The Wolf stood there leaning, with his arms folded. He had been unmoving from the moment Annette had entered the witness box. And his immobility had extended even to his unblinking eyes.
The man had given no sign. He had listened without one single flash of resentment to the awful indictment against him. Nor was there a sign of reproach whenever Annette turned accusingly upon him. Boundless devotion, which he was at no pains to conceal, shone in the dark depths of his eyes; that, and a subtle shadowy anxiety.
It was that unvoiced concern which Croisette fixed upon and pondered.
What was it the man feared? Croisette knew full well it had nothing to do with any personal concern. The man had shown from the first that his own ultimate fate was a matter of complete indifference to him. First, there had been the incidents connected with his arrest. Then he had rejected every assistance that might save him in his trial. It had been the same here as at the preliminary hearing. He had refused to plead. He had rejected the assistance of counsel by the simple process of remaining mute. Not a single word had passed his lips since he had been placed in the dock. Then where lay the source of his obvious anxiety?
John Danson K.C. rose to cross-examine.
Croisette considered the defending counsel’s strong, full, clean-shaven face. The man’s brows were heavy and broad. His eyes were keen and sparkled under bushy gray brows. There was a truculent set to his jaws that reached his hard lips. And, somehow, as the superintendent watched that big figure rise from its seat, a feeling akin to pity for the half-breed girl in the witness box stirred in him. He, himself, had spent upwards of an hour in close conference with this man, before his appointment to the defence.
There was a sigh from the spectators and some clearing of throats as John Danson faced the witness. If possible, interest and emotion had deepened. Like Superintendent Croisette the eager crowd of onlookers understood that this man would somehow clear away the cobwebs of mystery surrounding the case.
The advocate began almost gently. There was no brow-beating at the start. None of the vicious bark for which he was renowned and feared. He almost smiled on the witness, whose restless eyes and clutching hands had told him so much already.
“The prisoner?” he questioned, in his blandest manner. “Who is he? What is he to you? A relation?”
Annette’s reply was instant with a sense of relief at his manner.