Every one expected that the jury would come into court with a verdict at the opening of the session on Tuesday morning. There was much difference of opinion, however, as to what that verdict would be.
But the morning hours went by and the jury still remained in their room. The constable who watched at the door shook his head and smiled when asked about the probability of an early agreement. No one seemed to know just how the jury stood.
Sharpman and his client had been greatly disheartened on Monday night, and had confessed as much to each other; but the longer the jury remained out the more hope they gathered. It was apparent that the verdict would not be rendered under the impulses of the moment; and that the jury were applying the principles of cold law and stern logic to the case, there seemed to be little doubt.
But, as a matter of fact, the jury were doing no such thing.
They believed, to a man, that Ralph had told the truth, and that such an event as he had described had actually taken place in Sharpman's office; and, notwithstanding the judge's charge, they were trying to harmonize Ralph's statement with the evidence of the witnesses who had corroborated Simon Craft's story. This led them into so many difficulties that they finally abandoned the effort, and the questions before them were gradually reduced to just one. That question was not whether Ralph was the son of Robert Burnham; but it was: which would be better for the boy, to decide in favor of the plaintiff or of the defendant. If they found for the plaintiff, they would throw the boy's fortune into the hands of Craft and Sharpman, where they feared the greater part of it would finally remain. If they found for the defendant, they would practically consign the lad to a life of homelessness and toil. It was to discuss and settle this question, therefore, that the jury remained locked up in their room through so many hours.
The day wore on and no verdict was rendered. Sharpman's spirits continued to rise, and Goodlaw feared that his case was lost.
At four o'clock the jury sent in word that they had agreed, and a few minutes later they filed into the court-room. When their verdict had been inspected by the judge it was given to the prothonotary to read. He faced the jury, saying:—
"Gentlemen of the jury, listen to your verdict as the court has it recorded. In the case wherein Simon Craft, guardian of the estate of Ralph Burnham, a minor, is plaintiff, and Margaret Burnham, administrator of the estate of Robert Burnham, deceased, is defendant, you say you find for the defendant, and that the boy Ralph is not the son of Robert Burnham. So say you all?"
The jury nodded assent, and the verdict was filed. That settled it.
Craft and Sharpman were beaten.
It was very strange that a solid truth, backed up by abundant and irreproachable evidence, presented under the strict rules of law and the solemn sanction of an oath, should be upset and shattered by a flimsy falsehood told by an unknown adventurer, heard unawares by a listening child, and denied a proper entrance into court. It was strange but it was very true. Yet in that ruin was involved one of the boldest schemes for legal plunder that was ever carried into the courts of Luzerne County.