“Direct me to the door the prisoner will come out by.”
The policeman was still indulgent.
“If he’s sentenced or the case is adjourned, he’ll go down the dock and you won’t see him. If he gets off he may leave by the main exit.”
“That’s what I want,” said Irene.
He gave her the necessary directions. She hurried away, half running. At last she had perceived the cause of her error. The chief court was only up one flight of stairs, and she had passed it by in her agitation. The door and its guardian appeared in sight. But at that moment it was thrown open and a stream of men issued forth. The recognition of her was a signal for wild cheering and a rush towards her. She turned to fly. Someone overtook her, grasped her arm. It was a young barrister, an acquaintance.
“Let me take you out quietly. You will be mobbed by well-meaning enthusiasts.”
The news that she was in front had spread. There was a tumult of cheers behind her. She pressed on with her guide. Her brain reeled. She dared scarcely ask the reason of the demonstration. In this first moment of confusion, it was merely significant of her own popularity. The thought was burning fire. A few steps brought them into the counsels’ and solicitors’ lobby, at the end of which was quiet. The young man looked at her glowingly.
“Thank God! They might have hanged an innocent man.”
She stared at him only half comprehending.
“Yes. Don’t you know? Of course—he is acquitted—your evidence——”