He resumed his seat contentedly and wiped his forehead with his silk handkerchief.  The judge looked down at O’Brien with raised eyebrows.

“I will leave the case to the jury on Your Honor’s charge,” remarked the latter carelessly.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” began the judge, “the defendant is accused of entering the house of Mr. Hepplewhite with the intent to commit a crime therein—­”

Mr. Hepplewhite sat, his head upon his breast, for what seemed to him several hours.  He had but one thought—­to escape.  His ordeal had been far worse than he had anticipated.  But he had made a discovery.  He had suddenly realized that one cannot avoid one’s duties to one’s fellows by leaving one’s affairs to others—­not even to the police.  He perceived that he had lived with his head stuck in the sand.  He had tried to escape from his responsibilities as a citizen by hiding behind the thick walls of his stone mansion on Fifth Avenue.  He made up his mind that he would do differently if he ever had the chance.  Meanwhile, was not the jury ever going to set the poor man free?

They had indeed remained out a surprisingly long time in order merely to reach a verdict which was a mere formality.  Ah!  There they were!  Mr. Hepplewhite watched with palpitating heart while they straggled slowly in.  The clerk made the ordinary perfunctory inquiry as to what their verdict was.  Mr. Hepplewhite did not hear what the foreman said in reply, but he saw both the Tutts and O’Brien start from their seats and heard a loud murmur rise throughout the court room.

“What’s that!” cried the clerk in astonished tones.  “What did you say, Mister Foreman?”

“I said that we find the defendant guilty,” replied the foreman calmly.

Mr. Tutt stared incredulously at the twelve traitors who had betrayed him.

“Never mind, Mr. Tutt,” whispered Number Six confidentially.  “You did the best you could.  Your argument was fine—­grand—­but nobody could ever make us believe that your client went into that house for any purpose except to steal whatever he could lay his hands on.  Besides, it wasn’t Mr. Hepplewhite’s fault.  He means well.  And anyhow a nut like that has got to be protected against himself.”

He might have enlightened Mr. Tutt further upon the psychology of the situation had not the judge at that moment ordered the prisoner arraigned at the bar.

“Have you ever been convicted before?” asked His Honor sharply.

“Sure,” replied the Hepplewhite Tramp carelessly.  “I’ve done three or four bits, I’m a burglar.  But you can’t give me more than a year for illegal entry.”

“That is quite true,” admitted His Honor stiffly.  “And it isn’t half enough!” He hesitated.  “Perhaps under the circumstances you’ll tell us what you were doing in Mr. Hepplewhite’s bed?”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” returned the defendant with the superior air of one who has put something over.  “When I heard the guy in the knee breeches coming up the stairs I just dove for the slats and played I was asleep.”