"Then," said Cranshaw, facing the jury, "may I point out that no identity was really removed from the face of this earth by this so-called killing. But one birth certificate was issued for Harry Foster. But one Harry Foster lived and grew and became the Harry Foster that many people knew as a motion picture star. A duplicate Harry Foster was made, and then eliminated. Harry Foster was killed--and yet Harry Foster remains! If the law states a life for a life, we have it in the person of the living Harry Foster! He--killed himself." Cranshaw smiled indulgently. "There are laws concerning suicide," he said. "These laws make suicide a felony. Because of this there have been many jokes made about the penalty for suicide, but there is good reason for such laws. You see, Gentlemen of the Jury, it is not necessary to wait until the burglar emerges from the bank with his coat pockets bulging to arrest him. You may apprehend him while he is drilling his way into the bank for the crime of Attempting To Compound A Felony. An attempt at suicide is, then, an attempt to compound a felony and the would-be suicide may be apprehended for his own protection. Since the penalties for attempted suicide usually consist of compelling the miscreant to undergo psychiatric treatment to remove the obvious mental unrest that gave him the will to self-destruction, I suggest that my client be given the same treatment for the crime of suicide." He sat down. "Now," he said with a smile, "that should hang that jury higher than a kite. What is the penalty for successful suicide? Not execution--" "Shut up," snapped Foster. * * * * * The jury returned after many hours, and the foreman arose. "Your Honor, we have deliberated this case and find that our decision requires explanation. Suicide we reason, is self-murder. Since suicide requires a certain amount of planning and contemplation, we find the defendant guilty on all charges including Murder in the First Degree!" The roar of the spectators covered up the judge's words, but Harry Foster heard him pronounce the fatal words. Tim Woodart turned the key in Jenny Foster's apartment, shoved the door open and stood aside to let her enter. Once in the dim living room, she turned and buried her head in Tim's shoulder. He held her close and stroked her head with one hand. Over her head he saw the clock on the wall, it registered midnight. "Easy," he said softly. "It's all--over." She nodded, too filled with emotion and relief to speak. Then as the sweep-hand crept past the instant of midnight, a sardonic voice came from the easy-chair. "A very pretty scene." Jenny whirled, her face white. "Harry!" she said with a quavering voice. As Tim faced Foster he asked Jenny to call Lieutenant Miller. Foster laughed again. "Call him," he jeered. "And remember that the Law of the Land makes it impossible for me to be placed in double jeopardy!" "What's been done before can be done again," said Tim.