Chapter 23

THE TRIAL AND THE VERDICT

Blake did not attend these tiresome preliminaries, although he followed them with intense interest, the while a sardonic irritation arose in him. Chancing to meet Mayor Wright one day, he said:

"I'm beginning to think my original plan was the best after all."

"You mean we should have lynched those fellows as they were taken?" queried the Mayor, with a smile.

"Something like that."

"It won't take long to fix their guilt or innocence, once we get a jury."

"Perhaps--if we ever get one. But the men of New Orleans seem filled with a quality of mercy which isn't tempered with justice. Those who haven't already formed an opinion of the case are incompetent to act as intelligent jurors. Those who could render a fair judgment are afraid."

"You don't think there's any chance of an acquittal!"

"Hardly! And yet I hear the defense has called two hundred witnesses, so there's no telling what they will prove. You see, the prosecution is handicapped by a regard for the truth, something which doesn't trouble the other side in the least."

"Suppose they should be acquitted?"

"It would mean the breakdown of our legal system."

"And what would happen?"

Blake repeated the question, eyeing the Mayor curiously.

"Exactly! What would happen? What ought to happen?"

"Why, nothing," said the other, nervously. "They'd go free, I suppose. But Maruffi can't get off--he resisted an officer."

"Bah! He'd prove that Johnson assaulted him and he acted in self-defense."

"He'd have to answer for his attack upon you."

Norvin gave a peculiarly disagreeable laugh. "Not at all. That's the least of his sins. If the law fails in the Donnelly case I sha'n't ask it to help me."

But his pessimism gave way to a more hopeful frame of mind when the jury was finally impaneled and sworn and the trial began. The whole city likewise heaved a sigh of relief. The people had been puzzled and disgusted by the delay, and now looked forward to the outcome with all the keener eagerness to see justice done. Even before the hour for opening, the streets around the Criminal Court were thronged; the halls and lobbies were packed with a crowd which gave evidence of a breathless interest. No inch of space in the court-room was untenanted; an air of deep importance, a hush of strained expectancy lay over all.

Norvin found himself in a room with the other witnesses for the State, a goodly crowd of men and women, whites and blacks, many of whom he had been instrumental in ferreting out. From beyond came the murmur of a great assemblage, the shuffling of restless feet, the breathing of a densely packed audience. The wait grew