partially deceived and might be mistaken altogether; the jury might vote the death penalty which Mr. Clarke had demanded.
Indeed mamma, who had been allowed to attend the trial for a single brief appearance, but who had compensated herself by multiplied perusal of all the versions of the affair in the seven daily newspapers printed in the English language, had been dolefully anticipatory of a verdict for the State. She had honored the evening vigil by unselfishly delaying the draught of her veronal in order to "help" Daisy—said assistance having consisted chiefly of lugubrious but graphic forecasts of events and the proffer of her back to be rubbed.
Dads had disappeared, the long-sustained strain of his sobriety at last terminated. Before Oliver called on Joan Daisy, Dads was quoting Shakespeare to his bootlegger.
"'Duncan's in 's grave
Treason's done 's worst; nor shteel, nor poison,
Malice domeshtic, foreign levy, noshing,
Can touch him further.'
"Sound sentiment," approved Dads. 'Perfectly applicable to a case in hands of jury. Noshing, absholutely noshing can touch it further. Mos' enviable sisuashion."
Joan Daisy had been relaxed and resting (except for intermittent massage of mamma's back) under influence of a similar presumption of inviolability of a case entrusted to a jury, when she had heard the bell and admitted the reporter with his news that some one had named the man, not Ket, whom she had seen through the window with Adele.
It had whipped her up and excited her. She had had but one answer when Oliver asked if she would go with him to identify Baretta; and she had set off, keyed and
