"I could not allow an innocent person to suffer for my crime."
"Was that your only reason?"
The silence became breathless. After a pause Stowell said, in a low voice,
"That is a question I will answer to a higher tribunal."
"Indeed!" said Taubman, with a sneer, and then the silence was broken by a cowardly titter which passed through the court-house.
The Attorney-General rose to summarise the facts. His face was white and decomposed; his thin hair was disordered, and the linen slip under his chin was awry.
Only once before since leaving Government House had he been out of doors—to visit Stowell at the Police-station and receive the letter which had been found on him. He, too, had dragged himself from bed to come to Court, being afraid to leave the prosecution of the son of his old friend, the boy brought up in his own office, to the Deputy whom the Governor was sure to appoint in his place—Hudgeon, who sat by his side.
His speech did not please either the Court or the spectators. It gave the impression of being a plea for the prisoner. And indeed there were moments when the Attorney seemed to forget that he was there to prosecute.
Speaking in a tremulous voice, and never once looking towards the dock, he said it would seem incredible that anyone in the position of the accused could be guilty of the crime with which he was charged. But the lucidity of his confession, and its correspondence to the facts as they knew them, made it inconceivable that he had told a lie. There could be no doubt he was guilty, and being so he came under the condemnation of the law.
"Ha!"