rom the expression on the faces of the jury, that my
failure to put her on the stand made an unfavourable impression. There
was, indeed, only one inference to draw from it.

Goldberger turned aside for a few words with the prosecutor, and I
suspected that he was telling him of Miss Vaughan's discovery of the
blood-stained handkerchief; but there was no way to get the story
before the jury without calling her. They seemed to agree, at last,
that they had evidence enough, for the jury was instructed to prepare
its verdict. Its members withdrew a little distance under the trees,
and gathered into a group to talk it over.

I watched them for a moment, and then I turned to Swain.

"I suppose you know," I said, "that they're certain to find against
you? Even if they don't, the district attorney will cause your arrest
right away."

He nodded.

"I'm not worrying about that. I'm worrying about Miss Vaughan. You
won't forget your promise?"

"No."

"She'll have no one but you," he went on rapidly. "Neither will I! You
mustn't fail us!"

"I shan't," I promised. "But you'd better think about yourself a
little, Swain."

"Plenty of time for that when I'm sure that Marjorie's safe. The
minute you tell me she's at the Royces', I'll begin to think about
myself. I'm not afraid. I didn't kill that man. No jury would convict me."

I might have told him that convictions are founded on evidence, and
that the evidence in this case was certainly against him, but I
thought it better to hold my peace. The more confident he was, the
less irksome he would find imprisonment. So I sat silent until the
members of the jury filed back into their places.

"Have you reached a verdict, gentlemen?" the coroner asked, after his
clerk had polled them.

"Yes, Your Honour," the foreman answered.

"What is the verdict?"

The foreman held out a folded paper to the clerk, who took it, opened
it, and read:

"We, the jury in the inquest held this thirteenth day of June, 1908,
into the death of one Worthington Vaughan, residing in the Borough of
the Bronx, City of New York, do find that the deceased came to his
death by strangulation at the hands of one Frederic Swain."

There was an instant's silence, and then Goldberger turned to the jury.

"Is this your verdict, gentlemen?" he asked quietly; and each juryman
replied in the affirmative as his name was called. "I thank you for
your services," Goldberger added, directed his clerk to give them