The Third Degree Part 29

"You mean that you intend to keep at me until I give way--through sheer exhaustion?"

She nodded.

"That's it exactly," she said.

The lawyer gasped.

"Well, I must say you--you--you're very brave."

Annie shook her head.

"No, I'm not," she said earnestly. "I'm an awful coward, but I'm fighting for him. Howard Jeffries lifted me up when I was way down in the world. He gave me his name. He gave me all he had, to make me a better woman, and I'm grateful. Why, even a dog has grat.i.tude, even a dog will lick the hand that feeds him. Why should I hesitate to express my grat.i.tude? That's all I'm doing--just paying him back a bit of the debt I owe him, and I'm going to move Heaven and earth to bring his father around to my way of thinking. I've got you already----"

The judge bounded to his feet. Could his ears have heard aright?

"Got me already?" he exclaimed. "What do you mean by that?"

Annie returned his angry look with the utmost calm. She was playing her cards well, and she knew it. She had hit the old man in a sensitive place. Quietly, she went on:

"You'd say 'yes' in a minute if it wasn't for Mr. Jeffries."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" he gasped.

"I'm sure of it," she replied confidently. Boldly she went on: "You're afraid of him."

Judge Brewster laughed heartily.

"Afraid of him?" he echoed.

"It isn't so funny," she went on. "You're afraid of opposing him. I'm not surprised. I'm afraid of him myself."

The lawyer looked at her in an amused kind of way.

"Then why do you oppose him in everything?" he demanded.

Annie laughed as she replied:

"That's the only way I can get his attention. Why, when he met me out there to-day he actually looked at me. For the first time in his life he recognized that he has a daughter-in-law. He looked at me--and I'm not sure, but I think he wanted to bow to me. He's kind of beginning to sit up and take notice."

Judge Brewster frowned. He did not like the insinuation that he was afraid to do the right thing because it might interfere with his emoluments. Yet, secretly, he had to admit to himself that she had almost guessed right. Now he came to think of it, he had taken this stand in the matter because he knew that any other course would displease his wealthy client. After all, was he doing right? Was he acting in conformance with his professional oath? Was he not letting his material interests interfere with his duty? He was silent for several minutes, and then, in an absent-minded kind of way, he turned to his visitor.

"So you think I'm afraid of him, do you?"

"I'm sure of it," she said quickly. "You liked my husband, and you'd just love to rush in and fight for him. His father thinks he is guilty and, well--you don't like to disobey him. It's very natural. He's an influential man, a personal friend of the President and all that. You know on which side your bread is b.u.t.tered, and--oh, it's very natural--you're looking out for your own interests----"

Judge Brewster interrupted her impatiently.

"Circ.u.mstances are against Howard. Your father judges him guilty from his own confession. It's the conclusion I'm compelled to come to myself.

Now, how do you propose to change that conclusion?"

"You don't have to change it," she said quietly, "You don't believe Howard guilty."

"I don't?" exclaimed the lawyer.

"No, at the bottom of your heart. You knew Howard when he was a boy, and you know he is as incapable of that crime as you are."

Judge Brewster lapsed into silence, and there followed a perfect quiet, broken only by the suppressed chatter of the clerks and clicking of the typewriters in the outer office. Annie watched him closely, wondering what was pa.s.sing in his mind, fearing in her heart that she might have prejudiced him against her husband only the more. Suddenly he turned on her.

"Mrs. Jeffries, how do you know that your husband did not kill Robert Underwood?"

"I know it," she said confidently.

"Yes," persisted the judge, "but how do you know it?"

Annie looked steadily at him, and then she said solemnly:

"I know there's a G.o.d, but I can't tell you how I know it. I just know it, that's all! Howard didn't do it. I know he didn't."

The lawyer smiled.

"That's a very fair sample of feminine logic."

"Well, it's all I have," she retorted, with a toss of her head. "And it's a mighty comfort, too, because when you know a thing you know it and it makes you happy."

Judge Brewster laughed outright.

"Feminine deduction!" he cried. "Think a thing, believe it, and then you know it!" Looking up at her, he asked:

"Haven't you any relatives to whom you can go?"

She shook her head.

"No," she said sadly. "My father died in--Sing Sing--and the rest are not worth----"

"Yes, yes, I know," replied the judge hastily. "I got your family history from Mr. Jeffries after your marriage. It is filed away among the family archives."

She smiled sadly.

"It's a wonder you don't burn 'em up--my folks were not a very brilliant lot." Earnestly she went on: "But my father was all right, judge. Blood was thicker than water with him. He'd never have gone back on me in the way Howard's father has on him."

The lawyer looked at her fixedly without speaking. Their eyes met, and the silence continued until it became embarra.s.sing. Judge Brewster shook his head.

"It's too bad. I'm sorry for you, really, I----"

Annie laughed, and he asked:

"Why do you laugh?"

"What's the use of crying?" she said. "Ha! Ha! It's almost a joke.