Free Jealous Woman by James M. Cain Page B

met his tragic end, and that I had nothing more to tell them.”
    “You mean, other things have come to light since?”
    “I mean there was more.”
    “That you—withheld?”
    “I had to know my legal position first.”
    “In respect to?”
    “Self-destruction.”
    “I don’t quite understand you.”
    “In this country, what do we call it?”
    “Suicide, I suppose you mean.”
    “In England, only the insane commit suicide.”
    “I’m not following you at all.”
    “Others, and my husband was as sane as you are, commit felo de se , which under English law is a criminal act.”
    “Mrs. Sperry, we’re holding this inquest in America.”
    “The estate, however, will be settled in Bermuda.”
    “Is the estate involved, Mr. Lynch?”
    “I would say, yes.”
    “You mean the insurance, on a suicide clause?”
    “I’m not talking about insurance. There is no insurance, payable to Mrs. Sperry at any rate, that we know of. I’m not prepared to give an opinion at the drop of a hat as to how much the estate is involved under English law in a case where the deceased took his own life. All I know is, if the verdict here tonight is rendered that way, it is possible the estate will automatically become the estate of a criminal, which may be, for all I know, administered differently in England from the estate of other persons. And in the case of Mr. Richard Sperry, part of the estate will be copyrights on valuable technical works, which may be forfeited, as it is highly possible a criminal in England is not entitled to copyright. This is a field too tricky for an American attorney to make any impromptu assumptions about. I should like to say that as her counsel I have advised Mrs. Sperry she is not required to give, and in my opinion shouldn’t give, any evidence in regard to this, of any kind, for a wife cannot be compelled to testify to her husband’s crime—”
    “In this country it’s not a crime.”
    “Pardon me, it may be held, in the property jurisdiction, to be a crime.”
    “She is not compelled, naturally, to testify.”
    “But I’m going to testify.”
    “What is it you have to tell, Mrs. Sperry?”
    “I saw my husband leap to his death.”
    They’d been having it back and forth, not too hot, more or less friendly, and everybody was kind of interested, because all that English stuff was new to them, but now if a nest of hornets had been kicked over in the middle of the floor they couldn’t have set up a louder buzz than went around when she said that. The sergeant banged with his hand again, and they got quiet, but the quick way one of the reporters slipped out of the room, showed what a sensation it was. The coroner stared at her and said: “You were with him at the time? Contrary to what you told the police?”
    “I was where I told them I was. In my suite.”
    “Please continue, Mrs. Sperry.”
    “I was sitting by my window, very depressed.”
    “At—anything relevant to this case?”
    “At my husband’s talk about ending his life.”
    “He’d been talking that way?”
    “Often.”
    “Yes, but lately?”
    “That night.”
    “Did he have some reason?”
    “None, none at all.”
    “But there must have been something .”
    “He said, when we came upstairs after dinner, ‘It is a very curious thing. Here I am, a man to be envied. I am successful, I have been recognized generously by the country I claim as my own, I have a beautiful wife, I love her, I am loved in return. I have everything to live for. But your true suicide type finds his own reasons. The time will come when I’ll do this thing ... His reasons never made sense, at least to me. And yet, perhaps all the more for that reason, I felt he was warning me.”
    She took out her black handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and went on: “I don’t know how long I sat there. He had gone out some time before. A little before nine, as I recall. Then I noticed something above me. Above me and across from me, on the street side of the