"You think he was insane? That seems to be the chief argument of his friends."
"He isn't guilty of the murder, that's all," she declared, her eyes glittering for an instant.
"I wish you'd tell me how you know this?" asked the Governor, firmly. He was fast getting out of patience with her.
"Because I've heard him tell his story, and I know it's true," she insisted stubbornly.
"But twelve men heard his story," went on the Governor, disturbed out of his gubernatorial dignity by her evident distress, "and they felt it wasn't true."
"They didn't hear it as I heard it," she declared with great earnestness. "You ought to hear it from him—not read it. Just hear the sound of his voice, see his face, his eyes! You'd believe him—you'd know it was true."
The Governor was interested, not only at her words, but at her forceful manner; moreover, he was attracted not a little by the young woman's great beauty. Presently he asked:
"You were in the crowd the day of the murder? Or perhaps you know someone who was?" But both these questions she answered negatively.
The Governor was puzzled. Dealing with the Honourable Worth Higgins had been an easy matter compared to this. Nevertheless, there was a wonderfully convincing stubbornness about the woman that disturbed him.
"You think he had a fair trial?" he asked, flirting the leaves of the printed case. "It seems to me he had."