Ben Potts’s high, clear voice pulled them abruptly to their feet. “The Court!”
Through the little door behind the dais came the tall figure of Judge Carver, his spacious silks folding him in dignity—rather a splendid figure. The jury, the counsel, the defendants—Mrs. Ives was wearing the same hat . . .
“Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! All those having business before this honourable court draw near, give your attention, and you shall be heard!”
The clear singsong was drowned in the rustle of those in the courtroom sinking back into their seats.
“Is Mr. Conroy in court?”
“Mr. Herbert Conroy!” intoned the crier.
All heads turned to watch the small spare figure hurrying down the aisle toward the witness box.
“You do solemnly swear that the testimony that you shall give to the court and jury in this case now on trial shall be truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
Mr. Conroy’s faded blue eyes darted about him quietly as he mounted the stand, as though he were looking for a way out.