"No comparison between the principals," Warner said, "except age and
sex. You admire Joan? I don't, much. But there's an obvious parallel
between twentieth- and fifteenth-century attitudes toward the accused
maverick. Takes more than five hundred years for the human race to
learn anything important." His slow voice was acquiring a snarl. "You
know, T. J.--you know what the newspapers have been doing. Far as Welsh
is concerned, I don't care a fractionated brass-bound tinker's fart
whether she's held in contempt or not. I do care about keeping this
thing from turning into a witchcraft trial. I'm not sitting peaceful on
my fat ass, understand, while they turn my girl into a succubus."
Hunter said stiffly: "I think you could trust me to prevent any nonsense
of that kind." Warner studied him, dark eyes searching and sad in their
slightly yellowed and bloodshot fields of white. Hunter went on: "Your
hypothetical was a dilly, by the way. The defense introduces testimony
at this point? You want the State to pack up and go home?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Fine! You going to claim the Volkswagen wasn't there?"
Warner shook his head indifferently.
Mann said: "T. J., I still want your view, on Welsh. I'd be half minded
to throw the book, only I'm not sure Welsh is that important."
"Well, I don't think she is, Judge. But I'm sort of indifferent. The
facts of her testimony will remain with the jury, and that's all that
concerns me. The contempt thing--important to the Court, and to me as a
lawyer, but not so important to _People vs. Blake_."
"For a prosecutor," said Warner, "you're curiously frank, T. J. Now that
she's squeezed in her 'anything-in-pants' remark, you're content, you
can go fishing--that's what you're saying."
"Look here--"
Judge Mann struck the desk lightly with the flat of his hand. "Cecil, do
you have many more questions for her?"
"Not many, Judge. Ought to be done in a few minutes, before one o'clock
anyhow."
"Hope so--I'm unjudicially hungry and I'll be glad to see the last of
her. I'm not holding her in contempt, Cecil, unless she pulls another
one. It's not quite justified, I'm not even too sure of the ground,
and--" he rubbed out his cigarette, glancing at the somewhat frozen face
of T. J. Hunter--"I particularly don't want to make a martyr out of her.
Let's get back on the job."
Maud Welsh's rigid face told him the ten minutes of anticipation might
have been punishment enough. He had not intended that: merely a
courtroom happen-so. "Miss Welsh, contempt of court is a serious thing.
It must be, to preserve respect for law. For willfully disregarding the
instructions given you about limiting your answers and avoiding
prejudicial comments, you could, if this court so ordered, be severely
punished." _There she goes sniffling, and to some of the jury she'll
have the face of Mom._ "It is not the present intention of the Court to
hold you in contempt. You are being let off with a warning, for the last
time. Consider yourself fortunate. Mr. Warner?"
"Miss Welsh, I quote to you certain words: 'Assume a virtue if you have
it not.' Are those words familiar to you?"
Her streaked face glowing, perhaps with relief, Maud Welsh also looked
bewildered. "No--no, sir, I don't think so."
"Have you ever read Shakespeare's play _Hamlet_?"
"I'm sure we had it in school, but--" she smiled placatingly--"that's
quite a while. I never get the time to read much."
"Here are some other famous lines from the same source: 'Forgive me this
my virtue; for in the fatness of these pursy times virtue itself of vice
must pardon beg'--familiar?"
"That's what I heard C'lista say to her mother."
"Did you overhear anything else?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping, sir."
"You're not accused of it." Warner was speaking gently. "We're only
concerned with what you heard. Was there anything else?"
"Well, like I said, I heard Mrs. Chalmers crying."
"Can you be certain it wasn't her daughter you heard?"
"Yes. Their voices are mighty different."
"You had heard Mrs. Chalmers cry before?"
"Yes, sir, now and then."
"And Callista?"
"She never cried."
"Not even as a child, having tantrums?"
"No, she'd just go white and--walk away, or--is it all right to say
this?"
"Go ahead."
"Walk away, or sort of run away sometimes, I mean off into the woods or
like that, and practically have to be dragged home. I thought it
was--can I say this?--I don't want to say anything wrong, I--"
"Go ahead, Miss Welsh."
"Well, just--I thought it was real unnatural, that I never heard
Callista cry."
"No further questions."