On cross-examination the barber testified that Angelo had said: “You maka small of my wife long enough!”

“Ah!” murmured Mr. Tutt, waving an arm in the direction of Rosalina. Did the witness recognize the defendant's young wife? The jury showed interest and examined the sobbing Rosalina with approval. Yes, the witness recognized her. Did the witness know to what incident or incidents the defendant had referred by his remark-what the deceased Crocedoro had done to Rosalina-if anything? No, the witness did not. Mr. Tutt looked significantly at the row of faces in the jury box.

Then leaning forward he asked significantly: “Did you see Crocedoro threaten the defendant with his razor?”

“I object!” shouted O'Brien, springing to his feet. “The question is improper. There is no suggestion that Crocedoro did anything. The defendant can testify to that if he wants to!”

“Oh, let him answer!” drawled the judge.

“No-” began the witness.

“Ah!” cried Mr. Tutt. “You did not see Crocedoro threaten the defendant with his razor! That will do!”

But forewarned by this trifling experience, Mr. O'Brien induced the customer, the next witness, to swear that Crocedoro had not in fact made any move whatever with his razor toward Angelo, who had deliberately raised his pistol and shot him.

Mr. Tutt rose to the cross-examination with the same urbanity as before. Where was the witness standing? The witness said he wasn't standing. Well, where was he sitting, then? In the chair.

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt triumphantly. “Then you had your back to the shooting!”

In a moment O'Brien had the witness practically rescued by the explanation that he had seen the whole thing in the glass in front of him. The firm of Tutt &Tutt uttered in chorus a groan of outraged incredulity. Several jurymen were seen to wrinkle their foreheads in meditation. Mr. Tutt had sown a tiny-infinitesimally tiny, to be sure-seed of doubt, not as to the killing at all but as to the complete veracity of the witness.

And then O'Brien made his coup.

“Rosalina Serafino-take the witness stand!” he ordered.

He would get from her own lips the admission that she bought the pistol and gave it to Angelo!

But with an outburst of indignation that would have done credit to the elder Booth Mr. Tutt was immediately on his feet protesting against the outrage, the barbarity, the heartlessness, the illegality of making a wife testify against her husband! His eyes flashed, his disordered locks waved in picturesque synchronization with his impassioned gestures Rosalina, her beautiful golden cross rising and falling hysterically upon her bosom, took her seat in the witness chair like a frightened, furtive creature of the woods, gazed for one brief instant upon the twelve men in the jury box with those great black eyes of hers, and then with burning cheeks buried her face in her handkerchief.

“I protest against this piece of cruelty!” cried Mr. Tutt in a voice vibrating with indignation. “This is worthy of the Inquisition. Will not even the cross upon her breast protect her from being compelled to reveal those secrets that are sacred to wife and motherhood? Can the law thus indirectly tear the seal of confidence from the Confessional? Mr. O'Brien, you go too far! There are some things that even you-brilliant as you are-may not trifle with.”

A juryman nodded. The eleven others, being more intelligent, failed to understand what he was talking about.

“Mr. Tutt's objection is sound-if he wishes to press it,” remarked the judge satirically. “You may step down, madam. The law will not compel a wife to testify against her husband. Have you any more witnesses, Mister District Attorney?”

“The People rest,” said Mr. O'Brien. “The case is with the defense.”

Mr. Tutt rose with solemnity.

“The court will, I suppose, grant me a moment or two to confer with my client?” he inquired. Babson bowed and the jury saw the lawyer lean across the defendant and engage his partner in what seemed to be a weighty deliberation.

“I killa him! I say so!” muttered Angelo feebly to Mr. Tutt.

“Shut up, you fool!” hissed Tutt, grabbing him by the leg. “Keep still or I'll wring your neck.”

“If I could reach that old crook up on the bench I would twist his nose,” remarked Mr. Tutt to Tutt with an air of consulting him about the Year Books. “And as for that criminal O'Brien, I'll get him yet!”

With great dignity Mr. Tutt then rose and again addressed the court:

“We have decided under all the circumstances of this most extraordinary case, Your Honor, not to put in any defense. I shall not call the defendant-”

“I killa him-” began Angelo, breaking loose from Tutt and struggling to his feet. It was a horrible movement. But Tutt clapped his hand over Angelo's mouth and forced him back into his seat.

“The defense rests,” said Mr. Tutt, ignoring the interruption. “So far as we are concerned the case is closed.”

“Both sides rest!” snapped Babson. “How long do you want to sum up?”

Mr. Tutt looked at the clock, which pointed to three. The regular hour of adjournment was at four. Delay was everything in a case like this. A juryman might die suddenly overnight or fall grievously ill; or some legal accident might occur which would necessitate declaring a mistrial. There is, always hope in a criminal case so long as the verdict has not actually been returned and the jury polled and discharged. If possible he must drag his summing up over until the following day. Something might happen.

“About two hours, Your Honor,” he replied.

The jury stirred impatiently. It was clear that they regarded a two-hour speech from him under the circumstances as an imposition. But Babson wished to preserve the fiction of impartiality.

“Very well,” said he. “You may sum up until four-thirty, and have half an hour more to-morrow morning. See that the doors are closed, Captain Phelan. We do not want any interruption while the summations are going on.”

“All out that's goin' out! Everybody out that's got no business, with the court!” bellowed Captain Phelan.

Mr. Tutt with an ominous heightening of the pulse realized that the real ordeal was at last at hand, for the closing of the case had wrought in the old lawyer an instant metamorphosis. With the words “The defense rests” every suggestion of the mountebank, the actor or the shyster had vanished. The awful responsibility under which he labored; the overwhelming and damning evidence against his client; the terrible consequences of the least mistake that he might make; the fact that only the sword of his ability, and his alone, stood between Angelo and a hideous death by fire in the electric chair-sobered and chastened him. Had he been a praying man in that moment he would have prayed-but he was not.

For his client was foredoomed-foredoomed not only by justice but also by trickery and guile-and was being driven slowly but surely towards the judicial shambles. For what had he succeeded in adducing in his behalf? Nothing but the purely apocryphal speculation that the dead barber might have threatened Angelo with his razor and that the witnesses might possibly have drawn somewhat upon their imaginations in giving the details of their testimony. A sorry defense! Indeed, no defense at all. All the sorrier in that he had not even been able to get before the jury the purely sentimental excuses for the homicide, for he could only do this by calling Rosalina to the stand, which would have enabled the prosecution to cross-examine her in regard to the purchase of the pistol and the delivery of it to her husband-the strongest evidence of premeditation. Yet he must find some argument, some plea, some thread of reason upon which the jury might hang a disagreement or a verdict in a lesser degree.

With a shuffling of feet the last of the crowd pushed through the big oak doors and they were closed and locked. An officer brought a corroded tumbler of brackish water and placed it in front of Mr. Tutt. The judge leaned forward with malicious courtesy. The jury settled themselves and turned toward the lawyer attentively yet defiantly, hardening their hearts already against his expected appeals to sentiment. O'Brien, ostentatiously producing a cigarette, lounged out through the side door leading to the jury room and prison cells. The clerk began copying his records. The clock ticked loudly.