own affairs in their own historic and traditional way--the way of the
revolver, the silken cord, the knife and the iron bar. Once enmeshed in
Anglo-Saxon juridical procedure, to be sure, they were not averse to
letting it run its course on the bare chance that it might automatically
accomplish their revenge. But they distrusted it, being brought up
according to a much more effective system--one which when it wanted to
punish anybody simply reached out, grabbed him by the pigtail, yanked
him to his knees and sliced off his head. This so-called American
justice was all talk--words, words, words! From their point of view
judges, jurymen and prosecutors were useless pawns in life's game of
chess. Perhaps they are! Who knows!

When Judge Bender entered the court room it was, in spite of his
injunction, full of blue blouses. A special panel of two hundred
talesmen filled the first half dozen rows of benches, the others being
occupied by witnesses both Chinese and white, policemen and the
miscellaneous human flotsam and jetsam that always manages somehow or
other to find its way to a murder trial. Inside the rail O'Brien, the
assistant district attorney, was busy in conversation with three cueless
Chinamen in American clothes. At the bar sat Mock Hen with Mr. Tutt
beside him, flanked by Wong Get, Tutt, Bonnie Doon and Buddha.

The judge beckoned Mr. Tutt and O'Brien to the front of the bench.

"Is there any chance of disposing of this case by a plea?" he inquired.

O'Brien looked expectantly at Mr. Tutt, who shook his head. The judge
shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, how long is it going to take?"