honor," interjected Mr. Munson. "Counsel is again endeavoring to impeach our witness, and I must once more maintain that it is too late to do so."

"The question is allowed," replied the Recorder.

"But, your Honor," persisted Mr. Munson, "you ruled yesterday that questions of this nature could not be asked."

"I know very well what I ruled, Mr. Munson," said the Recorder, sharply. "You objected yesterday to evidence against Dr. Meredith's ability as a physician, and I sustained you. This is a different matter. As I understand it, counsel is now endeavoring to show that Dr. Meredith was a prejudiced witness. I shall allow the fullest lat.i.tude in that direction."

"We thank you very much, your Honor," said Mr. Bliss, and then turned to his client saying: "Please answer my question."

"I knew of it before I returned. In fact, it was because of letters from my wife, complaining of this man, that I shortened my trip abroad."

"What happened between you after your return?"

"I charged him with his unfaithfulness to his trust, and we quarrelled. Had he been a larger man, I should have thrashed him!"

"Was it after this that you attacked one of his papers in debate?"

"Yes, immediately afterwards. In fact I think that the quarrel between us had much to do with it. He must have been in a very disturbed frame of mind, to have written such a blundering thesis, for ordinarily he is a skilful physician."

"Then, on the whole, Dr. Meredith was inaccurate when he said that you and he are not enemies?"

"He simply lied."

"You must not use such language," said the Recorder, quickly.

"I must apologize to your Honor," replied Dr. Medjora. "But when I think of what this man has done to me, it is difficult to control myself."

"But you must control yourself," said the Recorder.

"Now, then, Doctor," said Mr. Bliss, "please tell us of your acquaintance with your wife prior to marriage." Thereafter Mr. Bliss always spoke of the dead girl as the wife, thus forcing that fact upon the attention of the jury. Dr. Medjora replied:

"I met my wife when she was scarcely more than a school-girl, and I became interested in her because, as her mother hinted, she was above her people, being far superior to them in intelligence and demeanor. I cannot say when my friendship increased to a warmer feeling, but I think that I first became aware of it, by seeing her mother beat her!"

"You saw your wife's mother beat her, you say?"

"I called one evening, without previous warning, and the door of the cottage being open, I felt privileged to walk in. I saw the girl down on her knees, before the mother, who held her by the hair with one hand, whilst she struck her in the face with the other."

"Did you interfere?"

"I was much enraged at the cruel exhibition, and I took the girl from her mother forcibly. After that I went to the house oftener, and we became more closely attached to one another. The mother never spoke civilly to me after that occurrence."

"Mrs. Sloane testified that she had had a quarrel with her daughter, shortly after which she disappeared. What do you know of that?"

"Mabel wrote to me that her mother had again undertaken to beat her. I use the word advisedly, because it was not a chastis.e.m.e.nt such as a parent may be privileged to indulge in. Mrs. Sloane would strike her daughter with her fists, bruising her face, neck, and body. Besides, Mabel was no longer a child. When I heard this, I sent a message instructing Mabel to meet me in Newark. There we were married."