There was nothing about Stenhouse, unless it was his repressed histrionic intensity, to suggest the saver of lives. Outwardly, he was a lank, clean-shaven Yankee, of ill-assorted features and piercing gimlet eyes. But something about him suggested power and an immense persuasiveness. He had only to wake from the quiescent mood in which he was talking to Bob to become an actor or a demagogue. With laughter, tears, pathos, vituperation, satire, and repartee all at his command, together with an amazing knowledge of criminal law, he was born to commend himself to the average juryman. Little of this was apparent, however, except when he was in action. Just now, as he lounged in his revolving chair, his limber legs crossed, his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and his perfecto moving as if by its own volition along the elastic lines of his mouth, he was detached, impartial, judicial, with that manner of speaking which the French describe as "from high to low"—"_de haut en bas_"—the "good mixer," with a sense of his own superiority. The lack of the human element was to Bob the most disconcerting trait in the lawyer’s frame of mind. To him the case was a case, and neither more nor less. The boy’s life, so precious to himself, was of no more account to Stenhouse than that of a private soldier to his commanding officer on the day when a position must be rushed. Stenhouse was interested in the professional advantage he himself might gain from the outcome of the trial. In a less degree, he was interested in Teddy’s psychology as a new slant on criminal mentality in general. But the results as they affected his client’s fate concerned him not at all. "I’m talking to you frankly," he went on, "because it’s the only way we can handle the business. You’re making yourself responsible in the case, and so I must tell you what I think." "Oh, of course!" "I quite understand your connection with this young fellow, and why you’re taking the matter up, but I must treat you as if you were as aloof from it in sentiment as I am myself." "That’s exactly what I want." "Well, then, the boy’s in a bad fix. It’s a worse fix because he belongs to the dangerous criminal type for whom you can never get a jury’s sympathy. Roughly speaking, there are two classes of criminals—the criminals by accident and the criminals born. This boy is a criminal born." "Oh, do you think so?" "I know so. Yes, sir! You can’t have as much to do with both lots as I’ve had without learning to read them at sight; and when it comes to drawing them out—why, he hadn’t told me a half of his story before I could see he’d had murder on the brain for the best part of his life." "I shouldn’t have thought that."