‘That doesn’t sound like guilt,’ he said, with emphasis. ‘May I see that paper? Perhaps it has some other things which we have forgotten.’
‘Certainly, sir. But I don’t know whether we ought to be reading this,’ hazarded its owner, handing the slip across.
‘Why not? We’re only doing it to refresh our memory.’
This reply was again felt to be worthy of its author. It had a fine flavour of legality about it too, which gave confidence to the other jurymen. They realized that they were fortunate in their foreman.
That gentleman meanwhile proceeded to glance down the document before him. Presently he stopped, frowned, pursed up his lips, and breathed a stern sigh. The others watched with anxiety. He proceeded to enlighten them.
‘Gentlemen, listen to this, and tell me what effect it has on your minds. Sergeant Evans said, “I arrested the prisoner on the morning of the second. I told her she was charged with the wilful murder of Ann Elizabeth Lewis. She turned pale and said, ‘It is impossible.’ I cautioned her. She said nothing more, and shed no tears.” Gentlemen, is that like innocence?’
He laid down the paper. The prisoner’s doom was sealed. The waverers among the jury went over at once, and even the friends of the prisoner no longer dared to hold out. The tailor would have resisted if he had dared, but his sense of social inferiority was too much for him. What was he, a humble little tradesman, to set himself against eleven men, headed by a wealthy contractor who wore three spade guineas on his watch-chain?
Then a solemn awe settled down over the faces of the twelve men. They did not hesitate in doing what they believed was their duty, but they felt some natural horror of the result. At last the foreman said:
‘Gentlemen, are we all agreed?’
And, as there was no reply, he led them back into court.