“Your honor,” he began, in slow, measured tones, “it now lacks but little more than an hour of the usual time for adjournment, and after the constant strain which has been put upon our nerves for the past six days, I feel that none of us, including yourself, your honor, are in a sufficiently receptive mood to listen to the testimony which the proponent has to offer.  In addition to this is the fact that our most important witness is not present this afternoon.  I would therefore ask for an adjournment to be taken until ten o’clock next Monday morning, at which time I will guarantee your honor and the gentlemen of the jury that the intricate and elaborate web of fine-spun theories which has been presented will be swept away in fewer hours than the days which have been required for its construction.”

There was an attempt at applause, which was speedily checked, and without further delay the court adjourned.

As judge, jury, and counsel took their respective places on the following Monday at the hour appointed, the scene presented by the old court-room was one never before witnessed in its history.  Every available inch of standing room, both on the main floor and in the galleries, was taken; throngs were congregated about the doorways, those in the rear standing on chairs and benches that they might obtain a view over the heads of their more fortunate neighbors, while even the recesses formed by the enormous windows were packed with humanity, two rows deep, the outer row embracing the inner one in its desperate efforts to maintain its equilibrium.

The opposing sides presented a marked contrast in their appearance that morning.  Ralph Mainwaring betrayed a nervous excitement very unusual in one of his phlegmatic temperament; his face alternately flushed and paled, and though much of the old defiant bravado remained, yet he awaited the opening of proceedings with visible impatience.  Nor was Mr. Whitney less excited, his manner revealing both agitation and anxiety.  On the part of Harold Mainwaring and his counsel, however, there was no agitation, no haste; every movement was characterized by composure and deliberation, yet something in their bearing — something subtle and indefinable but nevertheless irresistible — impressed the sensibilities of the vast audience much as the oppressive calm which precedes an electric storm.  All felt that some great crisis was at hand, and it was amid almost breathless silence that Mr. Sutherland arose to make his opening statement.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he began, and the slow, resonant tones penetrated to the farthest corner and out into the corridors where hundreds were eagerly listening, “as a defence to the charges sought to be established in your hearing, we propose to show, not by fine-spun theories based upon electrical and chemical experiments, nor brilliant sophistries deduced from microscopic observations, but by the citation of stubborn and incontrovertible facts, that