Juror 8 requests a diagram of the apartment to

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Juror # 8 requests a diagram of the apartment to investigate further: I'd like to find out if an old man who drags one foot when he walks, 'cause he had a stroke last year, can get from his bedroom to his front door in fifteen seconds. In the ensuing argument, Juror # 3 angrily blunders his way into another mis-statement - thereby affirming that the old man's testimony was probably suspect: Juror # 3: How does he know how long fifteen seconds is? You can't judge a thing like that. Juror # 9: He said fifteen seconds and he was very positive about it. Juror # 3: He was an old man. Half the time he was confused. How could he be positive about anything? A large cardboard diagram is brought into the room, illustrating both the layout of the old man's apartment below and the boy's apartment above, the 43 foot long hallway, and the door to the stairs. "It's 12 feet from the bed to the door, the hall is 43 feet" - a total of 55 feet to be traversed in only 15 seconds by the seventy-five year lame old man who recently had a stroke. Juror # 8 imitates the movements of the old man while Juror # 2 clocks them, demonstrating that it would have been impossible for the crippled witness to get to the door in 15 seconds - it would have taken him more like 41 seconds, almost three times longer. Juror # 8 summarizes the finding: The old man heard the fight between the boy and his father a few hours earlier. Then when he's lying in his bed, he heard a body hit the floor in the boy's apartment, heard the woman scream from across the street, got to his front door as fast as he could, heard somebody racing down the stairs, and assumed it was the boy. Juror # 3 castigates # 8 for twisting the testimony around to support the boy, and rails at everyone for being convinced of the boy's innocence. His threat to kill # 8 is recognized as a false one: Juror # 3: Assumed? Brother, I've seen all kinds of dishonesty in my day, but this little display takes the cake. You all come in here with your hearts bleeding all over the floor about slum kids and injustice. You listen to some fairy tales. Suddenly, you start getting through to some of these old ladies. Well, you're not getting through to me. I've had enough. (To everyone) What's the matter with you guys? You all know he's guilty. He's got to burn. You're letting him slip through our fingers. Juror # 8: Slip through our fingers? Are you his executioner? Juror # 3: I'm one of 'em. Juror # 8: Perhaps you'd like to pull the switch. Juror # 3: For this kid? You bet I would. Juror # 8: I feel sorry for you. What it must feel like to want to pull the switch! Ever since you walked into this room, you've been acting like a self-appointed public avenger. You want to see this boy die because you personally want it - not because of the facts. You're a sadist! (# 3 lunges at # 8 but is held back) Juror # 3: Let me go! I'll kill him! I'll kill him!

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