is feet. "There is no evidence
connecting him with the crime."

McGurk, furious, sprang toward the bar.

"See here! Wait a minute! Hold on, judge! I can get a hundred
witnesses--"

"Sit down!" shouted one of the officers, thrusting him back. "Keep
quiet!"

Babson looked at O'Brien and elevated his forehead. Then as O'Brien
gave a shrug the judge turned to the expectant jury and said in
apologetic tones:

"Gentlemen of the jury, where the people have failed to prove the
defendant's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt it is the duty of the court
to direct a verdict. In this case, though by inference the testimony
points strongly toward the prisoner, there is no direct proof against
him and I am accordingly constrained--much as I regret it--to instruct
you to return a verdict of not guilty."

In the confusion which followed the rendition of the verdict a messenger
entered breathlessly and forcing his way through the crowd delivered a
folded paper to Mr. Tutt, who immediately rose and handed it to the
clerk; and that official, having hurriedly perused it and pursed his
lips in surprise, passed it over the top of the bench to the judge.

"What's this?" demanded Babson. "Don't bother me now with trifles!"

"But it's a writ of habeas corpus, Your Honor, signed by Judge Winthrop,
requiring the warden to produce Miss Beekman in Part I of the Supreme
Court, and returnable forthwith," whispered Mr. McGuire in an
awe-stricken voice. "I can't disregard that, you know!"

"What!" cried Babson. "How on earth could he have issued a writ in this
space of time? The thing's impossible!"

"If Your Honor please," urbanely explained Mr. Tutt, "as--having known
Miss Beekman's father--I anticipated that the witness would pursue the
course of conduct which, in fact, she has, I prepared the necessary
papers early this morning and as soon as you ordered her into custody my
partner, who was waiting in Judge Winthrop's chambers, presented them to
His Honor, secured his signature and brought the writ here in a
taxicab."

Nobody seemed to be any longer interested in O'Connell. The reporters
had left their places and pushed their way into the inclosure before the
dais. In the rear of the room O'Brien was vainly engaged in trying to
placate the Pearl Button Kids, who were loudly swearing vengeance upon
both him and Peckham. It was a scene as nearly turbulent as the old
yellow clock had ever witnessed. Even the court officers abandoned any
eff