“Miss Helen McIntyre,” answered one of the twins composedly. “Daughter of Colonel Charles McIntyre of this city.”
“Charge brought by Miss Helen McIntyre,” continued the clerk, “against—” and his pointed finger indicated the seedy looking man slouching before them.
“Smith,” said the latter, and his husky voice was barely audible.
“Smith,” repeated the clerk. “First name—?”
“John,” was the answer, given after a slight pause.
“John Smith, you are charged by Miss Helen McIntyre with house-breaking. What say you—guilty or not guilty?”
The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shot an uneasy look about him.
“Not guilty,” he responded.
At that instant Helen caught sight of Benjamin Clymer and his companion, Philip Rochester, and her pale cheeks flushed faintly at the lawyer's approach. He had time but for a hasty handshake before the clerk administered the oath to the prisoner and the witnesses in the case.
Rochester walked back and resumed his seat by Clymer. Propping himself in the corner made by the bench and the cage, inside of which sat the prisoners, he opened his right hand and unfolded a small paper. He read the brief penciled message it contained not once but a dozen times. Folding the paper into minute dimensions he tucked it carefully inside his vest pocket and glanced sideways at Clymer. The banker hardly noticed his uneasy movements as he sat regarding Helen McIntyre standing in the witness box. Although paler than usual, the girl's manner was quiet, but Clymer, a close student of human nature, decided she was keeping her composure by will power alone, and his interest grew.