The judge delivered his charge, dealing with the legal aspect of the case.
Epstein rose again. “I request your honor,” he said, “to charge that in the event of the jurymen finding that there is a reasonable doubt in Neuman’s favor, they must acquit.”
“I request your honor,” Epstein continued, “to charge that if the jurymen consider the fact of no motive having been shown, sufficient to establish a reasonable doubt of the defendant’s guilt, they must acquit.”
“I so charge you, gentlemen,” said the judge.
The jurymen filed out of the room. The judge left the bench. It was now about four in the afternoon. Half an hour passed. The court-room began to empty. Another half hour passed. Only the court attendants, Epstein, the district-attorney’s colleague, and the prisoner remained. One of the attendants held a whispered conference with Epstein: then said to me, “There is no prospect of a speedy agreement. Come.” I rose, followed him to the rear of the room, and was locked up in the prisoner’s pen.
It got dark. I sat still in the dark and waited. The stupor bound my faculties like a frost.
It had been dark many hours when the door of the pen swung open. The same attendant again said, “Come.”
The court-room was lighted by a few feeble gas jets. The judge sat on the bench. The district-attorney was laughing and chatting with him. Epstein said, “For God’s sake, summon all your strength. They have agreed.”
The jurymen entered in single file, took their places, settled themselves in their chairs. The judge and the prosecutor suspended their pleasantries. The clerk cleared his throat. There was a second of dead silence. Then, “Prisoner, stand up,” called the clerk.
“Prisoner, look you upon the jury. Jury, look you upon the prisoner,” the clerk cried, machine-like.
In the murky light of the gas I could have gathered nothing from the faces of the jurymen, even had I been concerned to do so.
“Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?” the metallic voice of the clerk rang out.
The foreman rose. “We have,” he answered.
“How say you, do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the offense for which he stands indicted?”
Epstein grasped my hand and crunched it hard. His own was clammy. He did not speak.