She pointed Nancy Luther out to me. She was a stout, bold-faced girl, somewhere about five-and-twenty years old, with a low forehead, small gray eyes, a pug nose and thick lips.
“Oh, sir, can you help me?” my client asked, in a fearful whisper.
“Nancy Luther, did you say that girl’s name was?” I asked, for a new light had broken in upon me.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there any other girl of that name about here?”
“No, sir.”
“Then rest easy. I’ll try hard to save you.”
I left the courtroom, and went to the prosecuting attorney and asked him for the letters I had handed him—the ones that had been stolen from the mail-bag. He gave them to me, and, having selected one, I returned the rest, and told him I would see that he had the one I kept before night. I then returned to the courtroom, and the case went on.
Mrs. Naseby resumed her testimony. She said she entrusted her room to the prisoner’s care, and that no one else had access there save herself. Then she described about missing the money, and closed by telling how she found twenty-five dollars of it in the prisoner’s trunk. She could swear it was the identical money she had lost, it being in two tens and one five-dollar bill.