For a moment the import of this did not penetrate to Keith's understanding. Then he half rose, shouted "What!" and sank back stunned. His brain was in confusion. Only dimly did he hear the judge dismissing the jury, remanding Cora for retrial, adjourning court. Instantly Cora was surrounded by a congratulatory crowd. Keith sat alone. McDougall, gathering up his papers from the table assigned to counsel, made some facetious remark. Keith did not reply. McDougall looked at him sharply, and as he went out he remarked to Casey: "Keith takes this hard." "He does!" cried Casey, genuinely astonished. "They were trying to tell me he was altogether too active in this matter; but I told them he was young and had his way to make, and was playing to the gallery." He sauntered across the room. "Well, Milt," he cried in a jovial voice, but watching the young lawyer narrowly, "the Lord's on the side of true virtue, as usual." Keith came to himself, scowled, started to say something, but refrained with an obvious effort. Casey wandered back to McDougall. "You're right, Mac," he said. "I guess he's got the swell head. We'll have to call him off gently, or he'll make a nuisance of himself at the next trial. He makes altogether too much trouble." But McDougall was tolerant. "Oh, let him alone, Jim. He's got his way to make. Let him alone. We can handle the situation." XLI Keith left the courtroom in a daze of incredulity. This was his first serious defeat; and he could not understand it. The case was absolutely open and shut, a mere question of fact to which there were sufficient and competent witnesses. For the moment he was completely routed. As he emerged to the busy crowds on Kearney Street a sudden repugnance to meeting acquaintances overcame him. He turned off toward the bay, making his way by the back streets, alleys, and slums of that unsavoury quarter. But even here he was not to escape. He had not gone two blocks before he descried Krafft's slight and elegant figure sauntering toward him. Keith braced himself for the inevitable question. "Well," it came, "how goes the trial?" The words released Keith's pent flood of bitterness. Here was an outlet; Krafft was "safe." He poured out his disappointment, his suspicion, his indignation. The little man listened to him in silence, a slight smile, sketching his full, red lips. When Keith had somewhat run down, Krafft, without a word, took him by the arm and led him by devious ways down to the water-front portion of the city. There he planted him near the entrance of a dark alley. "Now you wait here," Keith was told. Keith obeyed. The interval was long, but he had much to occupy his mind. After a time Krafft returned in company with a slouching, drink-sodden bummer of powerful build and lowering mien, the remains of a forceful personality. This individual shambled along in the wake of the dapper little Krafft quite meekly and submissively.