The attorney for the government lost no time in beginning his closing speech. "We commend the judgment of the distinguished counsel for the defense," he began, "which deterred him from attacking the overwhelming proofs we have submitted of the prisoner's guilt. We commend the keen judgment which prompts him to rely upon the famed magic of his own voice rather than to seek hope for his client in the uncertain words of unreliable witnesses. The defense, too clever to attack such proof as we have presented, will now rely upon silvery tongued oratory and superb rhetorical appeals to secure from these twelve men a verdict of acquittal. But, may it please the court," he concluded, "our learned brother mistakes the intelligence of these gentlemen of the jury, if he supposes, for one moment, that fervent appeals to their sympathies can make them forget their duty to themselves, to civilized society, and to womankind." So well satisfied, however, had the spectators become of the prisoner's guilt, and so completely did all interest now center in McWhorter's anticipated speech, that the remarks of the prosecuting attorney were listened to with indifferent attention.
Now, surely, the brilliant advocate would demonstrate his ability, even though he could not save his client.
"The woman," he began, amid oppressive silence, "who was arrested on the second day of November last, stands charged with murder. As no testimony has been offered to show that she committed murder, the defense will not waste your time or insult your common sense by unnecessary argument. You have been told with great clearness by the witnesses for the prosecution that the prisoner was seen to enter and leave a certain house at certain hours; also that on a certain day she had high words with a certain woman. But, gentlemen of the jury, under the laws of your State that doesn't constitute murder. A woman may pay a visit to an apartment house at eight o'clock at night, she may have high words with another woman in the public highway, she may even wear a gold ornament in her hair,—she may do all this without becoming a murderess. The evidence adduced is purely circumstantial. No proof whatever has been offered that the accused woman killed Charlotte Ames. In the absence of such testimony, it is your duty to yourselves, to civilized society, and to womankind, to acquit the prisoner." Before the last word was spoken he sat down.
The entire courtroom was again taken by surprise. While the brief speech had the ring of cleverness, it fell far short of the general expectations.
After hearing the judge's charge to the jury not one person in that vast assembly doubted the result. Few felt any sympathy for the woman, and those few were men. The members of her own sex were as a unit arrayed against her. The pride of her pale beauty antagonized them. The very women who in their hearts had wished the dead girl ill and who would have committed the crime themselves, except that they lacked the courage, had no pity for the accused. There was something in her beauty above and beyond them, and, womanlike, they hated her for it.
Not a soul left the courtroom as the jury filed out, for all expected a prompt verdict. In this they were not disappointed. Ten minutes later the twelve men filed solemnly back. Not an eye sought the face of the prisoner, who, like her counsel, sat entirely unmoved.
As the clerk rose the silence became deathlike. "Prisoner, look upon the jury. Jury, look upon the prisoner. Have you agreed upon a verdict?"
"We have."
"Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the crime charged against her?"
"Guilty."