The jury returned after many hours, and the foreman arose. "Your Honor, we have deliberated this case and find that our decision requires explanation. Suicide we reason, is self-murder. Since suicide requires a certain amount of planning and contemplation, we find the defendant guilty on all charges including Murder in the First Degree!"
The roar of the spectators covered up the judge's words, but Harry Foster heard him pronounce the fatal words.
Tim Woodart turned the key in Jenny Foster's apartment, shoved the door open and stood aside to let her enter. Once in the dim living room, she turned and buried her head in Tim's shoulder.
He held her close and stroked her head with one hand. Over her head he saw the clock on the wall, it registered midnight. "Easy," he said softly. "It's all—over."
She nodded, too filled with emotion and relief to speak.
Then as the sweep-hand crept past the instant of midnight, a sardonic voice came from the easy-chair.
"A very pretty scene."
Jenny whirled, her face white. "Harry!" she said with a quavering voice.
As Tim faced Foster he asked Jenny to call Lieutenant Miller.
Foster laughed again. "Call him," he jeered. "And remember that the Law of the Land makes it impossible for me to be placed in double jeopardy!"