"Elsie Morton and Jennie Finch. I mean, those are their married names. I use a different alias every time I get married, you see.

Course, my first wife,--the one you met,--her name is Smilk. I married her when I was young and not very smart. Elsie lives in Brooklyn and Jennie keeps a delicatessen up on the West Side."

"Do they know where you are?"

"I don't think so. I forgot to tell 'em I was out on parole last year."

"And they have never been divorced from you?"

"No. They couldn't prove anything on me as long as I was locked up in the penitentiary."

"Does either one of them know about the other two?"

"I should say not! What do you think I am?"

"Don't lose your temper, Ca.s.sius. I am trying to think of some way to help you,--and I believe I see a ray of hope. You were regularly married to Elsie and Jennie,--I mean, by a minister, and so on?"

"Sure. They both got their marriage certificates. I always believe in doin' things in the proper legal way. It's only fair and right.

They--"

"Never mind. Give me their addresses."

CHAPTER FIVE

There were quite a number of people in the court room when the case of the State vs. Smilk was called. It was a bitterly cold day outside and considerable of an overflow from the corridors had seeped into the various court rooms. But little delay was experienced in obtaining a jury. The regular panel was stuck, with a few exceptions. Only one member was able to declare that he had formed an opinion, and he did not form it until after he had had a good look at the prisoner,--although he did not say so. Two were challenged by counsel and one got off because he admitted that he was acquainted with a man who used to be connected with the District Attorney's office,--he couldn't think of his name.

Smilk's attorney succeeded in executing a very clever piece of strategy at the outset. No sooner had the jury been sworn than he ordered the bailiffs to crowd three or four more chairs alongside his table, and then blandly invited a considerable portion of the audience to take their seats inside the railing. The persons indicated included a tall, shabbily dressed woman and seven ragged, pinched children, ranging in years from twelve down to three.

Immediately the prosecution fell into the trap. Two agitated a.s.sistant District Attorneys jumped to their feet and barked out an objection to the presence of the accused's wife and family on the inside of the fence, and the court promptly sustained them. He also said some very sharp and caustic things to Smilk's lawyer. Mrs.

Smilk and her bewildered seven patiently resumed their seats in the front row of spectators, but not until after a four year old girl, surrept.i.tiously pinched, had caused a mild sensation by piping: "I want my daddy! I want my daddy!"

Smilk cringed and it was quite apparent to close observers that he was having great difficulty in suppressing his emotions.

The first witness for the prosecution was Crittenden Yollop, milliner, aged 44. A more thorough examination by the State would have disclosed the fact that he was six feet tall, spare, slightly bald, beardless, well-manicured, and faultlessly attired.

"State your name and occupation, please," said the State's attorney, advancing a few paces toward the witness stand.

"My name is Crittenden Yollop. I am in the millinery business."

The State: "Where do you reside?"

Yollop: "418 Sagamore Terrace."

The State: "In an apartment?"

Yollop: "A little louder, if you please."

The State, raising its voice: "Repeat the question, Mr.

Stenographer."

Stenographer, leaning forward a little: "'In an apartment?'"

Yollop: "Yes."

The State: "Were you living in this apartment on the 18th of December, 1919?"

Yollop: "I was."

The State: "Was that apartment entered by a burglar on the date mentioned?"

Yollop: "It was."

The State, casually: "Will you be so good as to glance around the court room and state whether you see and recognize the man who entered and robbed your apartment?"

Yollop, pointing: "Yes. That is the man."

The State: "You are sure about that?"

Yollop: "I beg pardon?"

The State, patiently: "Repeat the question, Mr. Stenographer."

Stenographer, patiently: "'You are sure about that?'"

Yollop: "Certainly."

The State: "Now, Mr. Yollop, I'm going to ask you to tell the jury, in your own words, exactly what occurred in your apartment on the morning of December 18th. Speak slowly and distinctly, and face the jury."

Mr. Yollop, a.s.sisted to some extent by the gentleman conducting the examination, related the story of the crime, dwelling with special earnestness upon the dastardly, brutal manner in which Smilk forced him, at the point of a revolver to bind and gag and otherwise maltreat the woman who had befriended him and whose jewels he was preparing to make off with when the police arrived. He carefully avoided any allusion to certain portions of the lengthy and illuminating dialogue that had taken place between him and Smilk; he said nothing of the unexampled behavior of the intruder in telephoning for the police, or the kindness revealed by him in suggesting a means for getting his captor's feet warm.

Smilk's lawyer, at the very outset of the cross-examination, clarified the air as to the nature of the defense he was going to put up for his client. After a few preliminary questions, he demanded sharply:

"Now, Mr. Yollop, didn't this defendant state to you that he had been unable to get work and that his wife and family were in such desperate straits that he was forced to commit a crime against the State in order to preserve them from actual starvation?"

Yollop: "He did not."

Counsel: "You are quite positive about that, are you?"

Yollop: "Yes."

Counsel: "Did he, at the time appear to be a robust, well-conditioned man,--that is to say, a man who looked strong enough to work and who had had sufficient nourishment to keep his body and soul together?"