"Oi'm retired, sor."
"Were you ever on the police force?"
"Well, sor," said McGee uneasily, "Oi wor wance, sor--yes, sor."
He looked up now with a nonchalant air.
"How long were you on the force?"
"Twinty-wan years, sor."
Marriott questioned him at length, finally challenged him for cause; Eades objected, they argued, and Glassford overruled the challenge.
Then, having certainly offended McGee, there was nothing for Marriott to do but to submit a peremptory challenge.
By night the venire was exhausted and Glassford ordered a special venire. With the serving of the special venires, a difference was noted; whereas the men on the first venire had studied how they should qualify themselves for jury service, the men whom Bentley and his deputies now haled into court, studied how they should disqualify themselves. They were all impatient of the senseless tedium, of the costly interruption, being men with real work to do. They replied like experts; all had read of the case, all had formed and expressed opinions, and their opinions could not be shaken by any evidence that might be adduced. Glassford plied them with metaphysical questions; drew psychological distinctions; but in vain. Many of them had scruples against capital punishment; a score of them, fifty of them swore to this, to the delight but disappointment of Marriott, the discomfiture of Eades, the perplexity of Glassford, and the dull amazement of the men in the jury-box, who had no conscientious scruples against anything. Still others had certificates of various kinds exempting them from jury service, which they exhibited with calm smiles and were excused.
Marriott eked out his precious peremptory challenges for three days; venire after venire was issued, and Bentley was happy, for all this meant fees. The crowd diminished. The lawyers grew weary and no longer exerted themselves to say clever things. The sky, which had sparkled a cold, frosty blue for days, was overcast with gray clouds, the atmosphere was saturated with a chill and penetrating moisture. This atmosphere affected men strangely. Eades and Marriott had a dispute, Danner ordered Archie to sit erect, Glassford sharply rebuked two citizens who did not believe in capital punishment for their lack of a sense of civic duty; then he whirled about in his chair and exclaimed angrily:
"We'll not adjourn to-night until we have a jury!"
Marriott had one peremptory challenge left, and eleven men had been accepted. It was now a matter of luck.
"George Holden," called the clerk.
A broad-shouldered man of medium height came promptly forward, took the oath, leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, folded his strong hands in his lap, and raised a pair of deep blue eyes to Eades. As he sat there, something in the poise of his fine head, with its thick curly hair, claimed attention; interest revived; every one looked at him. He had a smooth-shaven face and a wide white brow, and the collar of his dark flannel shirt was open, freeing his strong neck and ample throat.
Marriott suddenly conceived a liking for the man.
"What is your occupation, Mr. Holden?" asked Eades.
"Machinist."
He had read the newspaper accounts of the murder of Kouka and of the Flanagan tragedy, but he had not formed any real opinions; he may have formed impressions, but he could lay them aside; he didn't go much anyway, he said, on what he read in the newspapers.
The formal questions were put and answered to Eades's satisfaction; then came the real question:
"Are you opposed to capital punishment?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"Are your scruples conscientious ones?"
"Yes, sir."
"And not to be overcome?"
"They are not to be overcome."
Just then Glassford, impatient of all these scruples he was hearing so much about, whirled on Holden with a scowl. Holden turned; his blue eyes met those of Glassford.
"You don't want to sit on this jury, do you?" demanded Glassford.
"No, sir."
"It would interfere with your business, wouldn't it?"
"No, sir."
"It wouldn't? You earn good wages, don't you?"
"I'm out of a job now, sir."
"Well, are your scruples such that you can't lay them aside long enough to do your duty as a citizen?"
Holden flushed.
"I can't lay them aside, no; but it doesn't follow that I can't do my duty as a citizen."
"But," began Glassford in his tone of legal argument, "assuming that the law as it is should be altered, nevertheless, knowing the law, can you lay aside your private views and perform a public duty by applying this law to a given state of facts as the court instructs you?--You understand me, do you?"
"I understand perfectly, sir."
"Well, what do you say?"
"I have no private views that are not public ones; I can't see any distinction. I say that I would not take an oath that might oblige me to vote to kill a man."
The atmosphere became tense.
"But assuming you had taken an oath, would you rather break that oath than discharge your duty?"
"I wouldn't take such an oath."
"Then you place your private opinions above the law, do you?"
"In this instance, I do. I don't believe in that law, and I won't help enforce it."
"You mean,"--Glassford was plainly angry--"that you wouldn't take an oath to enforce a law you didn't believe in?"
"That's just what I mean."
Glassford looked an instant at Holden as if trying to decide what he had better do with him for these heresies. Holden's blue eyes were steady; they returned Glassford's gaze, seeming scarcely to wink. And just then Eades, fearing the effect of the man's scruples on the jury, thought best to relieve the situation.
"We submit a challenge for cause," he said.
"Allowed," Glassford snapped. "We don't want such men as you on juries."
He whirled about in his chair, turned his back on Holden, and as Holden walked directly from the courtroom, the eyes of all followed him, with a strange interest in a man who was considered unfit for jury service because he had principles he would not forego.
"Samuel Walker," called Gard.