Of all those who followed the famous Mafia trial, detail by detail, perhaps no one did so with greater fixity of interest than Bernie Dreux. He reveled in it, he talked of nothing else, his waking hours were spent in the courtroom, his dreams were peopled with Sicilian figures. He hung upon Norvin, his hero, with a tenacity that was trying; he discussed the evidence bit by bit; he ran to him with every rumor, every fresh development. As the prosecution made its case his triumph became fierce and fearful to behold; then when the defense began its crafty efforts he grew furiously indignant, a mighty rage shook him, he swelled and choked with resentment.
"What do you think?" he inquired, one day. "They're proving alibis, one by one! It's infamous!"
"It will take considerable Sicilian testimony to offset the effect of our witnesses," Blake told him.
But Dreux looked upon the efforts of the opposing lawyers as a personal affront, and so declared himself.
"Why, they're trying to make you out a liar! That's what it amounts to. The law never intended that a gentleman's word should be disputed. If I were the judge I'd close the case right now and instruct the sheriff to hang all the prisoners, including their attorneys."
"They'll never be acquitted."
Bernie shook his head morosely.
"There's a rumor of jury-fixing. I hear one of the talesmen was approached with a bribe before the trial."
"I can scarcely believe that."
"I'll bet it's true just the same. If I'd known what they were up to I'd have got on the jury myself. I'd have taken their money, then I'd have fixed 'em!"