“Send for Mrs. Elsie Morton,” he directed.  “She is waiting in the District Attorney’s office, Mr. Bailiff.”

To the amazement of every one, Cassius Smilk started up from his chair, a wild look in his eye.  He sat down instantly, however, but it was evident that he had sustained a tremendous and unexpected shock.  Mr. Yollop who had purposely selected a seat in the front row of spectators from which he could occasionally exchange mutual glances of well-assumed repugnance with the rascal, caught Smilk’s eye as it followed the retiring bailiff.  The faintest shadow of a wink flickered for a second across that smileless, apparently troubled optic.  Mr. Yollop, who had been leaning forward in his chair for the better part of the afternoon with one hand cupped behind his ear and the other manipulating the disc in a vain but determined effort to hear what was going on, suddenly relaxed into a comfortable, satisfied attitude and smiled triumphantly.  He knew what was coming.  And so did Smilk.

Mrs. Morton was a plump, bobbed-hair blond of thirty.  She had moist carmine lips, a very white nose, strawberry-hued cheek bones, an alabaster chin and forehead, and pale, gray eyes surrounded by blue-black rims tinged with crimson.  She wore a fashionable hat,—­(Mr. Yollop noticed that at a glance)—­a handsome greenish cloth coat with a broad moleskin collar and cuffs of the same fur, pearl gray stockings that were visible to the knees, and high gray shoes that yawned rather shamelessly at the top despite the wearer’s doughtiest struggle with the laces.  Her gloves, also were somewhat over-crowded.  She gave her name as Mrs. Elsie Broderick Morton, married; occupation, ticket seller in a motion picture theater.

The State:  “What is your husband’s name and occupation?”

Witness:  “Filbert Morton.  So far as I know, he never had a regular occupation.”

The State:  “When were you and Filbert Morton married?”

Witness:  “June the fourteenth, 1916.”

The State:  “Are you living with your husband at present?”

Witness:  “I am not.”

The State:  “Have you ever been divorced from him?”

Witness:  “I have not.”

The State:  “How long is it since you and he lived together?”

Witness:  “A little over three years.”

The State:  “Would you recognize him if you were to see him now?”

Witness:  “I certainly would.”

The State:  “When did you see him last?”

Witness:  “Day before yesterday.”

The State:  “Tell the jury where you saw him.”

Witness:  “Over in the Tombs.”

The State:  “Surreptitiously?”

Witness:  “No, sir.  With my own eyes.”

The State:  “I mean, you saw him without his being aware of the fact that you were looking at him for the purpose of identification?”

Witness.  “Yes, sir.”

The State:  “I will now ask you to look about this court room and tell the jury whether you see the man known to you as Filbert Morton?”