Elmen finished his fine effect and Calvin, looking up at the judge, related very quietly:
"Your honor, one Adele Ketlar, the wife of this man whose release is asked, was murdered early on Sunday morning. This Frederic Ketlar, though he had been living separately from his wife, visited her about quarter to one, and evidence is available that he shot and killed her, immediately returning to his separate apartment, where he was taken by the police, to whom he gave a totally unsatisfactory account of himself.
"Evidence in the possession of the State is already so complete that I will present it to-day before the grand jury. I will have an indictment by night."
"Hearing on this petition," said the judge, "is continued until the day after to-morrow. What date is that, clerk? . . . So enter it. The prisoner is committed to the custody of the sheriff and shall be lodged in jail, where he shall have all proper opportunity to consult with attorney, his family and friends."
The judge signed a paper and turned away. Elmen suddenly appeared to have gone to sleep on his feet; he groped, with contemptuous carelessness, for his portfolio, his eyes half closed again. He had made merely a grand gesture and had expected no more from it.
A hand—a white, small, lovely and very intent hand grasped Elmen's loose sleeve. "That's all, Mr. Elmen? That's all?" the Royle girl's thrilling voice besought and momentarily made him open his eyes again.
"That's all, of course," Elmen said. "That's all—just now."
"But the judge said he was going to jail!"
Elmen nodded, his eyes half closed.
"But he's not been tried!"
"Of course not. If he had been tried," said Elmen, elaborately yawning, "he would not be going to jail."
