evidence, and under the laws of New York the prisoner cannot be
punished. I have no right of discretion. The law does not permit
a conviction in this case, although every one of us may be morally
certain of the prisoner's guilt. I am, therefore, gentlemen of the
jury, compelled to direct you to find the prisoner not guilty."

"Judge," interrupted the foreman, jumping up in the box, "we cannot
find that verdict under our oath; we know that this man is guilty."

"Sir," said the judge, "this is a matter of law in which the wishes
of the jury cannot be considered. The clerk will write a verdict
of not guilty, which you, as foreman, will sign."

The spectators broke out into a threatening murmur that began to
grow and gather volume. The judge rapped on his desk and ordered
the bailiffs promptly to suppress any demonstration on the part of
the audience. Then he directed the foreman to sign the verdict
prepared by the clerk. When this was done he turned to Victor
Ancona; his face was hard and there was a cold glitter in his eyes.

"Prisoner at the bar," he said, "you have been put to trial before
this tribunal on a charge of cold-blooded and atrocious murder.
The evidence produced against you was of such powerful and
overwhelming character that it seems to have left no doubt in the
minds of the jury, nor indeed in the mind of any person present in
this court room.

"Had the question of your guilt been submitted to these twelve
arbiters, a conviction would certainly have resulted and the death
penalty would have been imposed. But the law, rigid, passionless,