About the jail men swarmed, coming and going in an excited human tide.  Some brandished fists at the unresponsive brick walls or called threats against Cora.  As Broderick and Nesbitt passed the door, a handsome and richly clad woman emerged.  Trickling tears had devastated the cosmetic smoothness of her cheeks.  Her eyes looked frantic.  But she proceeded calmly, almost haughtily to a waiting carriage.  The driver whipped his horses and the equipage rolled on through a scattering crowd, some of whom shouted epithets after it.

“That was Belle Cora, who keeps that bawdy house up town,” Nesbitt volunteered.

“Yes,” said Broderick musingly, “she seemes to take it hard.”

“She’s mad about the fellow,” Nesbitt waved a parting salutation and walked toward the Bulletin office.

Broderick turned homeward, thinking of the two dark figures he had passed on Clay street where the killing had taken place.  Perchance if he had stopped as he was minded, the tragedy might have been averted.  Nobody seemed to know just how it came about.  The thing was most unfortunate politically.  King would stir up a hornet’s nest of public opinion.  Broderick reached his lodgings and at once retired.  His sleep was fitful.  He dreamed that Alice Windham and Sheriff Scannell were fighting for his soul.

In the morning he met Benito on the plaza and the two encountered Colonel E.D.  Baker.

“I hear you’re Cora’s counsel,” said Benito with a touch of disapproval.

Baker looked at the young man over his spectacles.  He was a big impressive man whose appearance as well as his words swayed juries.  He commanded large fees.  It was to Broderick rather than Benito that he made reply.

“That Belle woman—­she calls herself Mrs. Cora—­came to me last night.  By the Lord, she melted my heart.  She got down on her knees.  How she loves that gambler!...  Well, I promised to defend him, confound it.”  He passed on shaking his head.

“Didn’t mention what his fee was,” Broderick spoke cynically.

“I’m informed he tried to give it back to her this morning,” said Benito.  “But she wouldn’t take it.  Made a scene and held him to his honor.”  He laughed.

* * * * *

Cora’s trial dragged itself into the following January on the slow feet of countless technicalities.  Every legal subterfuge was exhausted by the quartet of talented and high-priced attorneys provided by Belle Cora’s questionable fortune but unquestioned affection.  The trial proved a feast of oratory, a mass of contradictory evidence.  Before it began a juror named Jacob Mayer accused L. Sokalasky with offering him a bribe.  Sokalasky, brought into court, denied the charge.  And there it ended, save that thenceforth the “twelve good men and true” were exiled even from their families by the order of Judge Hagar.  None the less it seemed quite evident as a morning paper cynically remarked, that the stable had been locked after the horses were stolen.