Part 48 (2/2)

But Hammer was imperturbable. He saw the advantage that he had gained for Joe by his interposition, and that was more than he had expected.

Only a moment ago Hammer had believed everything lost.

Sam Lucas repeated the question. Joe drew himself up, cold and forbidding of front. He met the prosecutor eye to eye, challenge for challenge.

”I can't tell you that, sir,” he replied.

”The time has come when you must tell it, your evasions and dodgings will not avail you any longer. What were those words between you and Isom Chase?”

”I'm sorry to have to refuse you--” began Joe.

”Answer--my--question!” ordered the prosecutor in loud voice, banging his hand upon the table to accent its terror.

In the excitement of the moment people rose from their seats, women dropping things which they had held in their laps, and clasping other loose articles of apparel to their skirts as they stood uncouthly, like startled fowls poising for flight.

Joe folded his arms across his chest and looked into the prosecutor's inflamed face. He seemed to erect between himself and his inquisitor in that simple movement an impenetrable s.h.i.+eld, but he said nothing. Hammer was up, objecting, making the most of the opportunity. Captain Taylor rapped on the panel of the old oak door; the crouching figures in the crowd settled back to their seats with rustlings and sighs.

Sam Lucas turned to the judge, the whiteness of deeper anger sweeping the flush of excitement from his face. His voice trembled.

”I insist, your honor, that the witness answer my question!”

Hammer demanded that the court instruct his client regarding his const.i.tutional privileges. Mrs. Newbolt leaned forward and held out her hands in dumb pleading toward her son, imploring him to speak.

”If the matter which you are withholding,” began the judge in formal speech, ”would tend to incriminate you, then you are acting within your const.i.tutional rights in refusing to answer. If not, then you can be lodged in jail for contempt of court, and held there until you answer the question which the prosecuting attorney has asked you. Do you understand this?”

”Yes, sir; I understand,” said Joe.

”Then,” said the judge, ”would it incriminate you to reply to the prosecuting attorney's question?”

A faint flush spread on Joe's face as he replied:

”No, Judge Maxwell, it wouldn't incriminate me, sir.”

Free for the moment from his watchful sword-play of eyes with the prosecutor, Joe had sought Alice's face when he replied to the judge. He was still holding her eyes when the judge spoke again.

”Then you must answer the question, or stand in contempt of court,” said he.

Joe rose slowly to his feet. The sheriff, perhaps thinking that he designed making a dash for liberty, or to throw himself out of a window, rushed forward in official zeal. The judge, studying Joe's face narrowly, waved the officer back. Joe lifted a hand to his forehead in thoughtful gesture and stroked back his hair, standing thus in studious pose a little while. A thousand eyes were bent upon him; five hundred palpitating brains were aching for the relief of his reply. Joe lifted his head and turned solemnly to the judge.

”I can't answer the prosecuting attorney's question, sir,” he said. ”I'm ready to be taken back to jail.”

The jurors had been leaning out of their places to listen, the older ones with hands cupped to their ears. Now they settled back with disappointed faces, some of them shaking their heads in depreciation of such stubbornness.

”You are making a point of honor of it?” said the judge, sharply but not unkindly, looking over his gla.s.ses at the raw citadel of virtue which rose towerlike before him.

”If you will forgive me, sir, I have no more to say,” said Joe, a flitting shadow, as of pain, pa.s.sing over his face.

”Sit down,” said the judge.

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