“What I mean to do,” said Romer, “is this. I mean to take a pretty big responsibility upon my shoulders, but I guess I’m safe in doing so. I’m sure Mr. Orson would approve, if he were here; and as long as he isn’t here, I’m going to act on that assumption, and run the chances of getting his approval after the fact. The homicide that that woman committed—why, it was a clear case of self-defense. And what I’m going to take the responsibility of doing is this. I shall send down to the Tombs and have her brought up here—to my office—without a moment’s delay. While the officers are gone after her, I’ll run into court and speak privately to the judge. I’ll lay these facts before him, and tell him that we, the People, are convinced that it was a plain case of justifiable homicide; and I’ll ask him to let her withdraw her plea of guilty, and enter one of not guilty, right away. He can’t refuse, if I put it on that ground. I’ll ask him, moreover, as a personal favor to me, to have the court-room cleared of people, so that she? won’t be obliged to face the music again to-day, as she was yesterday. I can’t promise that he’ll agree to this; but it isn’t at all impossible. Well and good. I’ll make these arrangements before she arrives. When she does arrive, I’ll talk to her. You leave me to do the talking. Then we’ll go with her into the judge’s presence, and have her do what’s necessary there. And then, in your sight and in hers, so that all doubt on that score will be cleared away for good and all, I’ll nolle the indictment! That is to say, I’ll render the indictment null and void by indorsing upon it a nol. pros., together with a memorandum to the effect that the district-attorney is persuaded of the defendant’s innocence. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Hetzel, “I think I understand. And if you can only succeed in doing this, we—we’ll—” Hetzel’s voice broke. Before he was able to recover it, Romer had left the room.
Half an hour, or thereabouts, elapsed. Hetzel waited as patiently as he could—which is not saying much. Every five minutes, he had out his watch. It was nearly half past three when at last Romer reappeared.
“Well?” Hetzel made haste to inquire.
“Well,” said Romer, “congratulate me! The judge agrees to do every thing, just as I wished. At first he was disposed to hesitate. Then I read him that part where she describes the application of the torture. That finished him. They’re just winding up a larceny case at this moment. He’s on the point of sentencing the prisoner. After that’s over, he’ll have the court-room emptied, and be ready for us. She ought to get here any minute now, and—” Romer paused; for, at this moment, the door of his office opened, and Mrs. Ripley entered the room.
She halted just across the threshold, looked from Romer to Hetzel, bowed slightly to the latter, and then stood still in passive attendance.
Romer advanced toward her, and said, very gently, “I beg of you, Mrs. Ripley, to come in and sit down. I have something to say, and I shall thank you very much if you will listen. Sit down here in this easy-chair.—There.—Now, when you are ready, I’ll speak.”
“I am ready,” she said. Her voice was faint and weak. She leaned back in her chair, as though feeble and exhausted. Her face was intensely white—snow-white beneath its coronet of raven hair. There were large, dark circles under her eyes.
“Mrs. Ripley,” began Romer—then hesitated—then began anew, “Mrs. Ripley, I—that is, Mr. Hetzel—Mr. Hetzel has given me the letter you wrote him yesterday, and I have read it. I dare not trust myself to—to say what—to say any thing about it, more than this, that we—the district-attorney’s office—that we are sorry, very, very sorry for all that has happened—for all that you have been made to suffer these last few days, and that—that we are anxious to do every thing in our power to make amends. Of course I know we never can make amends in full. I know that. We can’t undo what has been done—can’t cure the pain that you’ve already had to bear. But—but we can spare you—we can save you from having to suffer any more pain, and—and then, you know, being ignorant of the real truth, as we were, it wasn’t altogether our fault, was it? No; the original fault lay with your lawyers, Short and Sondheim, when you were first tried, years ago. They—they ought to have been strung and quartered, because, if they had had you tell your story to the district-attorney then, and if you had told it in its completeness, as you have in this letter, why—why, nobody would have doubted your innocence for a moment, and you would have been spared no end of trouble and sorrow and mortification. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s too late to complain of Short and Sondheim. They have an inborn antipathy to the truth, and always fight as shy of it as they can. There’s no use raking up bygones. The point is now that we want to set you at liberty as quickly as possible. That’s the most we can do. We mean to nolle the indictment against you—which will be as complete an exoneration as an acquittal by a jury and an honorable discharge by a judge would be. That’s what we intend to do. But first—before we can do that—first, you know, you will have to untie our hands by withdrawing the plea that you put in yesterday, and by entering in place of it a plea of not guilty. Then you’ll be a free woman. Then you can go home with Mr. Hetzel, here, and rest assured that you’ll never be troubled any more about the matter.”
Ruth sat perfectly still in her chair. Her great, melancholy eyes were fixed upon the wall in front of her. She made no answer.