Chapter 23 - Page 2

tedious as witness after witness was summoned and did not return. At last he heard his own name called, and was escorted down a narrow aisle into an inclosure peopled with lawyers, reporters, and court officials, above which towered the dais of the judge, the throne of justice. He mounted the witness-stand, was sworn, and seated himself, then permitted his eyes to take in the scene. Before him, stretching back to the distant walls, was a sea of faces; to his right was the jury, which he scanned with the quick appraisal of one skilled in human analysis. Between him and his audience were the distinguished counsel, a dozen or more; and back of them eleven swarthy, dark-visaged Sicilian men, seated in a row. At one end sat Caesar Maruffi, massive, calm, powerful; at the other end sat Gino Cressi, huddled beside his father, his pinched face bewildered and terror-stricken.

A buzz of voices arose as the crowd caught its first full glimpse of the man who had so nearly lost his life through his efforts to bring these criminals to justice. Upon Maruffi's face was a look of such malignant hate that the witness stiffened in his chair. For one brief instant the Sicilian laid bare his soul, as their eyes met, then his cunning returned; the fire died from his impenetrable eyes; he was again the handsome, solid merchant who had sat with Donnelly at the Red Wing Club. The man showed no effect of his imprisonment and betrayed no sign of fear.

Norvin told his story simply, clearly, with a positiveness which could not fail to impress the jury; he withstood a grilling cross-examination at the hands of a criminal lawyer whose reputation was more than State-wide; and when he finally descended from the stand, Larubio, the cobbler, the senior Cressi, and Frank Normando stood within the shadow of the gallows. Normando he identified as the man in the rubber coat whose face he had clearly seen as the final shot was fired; he pointed out Gino Cressi as the picket who had given warning of the Chief's approach, then told of his share in the lad's arrest and what Gino had said. Concerning the other three who had helped in the shooting he had no conclusive evidence to offer; nevertheless, it was plain that his testimony had dealt a damaging blow to the defense. Yet Maruffi's glance showed no concern, but rather a veiled and mocking insolence.

As Blake passed out, young Cressi reached forth a timid hand and plucked at him, whispering:

"Signore, you said they would not hurt me."

"Don't be afraid. No one shall harm you," he told the boy, reassuringly.

"You promise?"

"Yes."

Cressi snatched his son to his side and scowled upward, breathing a malediction upon the American.

Inasmuch as the assassination had been carefully planned and executed at a late hour on a deserted street, it was popularly believed that very little direct testimony would be