Hammer had no intention of dropping the case, hopeless as he felt the defense to be. Even defeat would be glorious, and loss profitable, for his connection with the defense would sound his name from one end of the state to the other.
“I wouldn’t desert you in the hour of your need, Joe, for anything they could name,” said Hammer, with significant suggestion.
His manner, more than his words, carried the impression that they had named sums, recognizing in him an insuperable 235 barrier to the state’s case, but that he had put his tempters aside with high-born scorn.
“Thank you,” said Joe.
“But if Missis Chase was mixed up in it any way, I want you to tell me, Joe,” he pressed.
Joe said nothing. He looked as stiff and hard as one of the iron hitching-posts in front of the court-house, thought Hammer, the side of his face turned to the lawyer, who measured it with quick eyes.
“Was she, Joe?” whispered Hammer, leaning forward, his face close to the bars.
“The coroner asked me that,” replied Joe, harshly.
This unyielding quality of his client was baffling to Hammer, who was of the opinion that a good fatherly kick might break the crust of his reserve. Hammer had guessed the answer according to his own thick reasoning, and not very pellucid morals.
“Well, if you take the stand, Joe, they’ll make you tell it then,” Hammer warned him. “You’d better tell me in advance, so I can advise you how much to say.”