Pepperill prefers to have the interpreter read it--"

"Show it to the district attorney!" directed His Honor.

Pepperill looked at it helplessly.

"You may read your own translation," said the court drowsily.

Mr. Tutt bowed, took up the paper and faced the jury.

"This is the official record," he announced. "I will read it.

"'In the name of G.o.d.

"'On a charge of the murder of the gendarmes Nejib Telhoon and Abdurrahman and Ibrahim Aisha and Fatima, daughter of Hason Abbas, of the attack on certain nomads, of having fired on them with the intent of murder, of partic.i.p.ation and a.s.sistance in the act of murder, of having shot on the regular troops, of a.s.sisting in the escape of some offenders and of having drawn arms on the regular troops, during an uprising on Sunday, January 24, 1303--Mohammedan style--between the inhabitants of the Mezreatil-Arab quarter in Beirut and the nomads who had pitched their tents near by, the following arrested persons, namely--Metri son of Habib Eljemal and Habib son of Mikael Nakash and Hanna son of Abdallah Elbaitar and Elias Esad Shihada and Tanous son of Jerji Khedr and Habib son of Aboud Shab and Elias son of Metri Nasir and Khalil son of Mansour Maoud and Nakhle son of Elias Elhaj and Nakhle son of Berkat Minari and Antoon son of Berkat Minari and Lutfallah son of Jerji-Kefouri and Jabran Habib Bishara and Kholil son of Lutf Dahir and Nakhle Yousif Eldefoumi, all residents of the said quarter and Turkish subjects, and their companions, sixty-five fugitives, namely--Isbir Bedoon son of Abdallah Zerik and Elias son of Kanan Zerik and Amin Matar and Jerji Ferhan alias Baldelibas and Habu son of Hanna Kahoots and--'"

Deputy a.s.sistant District Attorney Pepperill started doubtfully to his feet.

"If the court please," he murmured in a sickly voice, "I object. In the first place I don't know anything about this record--and I object to it on that ground; and in the second place a trial and conviction in the absence of a defendant under our law is no conviction at all."

"But this man is a Turkish subject and it's a good conviction in Turkey," argued Mr. Tutt.

"Well, it isn't here!" protested Pepperill.

"You're a little late, aren't you?" inquired His Honor. "It has all been read to the jury. However, I'll entertain a motion to strike out--"

"I should like to be heard on the question," said Mr. Tutt quickly.

"This is an important matter."

Unexpectedly a disgruntled-looking talesman in the back row held up his hand.

"I'd like to ask a question myself," he announced defiantly, almost arrogantly, after the manner of one with a grievance. "I'm a hard-working business man. I've been dragged here against my will to serve on this jury and decide if this defendant murdered somebody or other. I don't see what difference it makes whether or not this witness cut a tablecloth in two or murdered Fatima, the daughter of What's his Name. I want to go home--sometime. If it is in order I'd like to suggest that we get along."

Judge Wetherell started and peered with a puzzled air at this bold shatterer of established procedure.

"Mister Juryman," said he severely, "these matters relate directly to the credibility of the witness. They are quite proper.

I--I--am--surprised--"

"But, Your Honor," expostulated the iconoclast upon the back row, "I guess n.o.body is going to waste much time over this Turkish snake charmer! Ain't there a policeman or somebody we can believe who saw what happened?"

"Bang!" went the judicial gavel.

"The juryman will please be silent!" shouted Judge Wetherell. "This is entirely out of order!" Then he quickly covered his face with his handkerchief. "Proceed!" he directed in a m.u.f.fled tone.

"Where were we?" asked Mr. Tutt dreamily.

"Fatima, the daughter of Abbas," a.s.sisted the foreman, sotto voce.

"And I objected to Fatima, the daughter of Abbas!" snapped Pepperill.

"Well, well!" conceded Mr. Tutt. "She's dead, poor thing! Let her be.

That is all, Mr. Kahoots."

It is difficult to describe the intense excitement these digressions from the direct testimony occasioned among the audience. The reference to the billiard-table cover and the murder of the unfortunate Fatima apparently roused long-smoldering fires. A group of Syrians by the window broke into an unexpected altercation, which had to be quelled by a court officer, and when quiet was restored the jury seemed but slightly attentive to the precisely similar yarns of Nicola Abbu, Menheem Shikrie, Fajal Mokarzel and David Elias, especially as the minutes of the Grand Jury showed that they had sworn to three entirely different sets of facts regarding the cause of Babu's death. Yet when the People rested it remained true that five witnesses, whatever the jury may have thought of them, had testified that Ha.s.soun strangled Sardi Babu. The jury turned expectantly to Mr. Tutt to hear what he had to say.

"Gentlemen," he said quietly, "the defense is very simple. None of the witnesses who have appeared here was in fact present at the scene of the homicide at all. I shall call some ten or twelve reputable Syrian citizens who will prove to you that Kasheed Ha.s.soun, my client, with a large party of friends was sitting quietly in the restaurant when Sardi Babu came in with a revolver in his hand, which he fired at Ha.s.soun, and that then, and only then, a small dark man whose ident.i.ty cannot be established--evidently a stranger--seized Babu before he could fire again, and killed him--in self-defense."

Mr. William Montague Pepperill's jaw dropped as if he had seen the ghost of one of his colonial ancestors. He could not believe that he had heard Mr. Tutt correctly. Why, the old lawyer had the thing completely turned round! Sardi Babu hadn't gone to the restaurant. He had been in the restaurant, and it had been Kasheed Ha.s.soun who had gone there.

Yet, one by one, placidly, imperturbably, the dozen witnesses foretold by Mr. Tutt, and gathered in by Bonnie Doon, marched to the chair and swore upon the Holy Bible that it was even as Mr. Tutt had said, and that no such persons as Mokarzel, Kahoots, Abbu, Shikrie and Elias had been in the restaurant at any time that evening, but on the contrary that they, the friends of Ha.s.soun, had been there eating Turkish pie--a few might have had mashed beans with _taheenak_--when Sardi Babu, apparently with suicidal intent, entered alone to take vengeance upon the camel owner.

"That is all. That is our case," said Mr. Tutt as the last Syrian left the stand.

But there was no response from the bench. Judge Wetherell had been dozing peacefully for several hours. Even Pepperill could not avoid a decorous smile. Then the clerk pulled out the copy of Al-Hoda and rustled it, and His Honor, who had been dreaming that he was riding through the narrow streets of Bagdad upon a jerky white dromedary so tall that he could peek through the latticed balconies at the plump, black-eyed odalisques within the harems, slowly came back from Turkey to New York.

"Gentlemen of the jury," said he, pulling himself together, "the defendant here is charged by the Grand Jury with having murdered Fatima the daughter of Abbas--I beg your pardon! I mean--who was it?--one Sardi Babu. I will first define to you the degrees of homicide--"

One day three months later, after Kasheed Ha.s.soun had been twice tried upon the same testimony and the jury had disagreed--six to six, each time--Mr. Tutt, who had overstayed his lunch hour at the office, put on his stovepipe hat and strolled along Washington Street, looking for a place to pick up a bite to eat. It was in the middle of the afternoon and most of the stores were empty, which was all the more to his liking.

He had always wanted to try some of that Turkish pie that they had all talked so much about at the trial. Presently a familiar juxtaposition of names caught his eye--Ghabryel & a.s.sad. The very restaurant which had been the scene of the crime! Curiously, he turned in there. Like all the other places it was deserted, but at the sound of his footsteps a little Syrian boy not more than ten years old came from behind the screen at the end of the room and stood bashfully awaiting his order.

Mr. Tutt smiled one of his genial weather-beaten smiles at the youngster and glancing idly over the bill of fare ordered _biklama_ and coffee.

Then he lit a stogy and stretched his long legs comfortably out under the narrow table. Yes, this was the very spot where either Sardi Babu and his friends had been sitting the night of the murder or Kasheed Ha.s.soun and his friends--one or the other; he wondered if anybody would ever know which. Was it possible that in this humdrum little place human pa.s.sions had been roused to the taking of life on account of some mere difference in religious dogma? Was this New York? Was it possible to Americanize these people? A door clattered in the rear, and from behind the screen again emerged the boy carrying a tray of pastry and coffee.

"Well, my little man," said Mr. Tutt, "do you work here?"

"Oh, yes," answered the embryonic citizen. "My father, he owns half the store. I go to school every day, but I work here afterward. I got a prize last week."

"What sort of a prize?"

"I got the English prize."

The lawyer took the child's hand and pulled him over between his knees.

He was an attractive lad, clean, responsive, frank, and his eyes looked straight into Mr. Tutt's.

"Sonny," he inquired his new friend, "are you an American?"

"Me? Sure! You bet I'm an American! The old folks--no! You couldn't change 'em in fifty years. They're just what they always were. They don't want anything different. They think they're in Syria yet. But me--say, what do you think? Of course I'm an American!"

"That's right!" answered Mr. Tutt, offering him a piece of pastry. "And what is your name?"

"George Nasheen a.s.sad," answered the boy, showing a set of white teeth.

"Well, George," continued the attorney, "what has become of Kasheed Ha.s.soun?"

"Oh, he's down at Coney Island. He runs a caravan. He has six camels. I go there sometimes and he lets me ride for nothing. I know who you are,"

said the little Syrian confidently, as he took the cake. "You're the great lawyer who defended Kasheed Ha.s.soun."

"That's right. How did you know that, now?"