out its hand and lifts the prisoner out of the clutches of the
fierce jury that would hang him."

Mason sat down. The room was silent. The jurymen looked at each
other in amazement. The counsel for the People arose. His face
was white with anger, and incredulous.

"Your Honor," he said, "this doctrine is monstrous. Can it be said
that, in order to evade punishment, the murderer has only to hide
or destroy the body of the victim, or sink it into the sea? Then,
if he is not seen to kill, the law is powerless and the murderer
can snap his finger in the face of retributive justice. If this is
the law, then the law for the highest crime is a dead letter. The
great commonwealth winks at murder and invites every man to kill
his enemy, provided he kill him in secret and hide him. I repeat,
your Honor,"--the man's voice was now loud and angry and rang
through the court room--"that this doctrine is monstrous!"

"So said Best, and Story, and many another," muttered Mason, "and
the law remained."

"The Court," said the judge, abruptly, "desires no further
argument."

The counsel for the People resumed his seat. His face lighted up
with triumph. The Court was going to sustain him.

The judge turned and looked down at the jury. He was grave, and
spoke with deliberate emphasis.