"But they beat me! I failed!" replied Beekman, a look of bewilderment on his face. For he had expected reproaches, and here was genuine applause as for a winner instead of for a loser.
"Thought you were going to get me out of this?" growled Wilkinson, staring about him; for he knew that these men in some way were responsible for his losing his case.
"We are," returned Durand, grimly; but his eyes flashed a wireless message to the eyes of Colonel Morehead. And this wireless message ran about like this: "We are going to get him out of this ... but how?"
Colonel Morehead's glance travelled quickly around the room in a comprehensive way; then settled upon Wilkinson, and he said:
"Gentlemen, I think Peter V. had better be sentenced now."
"Now! Thunder and guns, not now! Give me another chance to get at the Court, or at Murgatroyd. I need time—put it off as long as possible," Wilkinson said, the tremour in his voice only half concealed.
"Time is dangerous," declared Morehead, with a shake of the head. "We don't want public opinion nor the Morning Mail to get to work. The public—except your own depositors—didn't believe that you were going to be convicted; they believed you to be only technically guilty. But give the populace two days to consider the fact that you've been convicted—convicted of forgery—I don't say you're guilty, Wilkinson—and let the Morning Mail hammer that in for a week, the Judge is bound to feel the force of this public opinion. It's the one thing from which no public officer can escape."
"Let Gilchrist sentence now, and you'll get off with a fine," interposed Flomerfelt; "that was my suggestion."
"That's the whole idea," said Patrick Durand. "The less delay there is, the lighter it will be."