“Yes,” Mrs. Waldron interjected, “I noticed him. But it seemed to me that he was not listening. It seemed to me that he was in pain. But do, Sylvia, let us go. It is cruel of you. I am starving.”
In Orr’s neighborly offices shortly the lady was fed. Sylvia too ate something. Orr himself would have bolted a bite, but he had to hurry away, though promising as he did so everything that Sylvia asked, promising to stand on his head if she wished it.
Once back in the court he found it still empty. In the corridors reporters and idlers lounged, speculating on the verdict, prophesying that the deliberations of the jury would be brief. But time limped. An hour passed, two hours, three. Enervated and empty Orr went down and out to a little restaurant across the street. Presently it was reported that the jury were coming in. Orr hurried back, but however he hurried, he was late. The court had refilled. As he entered he heard someone say:
“Not guilty.”
Abruptly the room hummed like a wasps’ nest. There were raps for order, commands for silence, threatened punishments for contempt.
The hubbub subsided, the Recorder thanked and dismissed the jury. He turned to Peacock. “Are there any further charges against the prisoner?”
“There are none, Your Honor.”
The Recorder nodded at Annandale. “You are discharged.”
Orr tried to get at him. But at that moment the crowd interfered. In making a circuit to reach Annandale, he found himself among the departing jury. They had all left the box, all save the twelfth, who apparently had stumbled.