Deputy Assistant District Attorney Pepperill started doubtfully to his feet.

“If the court please,” he murmured in a sickly voice, “I object.  In the first place I don’t know anything about this record—­and I object to it on that ground; and in the second place a trial and conviction in the absence of a defendant under our law is no conviction at all.”

“But this man is a Turkish subject and it’s a good conviction in Turkey,” argued Mr. Tutt.

“Well, it isn’t here!” protested Pepperill.

“You’re a little late, aren’t you?” inquired His Honor.  “It has all been read to the jury.  However, I’ll entertain a motion to strike out—­”

“I should like to be heard on the question,” said Mr. Tutt quickly.  “This is an important matter.”

Unexpectedly a disgruntled-looking talesman in the back row held up his hand.

“I’d like to ask a question myself,” he announced defiantly, almost arrogantly, after the manner of one with a grievance.  “I’m a hard-working business man.  I’ve been dragged here against my will to serve on this jury and decide if this defendant murdered somebody or other.  I don’t see what difference it makes whether or not this witness cut a tablecloth in two or murdered Fatima, the daughter of What’s his Name.  I want to go home—­sometime.  If it is in order I’d like to suggest that we get along.”

Judge Wetherell started and peered with a puzzled air at this bold shatterer of established procedure.

“Mister Juryman,” said he severely, “these matters relate directly to the credibility of the witness.  They are quite proper.  I—­I—­am—­surprised—­”

“But, Your Honor,” expostulated the iconoclast upon the back row, “I guess nobody is going to waste much time over this Turkish snake charmer!  Ain’t there a policeman or somebody we can believe who saw what happened?”

“Bang!” went the judicial gavel.

“The juryman will please be silent!” shouted Judge Wetherell.  “This is entirely out of order!” Then he quickly covered his face with his handkerchief.  “Proceed!” he directed in a muffled tone.

“Where were we?” asked Mr. Tutt dreamily.

“Fatima, the daughter of Abbas,” assisted the foreman, sotto voce.

“And I objected to Fatima, the daughter of Abbas!” snapped Pepperill.

“Well, well!” conceded Mr. Tutt.  “She’s dead, poor thing!  Let her be.  That is all, Mr. Kahoots.”

It is difficult to describe the intense excitement these digressions from the direct testimony occasioned among the audience.  The reference to the billiard-table cover and the murder of the unfortunate Fatima apparently roused long-smoldering fires.  A group of Syrians by the window broke into an unexpected altercation, which had to be quelled by a court officer, and when quiet was restored the jury seemed but slightly attentive to the precisely similar yarns of Nicola Abbu, Menheem Shikrie, Fajal Mokarzel and David Elias, especially as the minutes of the Grand Jury showed that they had sworn to three entirely different sets of facts regarding the cause of Babu’s death.  Yet when the People rested it remained true that five witnesses, whatever the jury may have thought of them, had testified that Hassoun strangled Sardi Babu.  The jury turned expectantly to Mr. Tutt to hear what he had to say.