“It is not a question of Which or of What,” said Shacabac, severely, “but of How. In what way do the misguided infidels of your country treat their desperate criminals? for I suppose that not all of them are permitted to escape justice, and flee to more blessed lands, wherein they are enabled to despoil the followers of the Prophet.”
“In grave cases,” said the stranger, after a moment’s reflection, “when the accused has neither friends nor money nor influence, he is subjected to preliminary torture at the hands of what we call the Interviewers. Often he is present in person during the ordeal; but that is largely optional with him, and wholly so with them. In practice it has been found that the most satisfactory interviews are conducted in the absence of the subject. It is a matter of taste and convenience. The real ordeal begins when the prisoner is subjected to the Process of Lor.”
“And what is that?” asked Kayenna and Shacabac, as with one breath.
“It is a complicated process,” was the answer, “but highly instructive. In the first place, the judge, or Cadi, as you would call him, orders twelve men, who know nothing about the case,—otherwise they would not be selected,—to be arrested and imprisoned until the guilt or innocence of the accused can be established. Absolute ignorance of the question is the prime essential governing the selection of the twelve; but total ignorance of everything constitutes the ideal qualification of what we call a ‘juror.’ The less the jurors know or are capable of knowing, the greater the probability that they will speedily agree upon a verdict. It is a very wise and ancient provision of Lor,” added the stranger, reverently; “for, if it were something foolish and new-fangled, it would seem impossible that any twelve men of intelligence could agree unanimously upon a question so intricate as those which are usually brought before our juries. Happily, however, the jurors are not supposed to be intelligent; and, consequently, they nearly always agree upon a matter concerning which any two of them would scarcely be found in accord outside of the sacred jury-room.”
“But, when they have agreed,” interposed Kayenna, who had a mind for things concrete, “what happens to the criminal?”
“Oh, the criminal!” responded the stranger: “he is put under restraint at the beginning of the proceedings, as are the witnesses also, if there be any; but that depends upon whether or not they be able to furnish securities for their appearance in court.”
“It is a strange system, this administration of Lor, as you call it,” said Kayenna, not without some suspicion that the stranger was indulging in romance; “but tell me in a word, does it never punish anybody?”
“Does it?” ejaculated the stranger. “Well, I should say it does. It punishes everybody,—the jurors, the judge, the witnesses, the people who have to hear or read the proceedings of the court, the citizens who have to pay for all the business. Why, even the prisoner himself is sometimes punished, and always more or less annoyed by the procrastination and uncertainty of the whole affair. There are times in the life of such a man when he almost feels that Lor itself is a failure. Of course, he has his consolation, such as it is, in the flowers and sweetmeats and love-poems sent to him by non-resident members of Female Asylums for the Feeble-minded, once he is found guilty of a dazzling crime; but what are flowers or candy or poetry to a man who feels that he is losing time which might be homicidally valuable to himself and society, under different circumstances?”
The stranger spoke with some heat, as one who might have himself experienced the sad uncertainty of Lor; but Kayenna, with her logical mind, brought him quickly back to the main point.