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"Yes," replied his father. "He's just gone."
So, Cowperwood thought, Butler was curious enough as to his fate to want to come here and
watch him tried. Shannon was his tool. Judge Payderson was his emissary, in a way. He,
Cowperwood, might defeat him in the matter of his daughter, but it was not so easy to defeat
him here unless the jury should happen to take a sympathetic attitude. They might convict him,
and then Butler's Judge Payderson would have the privilege of sentencing him--giving him the
maximum sentence. That would not be so nice--five years! He cooled a little as he thought of it,
but there was no use worrying about what had not yet happened. Steger came forward and told
him that his bail was now ended--had been the moment the jury left the room--and that he was
at this moment actually in the care of the sheriff, of whom he knew--Sheriff Adlai Jaspers.
Unless he were acquitted by the jury, Steger added, he would have to remain in the sheriff's
care until an application for a certificate of reasonable doubt could be made and acted upon.
"It would take all of five days, Frank," Steger said, "but Jaspers isn't a bad sort. He'd be
reasonable. Of course if we're lucky you won't have to visit him. You will have to go with this
bailiff now, though. Then if things come out right we'll go home. Say, I'd like to win this case," he
said. "I'd like to give them the laugh and see you do it. I consider you've been pretty badly
treated, and I think I made that perfectly clear. I can reverse this verdict on a dozen grounds if
they happen to decide against you."
He and Cowperwood and the latter's father now stalked off with the sheriff's subordinate--a
small man by the name of "Eddie" Zanders, who had approached to take charge. They entered
a small room called the pen at the back of the court, where all those on trial whose liberty had
been forfeited by the jury's leaving the room had to wait pending its return. It was a dreary, high-
ceiled, four-square place, with a window looking out into Chestnut Street, and a second door
leading off into somewhere--one had no idea where. It was dingy, with a worn wooden floor,
some heavy, plain, wooden benches lining the four sides, no pictures or ornaments of any kind.
A single two-arm gas-pipe descended from the center of the ceiling. It was permeated by a
peculiarly stale and pungent odor, obviously redolent of all the flotsam and jetsam of
life--criminal and innocent--that had stood or sat in here from time to time, waiting patiently to
learn what a deliberating fate held in store.
Cowperwood was, of course, disgusted; but he was too self-reliant and capable to show it. All
his life he had been immaculate, almost fastidious in his care of himself. Here he was coming,
perforce, in contact with a form of life which jarred upon him greatly. Steger, who was beside
him, made some comforting, explanatory, apologetic remarks.
"Not as nice as it might be," he said, "but you won't mind waiting a little while. The jury won't be
long, I fancy."
"That may not help me," he replied, walking to the window. Afterward he added: "What must be,
must be."
His father winced. Suppose Frank was on the verge of a long prison term, which meant an
atmosphere like this? Heavens! For a moment, he trembled, then for the first time in years he
made a silent prayer.
Chapter XLIV
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