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Read Ebook: The Light that Lies by McCutcheon George Barr Cootes F Graham Illustrator
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Ebook has 540 lines and 28474 words, and 11 pages
"According to the evidence and the law as laid down by the honourable Court?"
"According to the circumstances as I see them."
"That is not a direct answer to my question, Mr. Sampson."
"I am not willing to say that I will be governed entirely by the evidence. I can only say, that I should render what I consider to be a just and reasonable verdict, depending on circumstances."
"Ahem! You are quite sure that you could render a just and reasonable verdict?"
"Yes."
"And yet you admit that you cannot answer for your sympathies?"
"Are you cross-examining me?"
"Not at all, Mr. Sampson," responded the other smoothly. "I am merely trying to ascertain whether you are competent to serve as a juror in this case."
Sampson was saying to himself: "Thank the Lord, he will never accept me." Aloud he said: "Pray, overlook my stupidity and proceed--"
The Court leaned forward and tapped smartly on the desk with a lead pencil. "We are wasting time, gentlemen. Please omit the persiflage."
"Have you ever served as a juror in a criminal case, Mr. Sampson?" inquired the lawyer. Sampson had turned pink under the Court's mild irony.
"No," he answered, and glanced at Miss Hildebrand, expecting to see a gleam of amusement in her eyes. She was regarding him quite solemnly, however.
"You are a Harvard man, I believe, Mr. Sampson?"
"Yes."
"If it should be shown that this defendant is also a Harvard graduate, would that fact serve to prejudice you in his favour?"
"What is your business, Mr. Sampson?"
"I am connected with the Sampson Steamship and Navigation Company."
"In what capacity?"
"I am its president."
"You are, I believe, the son of the late Peter Stuyvesant Sampson, founder of the company?"
"I am."
"The only son?"
"And heir," said Sampson curtly. "I inherited my job, if that's what you are trying to get at. And it is more or less of an honorary position, if that will help you any. I am president of the company because I happen to own all but five shares of the capital stock, and not because I really want to hold, or because I am in any sense competent to fill the office. Now you know all that there is to know about my connection with the company."
"Thanks," said the assistant district attorney, drily. "And now, Mr. Sampson, could you sit as a juror in this case and give, on your honour as a man, despite a very natural sympathy that may be aroused for this aged defendant, a verdict in favour of the State if it is proved to you beyond all doubt that he is guilty as charged?"
There was but one answer that Sampson could give. He felt exceedingly sorry for himself. "Yes." Then he made haste to qualify: "Provided, as I said before, that there are no extenuating circumstances."
"But you would not deliberately discharge a guilty man just because you happened to feel sorry for him, would you? We, as individuals, are all sorry for the person we are obliged to punish, Mr. Sampson. But the law is never sorry. The mere fact that one man disregards the law is no reason why the rest of us should do the same, is it?"
"Of course not," said Sampson, feeling himself in a trap.
"The State asks no more of you than you would, as a citizen, ask of the State, Mr. Sampson. The fact that this defendant, after five years, voluntarily surrendered himself to the authorities--would that have any effect on your feelings?"
"Yes, it would. I should certainly take that into consideration. As a citizen, I could not ask more of any man than that he surrender himself to my State if it couldn't catch him."
The Court tapped with his pencil, and a raucous voice from somewhere called for order.
"Are you a married man, Mr. Sampson?"
"I am not."
"The State is satisfied," said the assistant district attorney, and sat down.
Sampson caught his breath. Satisfied? It meant that he was acceptable to the State! After all he had said, he was acceptable to the State. He could hardly believe his ears. Landed! Landed, that's what it meant. The defence would take him like a shot. A cold perspiration burst out all over him. And while he was still wondering how the district attorney could have entrusted the case to such an incompetent subordinate, counsel for the defence began to ply him with questions--perfunctory, ponderous questions that might have been omitted, for any one with half an eye could see that Sampson was doomed the instant the State said it was satisfied.
His spirit was gone. He recognised the inevitable; in a dazed sort of way he answered the questions, usually in monosyllables and utterly without spunk. Miss Hildebrand was no longer resting her elbows on the table in front of her in an attitude of suspense. She was leaning comfortably back in her chair, her head cocked a little to one side, and she gazed serenely at the topmost pane of glass in the tall window behind the jury box. She appeared to be completely satisfied.
He saw the two lawyers lean across the table in consultation with the prisoner and his granddaughter, their heads close together. They were discussing him as if he were the criminal in the case. Miss Hildebrand peered at him as she whispered something in her grandfather's ear, and then he caught a fleeting, though friendly smile in her eyes. He was reminded, in spite of his extreme discomfiture, that she was an amazingly pretty girl.
"No challenge," said the defendant's attorney, and Sampson was told to take seat No. 3 in the jury box.
"Defendant, look upon the juror. Juror, look upon the defendant," said the clerk, and with his hand on the Bible Sampson took the oath to render a true verdict according to the law and the evidence, all the while looking straight into the eyes of the gaunt old man who stood and looked at him wearily, drearily, as if from a distance that rendered his vision useless.
Then Sampson sank awkwardly into the third seat, and sighed so profoundly that juror No. 2 chuckled.
He certainly was in for it now.
You needn't pack," said Sampson to his valet that evening. "I'm stuck."
"Stuck, sir?"
"Caught on the jury, Turple. Landed at last. But," he sighed, "I've given 'em a good run though, haven't I?"
"You 'ave, sir. I dare say you will like it 'owever, now that you've been stuck, as you say. My father, when he was alive, was very fond of serving on the juries, sir. He was constantly being 'ad up in small cases, and it was 'is greatest ham--ambition to get a whack at a good 'orrifying murder trial. I 'ope as 'ow you 'ave been stuck on a murder case, sir. In England we--"
"It isn't a murder case. Merely embezzlement. But I must not discuss the case, Turple, not even with you."
"What a pity, sir. You usually consult me about any think that--"
"Call up the New York Central office at Thirtieth Street and cancel my reservations, and lay out a blue serge suit for to-morrow."
"Isn't it a bit coolish to be wearing a serge--"
"Those court-rooms are frightfully close, Turple. A blue serge.''
"You look better in a blue serge than anythink you--"
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