The Blind Goddess. Arthur Cheney Train

paper?”

      “I said a paper!”

      The threat had become apparent. The jury showed signs of interest.

      “Answer the question!” admonished the judge.

      “Yeh. I showed him a paper.”

      “What was it?”

      “A release.”

      “Let me see it!”

      “It’s in me coat.”

      “Get it!”

      Redmond looked slightly bored. The heart of the girl on the dais fluttered.

      “Is this paper material?” inquired Judge Barker. “If not—in the interest of time—why not ask him what was in it?”

      “The paper is very material.”

      “How can it be?”

      “I should prefer to bring that out in examination.”

      “Very well. Try your case in your own way.” The judge spoke impatiently, and the girl suddenly hated her father’s old friend. Dillon took the document and flung it open with a gesture of disgust.

      “Did you ask the defendant to sign this?”

      “Sure, I did!” retorted the witness aggressively.

      “It is a full release and acquittance to the gas company, is it not, for any damages he may have suffered through its negligence in occasioning the death of his wife and child!”

      The jury stiffened to a man.

      “Wha-a-at!” ejaculated Redmond. “Let me see it!”

      “You will have your chance!” retorted Dillon.

      “Well, what if it is?” sneered the witness.

      “May I see that paper, please?” requested the foreman.

      “One moment!”

      Dillon’s arm hovered over the witness like a flaming sword.

      “Is it not the fact—look at me!—is it not the fact that your company installed a defective stove in Renig’s flat, as a result of which his wife, who was going to have a child, became ill, and that he stole from the company in order to pay for a doctor to save her life? Is it not a fact that she and her three-day-old baby died from gas poisoning? And is it not the fact that you”—he choked in spite of himself—“that you tried to compel him to sign a release under threat that if he refused you would have him arrested for larceny?”

      He paused, his lips trembling.

      “Well, what if I did?”

      Life stopped in the court-room.

      “You cur!”

      The words cracked like a whip.

      “Bang!” went the judge’s gavel. “Mr. Dillon! Mr. Dillon! That is grossly improper! I must admonish you! I do admonish you!”

      “Oh!” moaned the woman on the front bench. “Oh! The poor baby!”

      “I beg the court’s pardon!” said Dillon. “I apologize for the word—but not for the thought behind it.”

      “I’ll show you whether I’m a cur or not!” snarled the chimpanzee, half rising from the chair.

      Redmond stepped quickly to the bench.

      “I had no idea—” he began in an undertone. “Fasset sent this case in from Part I, without my knowing anything about it. Rather a low trick of him! I suppose the complainant insisted on a trial. Of course the jury won’t convict, but technically there’s no defence. After all, this fellow Ganz was working for somebody else. He was only carrying out his orders. What would you suggest?”

      The judge’s scalp had turned a glistening crimson. He loathed being put in such a position.

      “Why do you bring cases before me until you have looked into their merits, Mr. Redmond?” he complained, yet with extreme politeness.

      “There was absolutely no time to examine the witnesses, judge! I had to send over to Part I for something to keep the court going. Otherwise our calendar would have broken down. You know how the press howls when that happens.”

      He smiled confidentially at the girl.

      “Well, you better finish it, I suppose!” muttered the judge uneasily. “Why doesn’t your office keep its eyes open? I hate these cases! The Grand Jury ought never to have indicted. Get through it the best way you can!”

      Dillon stood with his eyes fixed on the witness, who lowered back at him defiantly. Mr. O’Hara had entered the enclosure and had bent his head to that of the boy, who nodded.

      “One more question,” he said, resuming his examination. “When you made this proposition to Renig and he struck you—in your opinion was his act rational or irrational?”

      “Oh!—I must object! This witness isn’t an expert!” smiled Redmond. But he caught no answering gleam from the jury.

      “Allowed,” murmured the judge wearily.

      “I guess it was pretty irrational to crown me that way for nothing!”

      “That is all!”

      “That is all!”

      Redmond waved the unfortunate Ganz from the stand. The jury watched him menacingly as he made his way to the seat.

      Mr. O’Hara arose and addressed the court:

      “If Your Honor please,” he said, in a rich voice full of deep cadences, “we desire to withdraw our plea of not guilty heretofore entered by us, and to substitute for it the plea of not guilty on the ground of insanity.”

      “Insanity!”

      The judge stared at him as if the word had more relevancy to the conduct of the lawyer than to that of his client.

      “We plead insanity.”

      Mr. Dollar thrust his silver coiffure over the edge of the dais.

      “The Code allows them to do that, Yoronner.”

      “Very well,” said the judge uncertainly.

      Mr. Dollar sat down again, and the only sound in the court-room was the careful scratching of his pen. Presently he got up.

      “Paul Renig, you desire to withdraw the plea of not guilty heretofore entered by you, and to substitute the plea of not guilty on the ground of insanity?”

      “We do!” assented Mr. O’Hara.

      Mr. Dollar sat down.

      “Proceed, gentlemen.”

      Mr. O’Hara had wandered out of the court-room again.

      “The People rest,” said Redmond indifferently.

      “The defence rests,” returned Dillon.

      “Do you desire to sum up?” inquired the judge.

      “I see no need of saying anything further,” replied Dillon. “If the district attorney desires this case to go to the jury, I am willing to submit on Your Honor’s charge.”

      “That is entirely satisfactory to the People,” agreed his adversary.

      “Order in the court!”

      The judge pulled his silk robe about his shoulders, fumbled among the papers before him for his “Charge Book,” and, having looked up “Assault” in the index, read to the jury several ungrammatical and hopelessly confusing pages, then turned over to “Insanity” and proceeded to give them ten or twelve pages more, which no human mind could possibly make head or tail of, much less twelve well-meaning burghers drawn out by lot from