II

"Your witness, Mr. Hunter."

Edith Nolan thought with an edge of panic: _Is that all, Cecil?_ The Old

Man's face was saying a kind of good-bye to her, turning away, not

apparently displeased or disappointed--satisfied rather, so far as one

could hope to read a face that must also be presenting a front to the

gaze of the jury. But there was so much more that ought to have been

said! The intimate truths of personality, relation, individual quality,

that become no longer small once your vision is clear enough to separate

the general from the specific, to see the primary core of self and the

universe its matrix at one and the same time, neither too much

distorted. It seemed to Edith that she had hardly begun to talk to those

twelve, who were certainly not all dull, not all hostile.

Was there, for example, no way at all to explain that Callista had a

comic brown mole near her navel, that when she was absorbed in reading

her left forefinger twisted a black curl above her ear, always the same

curl, the same small motion--and that these facts, alone and of

themselves, were reasons as great, valid, finally convincing, as any of

the other reasons why she must not be slain?

Still it was not, ultimately, a question of explaining anything, of

offering facts to twelve other minds with the assumption that they could

view them as you did. They could not. If it isn't in nature for two

pairs of eyes ever to observe a simple physical object in quite the same

manner, how grotesque to expect twelve minds to agree, or even

approximate agreement, in the consideration of an abstract idea! What

was needed, she thought, was that twelve minds should learn (here and

now and very quickly) a type of humility in the face of the unknown that

even the strongest and best schooled intelligences found it hard to

achieve with study and leisure and every advantage of the past's

accumulated resources. Unknown indeed--these people knew nothing of

Callista Blake. They never could, in the nature of things, know much,

never acquire more than a brief distorted glimpse of her, and that under

conditions so outrageously far from the daily norm that her actual self

appeared to them as no more than the flicker of a shadow. The kindly and

badly troubled little man up there on the bench knew far more about her

than they did, simply because he was trained to observation and the

disciplines of independent thought; and he knew only a trifle. _How

little I know myself, or ever will know!_

She controlled her face to the semblance of tranquillity. The long-jawed

man had arrived with his athletic grace, a foot raised comfortably on

the platform that elevated the witness chair, his charcoal-gray suit

just right for the occasion, neat and grave like a uniform. At close

range, Edith noticed his expression was not particularly cold or severe.

His eyes were thoughtful, his features betrayed no ugly tension. What is

cruelty anyway, and how do you read it in another? It seemed to be

present like an occasional tic (but might not really be) in the vacuous

face of that oaf Hoag in the front row of the jury box. But in T. J.

Hunter? At the moment he looked like a solemn salesman about to give her

a well-spoken pitch, say on insurance or a middle-priced car.

"You would do virtually anything, would you not, for your friend

Callista Blake?"

"The best thing I can do for her is tell the truth about her and about

these events, so far as I know it, and that I've done."

"Your answer is not quite responsive, Miss Nolan."

"I think it is, but I'll be more specific if you wish. I would not

commit crimes for Callista Blake or any other friend, if only because in

the long run you do your friend no service that way--compounding wrong

things instead of lessening them. And I would not lie for her on any

important matter, because it happens the truth is best for her as well

as for me."

"That's quite a pragmatic attitude, isn't it?"

_My, the high intellectual plane!_ "Naturalistic might be a better word,

Mr. District Attorney, but pragmatic if you like. If an ethical

principle isn't at least theoretically practical in human affairs, I'd

rather leave it in the books."

"I see your point." _If only you did!_ "You wouldn't kill in defense of

Callista Blake?"

"Why, I might. If it's a clear case of protecting a friend's life, the

law generally calls it justifiable homicide, doesn't it?"

"But for you it would have to be a clear case, is that right? I mean,

you're referring to something on the level of shooting a burglar to

protect the household, something like that?"

"I suppose so. I've never encountered any situation like that, so I

really can't predict how I'd behave."

"Let me make sure I understand your position, Miss Nolan. You do not

believe in absolute ethical principles?"

"Before I can answer that I must have your personal definition of the

word 'absolute'."

"You must be familiar with the term, are you not?"

"Yes, but there would be at least five or six definitions of it in any

unabridged dictionary, and I can't know which one you have in mind

unless you tell me."

"Well, I had in mind the meaning which I think is generally used in

philosophical discussions: self-contained, self-dependent, ultimate, in

other words free from the limitations of human error, human perception."

"Thank you." _He is a shade tougher than I thought._ "In that case the

answer would have to be that ethical principles are human achievements,

human ways of thinking and acting, and I don't see how a human activity

can ever be free from the limitations of human error and human

perception."

"Very plausible. I see you've done quite a bit of thinking along these

lines. That is what you mean by what you called a--a naturalistic

attitude, I think that was your term?"

"In part, yes."

"Oh, there's more?"

"As a well-read man, Mr. Hunter, you must know that the conception of

naturalistic ethics is at least as old as Confucius, that libraries have

been filled with it, and that we could talk here on the subject until

the end of next year with a great deal left unsaid."

"Well, I'm afraid there might be a fatigue factor."

"There might indeed." _Was I quick enough to steal some of that applause

of witless laughter?_ "It would take quite a while just to find a little

agreement on definitions and first premises."

"Maybe." He looked downright friendly, she thought, until you noticed

the rigid watchfulness. His smile was comfortable; he probably felt that

the rumble of amusement was, on the whole, one for his side. It probably

was. She risked a glance toward the jury. Most of them looked puzzled,

but none really irritated except little Mr. Anson; Flint-face Fielding

seemed coldly interested, but whether in a favorable or hostile way

there was no telling. In Helen Butler Edith saw a tiny flicker, surely

friendliness, as their eyes met for an instant. It might mean

recognition and memory, but if Miss Butler had any thought of

disqualifying herself because of a trivial meeting months ago when they

had not even exchanged names, she would surely have done it already.

_Best not look at her again._ "I think, Miss Nolan, I'd better go back

to my original question. I gave you my definition of 'absolute,' you

remember, and you said--which sounded reasonable to me--that human

activity can't very well be free from human error. Now, may I take that

as a positive no to my earlier question: you do not believe in absolute

ethical principles?"

"Not quite, Mr. Hunter. Some ethical principles take on the apparent

quality of absolutes, or of universal law, simply because virtually all

the members of a society endorse them. In other words we act as if those

principles were absolutes, whether we can justify it logically or not.

So let me put it this way: I believe in following certain ethical

principles as strictly as though they had the nature of universal law,

so long as my own conscience, my own intelligence, can agree to it."

"I see. But that means, doesn't it, that your conscience is actually, to

you, the supreme judge?"

"In a sense it has to be."

"For example," said Judge Mann suddenly, and Edith turned to him feeling

as though he had reached out a hand to aid her in crossing slippery

rocks above a torrent--"for example, if an individual accepts the orders

or doctrines of an external authority, would you agree, Miss Nolan, that

his acceptance is itself an act of his own conscience, or will, or

intelligence?"

"Yes, your Honor, that expresses what I had in mind."

The Judge said: "In fact the individual can have no dealings, no contact

with ideas or doctrines or even with simple observation of the physical

world, unless there is first a positive action of his own intelligence.

Is this still in line with your thought, Miss Nolan?"

"Yes, your Honor."

"And--I'll be done in a moment, Mr. Hunter--and finally, would you

agree, Miss Nolan, that this decidedly elementary fact is often

overlooked in our everyday thinking, perhaps because it's so obvious

that we aren't willing to give it a second glance or work out its

implications?"

"I believe so. We accept the fact the way animals accept the air they

breathe, and with no more thought."

"Yes," said Judge Mann, his gaze leaving her, maybe reluctantly, as he

scribbled something on his note-pad, "life was breathing air a good many

million years before a fairly advanced science noticed that air was a

mixture of different gases, had weight and mass, other properties. Well,

go on, Mr. Hunter."

Edith thought: _Maybe that'll larn him._ And over there beside her

friend, the Old Man's dark eyes were watching, saying as plainly as eyes

could say it that he was pleased with her, and that he was profoundly

frightened.

"I've enjoyed this little excursion into philosophy, Miss Nolan, and I'm

glad his Honor lent us a hand with it--'way over my depth, I'm

afraid--but now I suppose we'd better get back to the facts. Well, one

thing first: am I right in supposing that in your view, this--this act

of acceptance, I think you called it, has to happen first before one is

even allowed to believe in a Supreme Being?"

She could not help glancing toward the Judge, who was watching the

prosecutor, coldly intent and unjudicially angry. The corner of her eye

gave her the solemn approving nod of the juror Emma Beales, the sudden

relaxation--_everything's all right, boys_--in the foreman Peter Anson.

She understood that Judge Mann was waiting for her. "Mr. Hunter, I also

enjoyed that excursion into philosophy, but unless the Court rules it's

relevant, I will not discuss my views on religion with you."

"They are not relevant to the case," said Judge Mann, "and the witness

is not required to answer."

Hunter nodded politely. "I've certainly no wish to press the point. But

may I ask--and by the way, I won't urge you to respond to this question

either if you'd rather not--may I ask, Miss Nolan, whether you're

willing to state the reasons for your refusal to answer?"

"Quite willing. Religion is a topic that too easily stirs up a lot of

emotion if there's any serious discussion or conflict of opinion. I

assume the members of the jury belong to more than one religious faith.

Some of them might share my views, others might be offended by them--I

can't tell. But since religion, so far as I can see, has absolutely

nothing to do with the guilt or innocence of my friend, I think it would

make no sense anyhow for me to get into the subject."

The Old Man over there nodded slightly, maybe a kind of cheering, a way

of saying his gal Red could take care of herself. _But can I?_

"That's reasonable," said T. J. Hunter almost affectionately. "You're

right it's a touchy topic, right also that it has no direct bearing on

the question of guilt or innocence; and I'm as anxious as you are to

avoid stirring up needless emotions or side issues. The only thing I do

wish I could get at along this line--my only reason for speaking of it

at all--well, Miss Nolan, if you have no unqualified belief in absolute

ethical principles, and if a question about belief in God is merely

distasteful to you, don't you think that might have some slight bearing

on your credibility as a witness in a murder trial?"

The Old Man was standing up, his voice slow in coming, slow-moving when

it came as if each word must force its way past an obstacle in his

throat: "Mr. Hunter, that is vicious and contemptible."

And before stage anger took control of the handsome mask with the shovel

chin, Edith glimpsed the fact that T. J. Hunter was at last genuinely

pleased about something. "I must ask you to watch your choice of

language, Counselor."

"No more of this," said Judge Mann. "The attention of both counsel,

please. Your question, Mr. Hunter, was entirely out of order, because it

implied that a person with independent views on religion has a lower

regard for the truth than others--an implication with no slightest basis

in fact or logic. From her answers, her manner, her educational

background, there is every reason to suppose that Miss Nolan has quite

as high a regard for the truth as anyone else who has testified in this

case. You will withdraw your question. Mr. Warner, your remark to the

prosecutor was ill-chosen and unparliamentary. It calls for an apology

to him, I think."