“Truth!” The reporter’s laugh was loud and long and free enough to cause a dozen heads to turn. “Oh, what you’re going to learn before you get out of here! A hunt for truth, is it? Well, now, you get this straight: If that’s what you’re expecting to find here, you’ll save yourself a whole lot of bad minutes by taking the next train back to Philadelphia. Truth! I’m not running down murder trials from the point of view of interest, you understand. A really good one furnishes all the best points of a first-class dog fight and a highly superior cross-word puzzle, and that ought to be enough excitement for anyone. But if you think that the opposing counsel are honestly in pursuit of enlightenment——”
A clear high voice cut through the rustle and clatter like a knife.
“His Honour! His Honour the Court!” There was a mighty rustle of upheaval.
“Who’s that?” inquired a breathless voice at the reporter’s shoulder.
“That’s the tallest and nicest court crier in the United States of America. Name’s Ben Potts. Best falsetto voice outside the Russian Orthodox Church. Kindly notice the central hair part and spit curls. And here we have none other than His Honour himself, Judge Anthony Bristed Carver.”
“Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye!” chanted the court crier. “All those having business before this honourable court draw near, give your attention and you shall be heard!”
The tall figure in flowing black moved deliberately toward the chair on the dais, which immediately assumed the aspect of a throne. Judge Carver’s sleek iron-gray head and aquiline face were an adornment to any courtroom. He swept a pair of brilliant deep-set eyes over the room, seated himself, and reached for the gavel in one motion.
“And he’ll use it, too, believe you me,” murmured the reporter with conviction. “Sternest old guy on the bench.”
“Where are the prisoners—where do they come from?”
“The defendants, as they whimsically prefer to be called for the time being, come through that little door to the left of the judge’s room; that enormous red-faced, sandy-haired old duffer talking to the thin young man in the tortoise-shell glasses is Mrs. Ives’s counsel, Mr. Dudley Lambert; the begoggled one is Mr. Bellamy’s counsel, Harrison Clark.”