If the prisoner at the bar had not himself taken it out
of the prosecutor's strong-box, who had?
Such was the form in which the case was left for the jury.
"It's UP," whispered Mr. Weasel behind his hand to Mr. Balais. Mr.
Balais nodded indifferently; the case was over so far as he was
concerned, and he was not going to employ significant action
gratuitously. That would have been waste of power indeed at his age. The
jury did not leave the box; they laid their heads together, like a
hydra, and "deliberated" for half a minute; that is to say, the foreman
whispered, "We can return but one verdict, I should say, gentlemen;" and
the eleven answered, "But one."
"We find the prisoner guilty, your lordship."
His lordship nodded approval. "In my opinion, gentlemen, you could not
have done otherwise. Hem!" Then that common phrase, "You could have
heard a pin drop," might have been used with respect to that vast
assemblage. That "hem!" was a very fatal sign with Mr. Justice Bantam,
as the bar well knew.
"I'll take you six to five in sovs he gives him seven years," whispered
one learned gentleman to another, without moving his lips.
"It seems to me you are rather fond of a good thing," returned the
other, scornfully, but with a like precaution.
"Hem!" said the judge again.
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