They knew that he meant what he said, so they went back to their chairs chagrined, disgusted, biting their nails, striving vainly to work out a solution to the puzzle. It was the coroner's clerk who created a diversion.
"The jury is ready to report, sir," he announced.
"Very well; bring them out," and the jurymen filed slowly back to their seats. I gazed at each face, and cursed the inexpressiveness of the human countenance.
"Have you arrived at a verdict, gentlemen?" asked the coroner.
"We have, sir," answered one of them, and handed a paper to the clerk.
"Is this your verdict, gentlemen?" asked the coroner. "Do you all concur in it?"
They answered in the affirmative as their names were called.
"The clerk will read the verdict," said Goldberg.
Julius stood up and cleared his throat.
"We, the jury," he read, "impaneled in the case of Hiram W. Holladay, deceased, do find that he came to his death from a stab wound in the neck, inflicted by a pen-knife in the hands of a person or persons unknown."