"Come up to my room. Mother might come in here and—I suppose—you have come about— I—Is—? You say you are for the prosecution. Have they traced the cloak to me?"
The lawyer stepped back again and looked at the man before him. What could he mean by saying such a thing as that—to him? They had never been close friends, but now in spite of everything the thought that he was the prosecutor kept itself steadily in the attorney's mind and struggled with a pity and reluctance that were seeking to justify him by a belief in the insanity of young Banks.
No one but a lunatic would have made that last remark. The thought was a relief. He grasped at it eagerly and began to fashion his mental outlook to fit the idea. Then suddenly came to him with overwhelming force all he had ever heard or read of the failure of justice where criminals of high degree were concerned.
He had followed his host to the stairs. Suddenly he turned, caught up his hat from the stand where he had left it, and passed out of the street door without a word. Once in the street he glanced involuntarily up at the house. At the window of the room he had just left stood Walter Banks. His arm was about his mother's shoulders, and both were very pale. There was a strange likeness between them.
III.
Every conceivable form of pressure to prevent the trial of Walter Banks was brought to bear in the next few weeks; but Prosecutor Mathews had pushed the case vigorously in spite of it all. He felt not only that justice was at stake, but that his own moral fibre was in pawn, as well. He held aloof from his social friends—who were in many cases the friends of the accused, also—lest he lose sight of his duty through some fresh or new form of attack upon his integrity of purpose.
It had come to his knowledge that even the Judge who was to sit in the case had been approached by the friends of the defendant, and it was felt that it would be difficult to impanel a jury that would or could be fair and impartial.
If but one man was drawn from the "upper class," the jury would be sure to hang. On the other hand, if all of the talesmen were chosen from that social caste which feels that it is usually the victim, it would go hard with Walter Banks even if he were able—as seemed wholly unlikely—to show a reasonably clear case in his favor.
The day came. The court-room held an unusual audience. There were many ladies present who had never before seen the inside of such a room. They held their breath and were filled with awe and fear—of they knew not what.