posedly.

The succeeding questions brought out the relationship between the two
girls, and also established Miss Fluette's identity. Something akin to
a sensation prevailed in the jury-box for a few seconds after the six
good men and true realized that the handsome gentleman with the white
hair and dark beard was no other than the celebrated "wheat king."
Their manner toward his niece underwent a sudden transformation; their
attitude became more respectful.

Miss Cooper was dismissed, and Maillot was recalled. He denied any
formal engagement between himself and Miss Fluette; but it soon became
apparent, both from his manner and her growing vexation, pretty
precisely what the relations between them really were. The jury
learned that the young man's quest of the Paternoster ruby had not been
undertaken without the stimulus of a very warm-hearted devotion.

Maillot was left sitting in the witness-chair while a new verdict was
made out. It formally charged the young man with the murder of his
uncle.

I afterward learned, by questioning the self-important foreman, that
the first verdict had been an open one. The demand for Miss Cooper's
testimony had been prompted by the "diversion"--I am using his own
word--she had occasioned when she left the room, and afterward threw
the proceedings into wild disorder by her scream. The interrupted
verdict had failed to hold Maillot only by the narrowest margin; Miss
Cooper's adventure had served to turn the scale against him.

"Look here," I demanded warmly, "don't you believe what she said?"

He smiled with an air of such superior knowledge that I very nearly
cuffed his ears.

"Oh, I don't blame the young lady!--dear me, no!" he said, with a
smirk. "Loyalty, you know. What do you think of it?"

I had turned to move away, much disgusted; but I lingered long enough
to look him over curiously.

"What's your name?" I bluntly demanded.

"Griggs--Samuel B. Griggs."

"I think, Mr. Samuel B. Griggs--if you really want to know--that you
're a damned idiot."

CHAPTER XVII

PRISON DOORS

As I recall the scene that brilliant winter morning in the Page
library, one detail stands out so much more prominently than all the
rest, that the really important aspects are quite overshadowed in my
memory, and notwithstanding the surprising nature of Alfred Fluette's
deportment, I am obliged to pause and group them in my own mind in
order to produce a reasonably correct portray