to do; nothing for him to deny.  The case built itself up, brick by brick.  And Shane O’Connell sat there unemotionally, hardly listening.  There was nothing in the evidence to reflect in any way upon the honor of the O’Connells in general or in particular.  He had done that which that honor demanded and he was ready to pay the penalty—­if the law could get him.  He assumed that it would get him.  So did the Tutts.

But when toward the end of the third day nothing had yet been brought forward to connect him with the crime Tutt leaned over and whispered to Mr. Tutt, “D’ye know, I’m beginning to have a hunch there isn’t any case!”

Mr. Tutt made an imperceptible gesture of assent.

“Looks that way,” he answered out of the corner of his mouth.  “Probably they’ll spring the connecting evidence at the end and give us the coup de grace.”

At that moment a police witness was released from the stand and O’Brien stepped to the bench and whispered something to the judge, who glanced at the clock and nodded.  It was twenty minutes of four, and the jury were already getting restless, for the trial had developed into a humdrum, cut-and-dried affair.

Miss Beekman sitting far back in the rear of the court room suddenly heard O’Brien call her name, and a quiver of apprehension passed through her body.  She had never testified in any legal proceeding, and the idea of getting up before such a crowd of people and answering questions filled her with dismay.  It was so public!  Still, if it was going to help O’Connell—­

“Althea Beekman,” bellowed Cap.  Phelan, “to the witness chair!”

Althea Beekman!  The gentle lady felt as if she had been rudely stripped of all her protective clothing.  Althea!  Did not the law do her the courtesy of calling her even “Miss”?  Nerving herself to the performance of her duty she falteringly made her way between the crowded benches, past the reporters’ table, and round back of the jury box.  The judge, apparently a pleasant-faced, rather elderly man, bowed gravely to her, indicated where she should sit and administered the oath to her himself, subtly dwelling upon the phrase “the whole truth,” and raising his eyes heavenward as he solemnly pronounced the words “so help you God!”

“I do!” declared Miss Beekman primly but decidedly.

Behind her upon the court-room wall towered in its flowing draperies the majestic figure of the Goddess of the Law, blindfolded and holding aloft the scales of justice.  Beside her sat in the silken robes of his sacred office a judge who cleverly administered that law to advance his own interests and those of his political associates.  In front of her, treacherously smiling, stood the cynical, bullet-headed O’Brien.  At a great distance Mr. Tutt leaned on his elbows at a table beside Shane O’Connell.  To them she directed her gaze and faintly smiled.

“Miss Beekman,” began O’Brien as courteously as he knew how, “you reside, do you not, at Number 1000 Fifth Avenue, in this city and county?”