There was a sense of mystery in the air—a buzz and burr of whispers; a rustle of moving feet. The audience noticeably relaxed its implacable attitude toward the accused, eyed him with a different interest, seemed to feel for the first time that, after all, he was accused merely, and that his defense had not yet been heard. The prosecutor felt this subtle change; it lamed his periods.
“It is true, Your Honor, that no eye save God’s saw this guilty man do this deed; but the web of circumstantial evidence is so closely drawn, so far-reaching, so unanswerable, so damning, that no defense can avail him except the improbable, the impossible establishment of an alibi so complete, so convincing, as to satisfy even his bitterest enemy! We will ask you, Your Honor, when you have seen how fully the evidence bears out our every contention, to commit the prisoner, without bail, to answer the charge of robbery and attempted murder!”
Then, by the door, Jeff saw the girl start up. She swept down the aisle, radiant, brave, unfearing, resolute, all half-gods gone; she shone at him—proud, glowing, triumphant!
A hush fell upon the thrilled room. Jeff was on his feet, his hand held out to stay her; his eyes spoke to hers. She stopped as at a command. Scarcely slower, Billy was at her side. “Wait! Wait!” he whispered. “See what he has to say. There will be always time for that.” Jeff’s eyes held hers; she sank into an offered chair.
Cheated, disappointed, the court took breath again. Their dramatic moment had been nothing but their own nerves; their own excited imaginings had attached a pulse-fluttering significance to the flushed cheeks of a prying girl, seeking a better place to see and hear, to gratify her morbid curiosity.
Jeff turned to the bench.
“Your Honor, I have a perfectly good line of defense; and I trust no friend of mine will undertake to change it. I will keep you but a minute,” he said colloquially. “I will not waste your time combating the ingenious theory which the prosecution has built up, or in cross-examination of their witnesses, who, I feel sure”—here he bowed to the cloud of witnesses—“will testify only to the truth. I quite agree with my learned friend”—another graceful bow—“that the case he has so ably presented is so strong that it can successfully be rebutted only by an alibi so clear and so incontestable, as my learned friend has so aptly phrased it, as to convince if not satisfy ... my bitterest enemy!” The bow, the subtle, icy intonation, edged the words. The courtroom thrilled again at the unspoken thought: “An enemy hath done this thing!” If, in the stillness, the prisoner had quoted the words aloud in fierce denunciation, the effect could not have been different or more startling. “And that, Your Honor, is precisely what I propose to do!”
His Honor was puzzled. He was a good judge of men; and the prisoner’s face was not a bad face.
“But,” he objected, “you have refused to call any witnesses for the defense. Your unsupported word will count for nothing. You cannot prove an alibi alone.”
“Can’t I?” said Jeff. “Watch me!”