He would brood and suffer. Frank felt sorry for the man, and,
somehow, vaguely apprehensive.
Ruef's trial ended in a disagreement of the jury. It was a serious blow.
Most of the San Francisco papers heaped abuse upon the Prosecution, its
attorneys and its judges.
Matters dragged along until the 13th of November. Gallagher was on the
witness stand. He testified with the listlessness of many repetitions to
the sordid facts of San Francisco's betrayal by venal public servants.
It was all more or less perfunctory. Everyone had heard the tale from
one to half a dozen times.
Heney was at the attorneys' table talking animatedly with an assistant.
The jury had left the room and Gallagher stepped down from the stand to
have a word with the prosecutor. A few feet away was Heney's bodyguard
lolling, plainly bored by the testimony. There was the usual buzz of
talk which marks a lull in court proceedings.
Into this scene came with covert tread a wild, dramatic figure. No one
noted his approach. Morris Haas, glittering of eye, dishevelled, mad
with loss of sleep and brooding, had crept into the court-room unheeded.
He approached the attorneys' table stealthily.
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