nterview with Dr. Bernstein, professor of psychology at one of the
universities, who stated that he was by no means convinced of the
prisoner's guilt, and hinted that the alleged confession might have been
forced from him by the police, while in a hypnotic state. This theory,
belittling as it did their pet sensation, did not suit the policy of
the yellow press, so the learned professor at once became the target for
editorial attack.

The sensation grew in importance as the day for the trial approached.
All New York was agog with excitement. The handsome Jeffries mansion on
Riverside Drive was besieged by callers. The guides on the sight-seeing
coaches shouted through their megaphones:

"That's the house where the murderer of Robert Underwood lived."

The immediate vicinity of the house the day that the crime was made
public was thronged with curious people. The blinds of the house were
drawn down as if to shield the inmates from observation, but there were
several cabs in front of the main entrance and passers by stopped on the
sidewalk, pointing at the house. A number of newspaper men stood in a
group, gathering fresh material for the next edition. A reporter
approached rapidly from Broadway and joined his colleagues.

"Well, boys," he said cheerily. "Anything doing? Say, my paper is going
to have a bully story to-morrow! Complete account by Underwood's valet.
He tells how he caught the murderer just as he was escaping from the
apartment We'll have pictures and everything. It's fine. Anything doing
here?" he demanded.

"Naw," grunted the others in disgruntled tones.

"We saw the butler," said one reporter, "and tried to get a story from
him, but he flatly refused to talk. All he would say was that Howard
Jeffries was nothing to the family, that his father didn't care a straw
what became of him."

"That's pretty tough!" exclaimed another reporter. "He's his son, after
all."

"Oh, you don't know old Jeffries," chimed in a third. "When once he
makes up his mind you might as well try to move a house."

The afternoon was getting on; if their papers were to print anything
more that day they must hasten downtown.

"Let's make one more attempt to get a talk out of the old man,"
suggested one enterprising scribe.

"All right," cried the others in chorus. "You go ahead. We'll follow in
a body and back you up."

Passing through the front gate, they rang the bell, and after a brief
parley were admitted to the house.