The Colonel turned white with rage. He looked at the Assistant District Attorney to see if that gentleman had heard the remark. Then, satisfied that he had not, he turned swiftly and ostentatiously upon his client, protesting:
"Mr. Wilkinson, I am managing this case, not you. Be good enough to let me manage it alone." Before proceeding, he wiped his glasses and blinked his eyes. "Your Honour," he said with considerable pathos in his tone, "to fix this bail means that my client must be incarcerated in the Tombs. Who among all his friends will come forward to-day and furnish three-quarters of a million dollars bail? Who, indeed?" He shook his head. "Blessed are they that hath, for to them shall be given. But to him that hath not, shall be taken away, even that he hath. Does your Honour still persist?"
"Colonel Morehead," said the Court, "I shall cheerfully hold this man without bail at all, if you still persist."
Morehead bowed.
"We shall try ..." and his voice rang with the wail of a funeral bell, "we shall try to get bail, your Honour."
"You can't furnish it now?" asked the Court.
"You might as well ask for the moon," returned Wilkinson's counsel, looking the picture of grim despair.
The Court's eyelids never fluttered as he ordered:
"Take the prisoner to the Tombs in default of bail."
"I'll go with you, Wilkinson," declared Morehead, with a peculiar smile.