“We have, your honor. It sets forth that the defendant is being held in custody by virtue of a warrant for his arrest for first-degree murder issued in the State of California. Extradition proceedings are being taken, and we expect at any moment to have the requisition flown to Phoenix by plane, and have a writ of extradition issued by the governor of Arizona. I believe I am safe in assuming that this will be done within a matter of hours.”

“And that is the only reason that the defendant is being held?” Judge Oliphant asked.

“Yes, your honor.”

“There is no doubt as to the identity of the defendant?”

“No, your honor.”

“Very well, put on your evidence.”

The district attorney called the sheriff. The sheriff related the circumstances of my arrest. He called the court stenographer, and the stenographer read my statement into evidence.

Judge Oliphant looked down at me rather kindly. “I think,” he said, “that this is enough proof. You seem, Mr. Lam, to have confessed to what may or may not be first-degree murder. At any rate, it is homicide. The question of degree, the malice, and the amount of premeditation will have to be determined by the California courts. But it is apparent to this court that you are guilty of either first- or second-degree murder. It is, therefore—”

Thanks to the activities of the grievance committee, most of my legal experience had consisted of following involved legal doctrines through the intricacies of a law library. My courtroom experience had been very limited, and my knees were rather wobbly as I got to my feet. But I was mad enough to keep my voice from quavering as I interrupted him.

“Is it the custom, your honor, to decide a case before the petitioner has had an opportunity to make any showing?” I asked.

He frowned, and said, “I was trying to be easy on you. Go ahead and put on your case if you want to. You’ll just give the California authorities more— I think you should have a lawyer, Mr. Lam.”

“I don’t want any lawyer,” I said, and called the officer who had taken me to Yuma as my first witness.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Claude Flinton.”

“You are an officer of this state?”

“Yes.”

“And you brought me to Yuma?”

“That’s right.”

“From where?”

“From El Centro.”

“Did I leave El Centro voluntarily?”

He laughed and said, “You did not. The sheriff of El Centro and I dragged you out and put you in a car, and it was a hot job.”

“Under what authority?”

“Because I had a writ of extradition and a warrant of arrest on a felony embezzlement charge with a count of obtaining property under false pretenses.”

“What did you do with me?”

“Took you back to Arizona and lodged you here in jail in Yuma.”

“Did I accompany you of my own free will?”

He grinned and said, “You did not.”