Evidently the prisoner
had misunderstood him. The silence continued.
"I don't mean _here_, Mr. Tilden;" and he pointed to the bag. "I mean
the night of the so-called robbery."
"That's what I said; 'bout as close's I could git."
"Well, did you rob the mail?" This was asked uneasily, but with a
half-concealed laugh in his voice as if the joke would appear in
a minute.
"No."
"No, of course not." The tone of relief was apparent.
"Well, do you know anything about the cutting of the bag?"
"Yes."
"Who did it?"
"Me."
"_You?"_ The surprise was now an angry one.
"Yes, me."
At this unexpected reply the Judge pushed his glasses high up on his
forehead with a quick motion and leaned over his bench, his eyes on the
prisoner. The jury looked at each other with amazement; such scenes were
rare in their experience. The prosecuting attorney smiled grimly.
Cartwright looked as if someone had struck him a sudden blow in
the face.
"What for?" he stammered. It was evidently the only question left for
him to ask.
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