III
The day of sentence came. Once more Jim found himself in the stifling court. He saw Monohan brought to the bar, and watched as he waited listlessly for those few terrible words. The Court listened with grim patience to the lawyer's perfunctory appeal for mercy, and then, as the latter concluded, addressed the prisoner with asperity.
"Richard Monohan, you have been justly convicted by a jury of your peers of robbery in the first degree. The circumstances are such as to entitle you to no sympathy from the Court. The evidence is so clear and positive, and the complainant's identification of you so perfect, that it would have been impossible for a jury to reach any other verdict. Under the law you might be punished by a term of twenty years, but I shall be merciful to you. The sentence of the Court is—" here the Judge adjusted his spectacles, and scribbled something in a book—"that you be confined in State Prison for a period of not less than ten nor more than fifteen years."
Monohan staggered and turned white.
The whole crowded court-room gasped aloud.
"Come on there!" growled the attendant to his prisoner. But suddenly there was a quick movement in the centre of the room, and a man sprang to his feet.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! There's been a mistake! You've convicted the wrong man! I stole that ring!"
"Keep your seats! Keep your seats!" bellowed the court officers as the spectators rose impulsively to their feet.
Those who had been present at the trial two days before were all positive now that they had never taken any stock in the old gentleman's identification.
"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain pounding vigorously with a paper-weight.