"When you were talking, I put up ten dollars with a chap back there in
the court-room that Challoner'd go free."
"Not in a thousand years!" declared Thorne, flatly.
"I'm afraid you're right," said Broderick, and added with a twinkle in
his eye: "I hate to lose that ten. Still if I do lose it, it'll be
tougher for Challoner and her--" he jerked his head toward Mrs.
Challoner at the other end of the table--"than it will be for me. Oh,
well, such is life! The world is full of the wives of criminals, and
they all marry again and have children and live happily ever after."
Once more, he glanced in the direction of Miriam Challoner, and
presently commented in a low voice:--
"There's a plucky little woman, Thorne; nothin' can feaze her. I've been
watchin' her; and she's just as sure of that jury as I am of my own
assembly district after it has gone through my trousers pockets the
night before election." And clapping Thorne on the shoulder familiarly,
he took his departure, saying:--
"I'll be back to hear the verdict."
* * * * *
It was nearly two o'clock. The Court had charged the jury; the jury had
filed out; they were still locked up in the jury-room. The crowd had
left the court-room, Challoner had been taken down-stairs, Pemmican had
been housed in jail under the gambling warrants; only Thorne, Miriam and
Shirley remained.
"Wasn't that a terrible arraignment of Prosecutor Murgatroyd!" exclaimed
Shirley. "When he faced Laurie and told him what he thought of him--it
was simply awful!" and the girl covered her face with her hands as if to
shut out the sight of it all.
"Why, Shirley," said Miriam quietly, "it's a prosecutor's business to
say these things about a prisoner. It's all in a day's work, isn't it,
Mr. Thorne?" And she smiled faintly.
Thorne was about to speak when a uniformed attendant suddenly entered at
one door and swung across the court-room to another. In passing, he
called to Thorne:--
"The jury has agreed!" He disappeared in the direction of the
prosecutor's private office.
A moment later another court-officer strode toward the judge's private
chambers, and likewise announced in passing:--
"The jury's coming in!"
Thorne looked cheerful, by way of encouragement to the women. Shirley
blanched, her lips whitened, she trembled from head to foot; but Thorne
noted that Miriam's eyes only grew brighter; she concealed her agitation
well.
"It will all be over in a minute now," Miriam exclaimed joyfully, "and
he'll be free, free!"
Without, within, everywhere was bustle, expectation. The crowd filed
back into the court-room; Murgatroyd came in from his private office;
the Court took its seat upon the bench; and then just as Broderick
waddled in, the barred door in the far corner opened, and Challoner, as
though in a daze, walked down the aisle, an officer in front and one
behind him. The clerk glanced about him to see that all was in
readiness, and then nodding to an officer, he said:--
"Bring 'em in!"
A minute that seemed minutes elapsed, and then the jury filed in--a jury
whose faces, whose demeanour told nothing, gave no sign. Then there was
an interval of silence, and in that interval a cutting pang seized upon
the soul of every human present--the agony of suspense, the travail that
precedes the birth of a verdict.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said the clerk rapidly, "have you agreed upon
your verdict?"
"We have," came in chorus.
"Who do you say shall answer for you?"
The eleven men pointed toward their foreman.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said the clerk, "look upon the prisoner;
prisoner, look upon the jury. Gentlemen of the jury, how do you say you
find--guilty or not guilty?"
The foreman glanced upon the piece of paper which he held in his left
hand and gripped the rail before him with his right.
"Guilty," he replied.
"What's that?" exclaimed Graham Thorne in affected astonishment.
"What?" came from Miriam Challoner shrilly; and the next moment all the
colour had left her face; she was pale as death.
"Guilty, your Honour," repeated the foreman in a louder tone.
"Guilty of what?" queried the Court impatiently.
"Of murder in the first degree," answered the jury as one man.
"Gentlemen of the jury, your verdict is guilty of murder in the first
degree, and so say all of you?" reeled off the clerk, looking at his
minutes.
They nodded.
"You are discharged, gentlemen, with the thanks of the Court," announced
the Court with approval. "Be here to-morrow morning at ten o'clock."
Meanwhile Challoner sat sullen, desperate, his chin resting on his hand,
glaring into space. Around him was confusion, expostulation. The
spectators were pressing forward toward the rail to get another look at
the accused, while the jury was passing out. All of a sudden the sound
of buzzing whispers died down and was followed in a moment by an
intenser silence. There was a stir among those in the front seats, and
the judge, looking up, was surprised to see that it was caused by the
defendant's wife, who had moved from her place and was making her way to
the prosecutor's desk, determination standing out on her countenance.
Immediately all eyes were fixed on her, as she placed her hand upon
Murgatroyd's arm, and looking him full in the face, exclaimed
hysterically:--
"They found him guilty--guilty, do you understand? What have you got to
say?"
Murgatroyd looked at her, but he did not answer. Her grasp became a
clutch as she repeated:--
"What have you got to say to me? Speak!"
Murgatroyd was imperturbable.