It was a horrible movement. But Tutt clapped his hand over
Angelo's mouth and forced him back into his seat.
"The defense rests," said Mr. Tutt, ignoring the interruption. "So far
as we are concerned the case is closed."
"Both sides rest!" snapped Babson. "How long do you want to sum up?"
Mr. Tutt looked at the clock, which pointed to three. The regular hour
of adjournment was at four. Delay was everything in a case like this. A
juryman might die suddenly overnight or fall grievously ill; or some
legal accident might occur which would necessitate declaring a mistrial.
There is, always hope in a criminal case so long as the verdict has not
actually been returned and the jury polled and discharged. If possible
he must drag his summing up over until the following day. Something
might happen.
"About two hours, Your Honor," he replied.
The jury stirred impatiently. It was clear that they regarded a two-hour
speech from him under the circumstances as an imposition. But Babson
wished to preserve the fiction of impartiality.
"Very well," said he. "You may sum up until four-thirty, and have half
an hour more to-morrow morning. See that the doors are closed, Captain
Phelan. We do not want any interruption while the summations are going
on."
"All out that's goin' out! Everybody out that's got no business, with
the court!" bellowed Captain Phelan.
Mr. Tutt with an ominous heightening of the pulse realized that the real
ordeal was at last at hand, for the closing of the case had wrought in
the old lawyer an instant metamorphosis.
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