It was all clear now, the presence of Ball, the newspapers’ promise of a sensation, the doom that had hung in the atmosphere that morning. Marriott watched the convict first with loathing, then with pity, as he realized the fact that when this man had spoken the one word "life"--he had meant "death"--a long, lingering death, drawn out through meaningless days and months and years, blank and barren, a waste in which this one incident, this railroad journey in chains, this temporary reassertion of personality, this brief distinction in the crowded court-room, this hour of change, of contact with free men, were circumstances to occupy his vacant mind during the remaining years of his misery, until his death should end and life once more come to him. "And now, Mr. Griscom," Eades was saying with a respect that was a mockery, "tell the jury just what Koerner said to you about Detective Kouka." The convict hesitated, his chin sank into the upright collar of his jacket, his eyes roved over the floor, he crossed, uncrossed and recrossed his legs, picked at his cap nervously. "Just tell the jury," urged Eades. The convict stiffly raised his bony hand to his blue lips to stifle the cough in which lay his only hope of release. "I don’t just--" He stopped. The crowd strained forward. The jury glanced uneasily from Griscom to Eades, and back to Griscom again. And then there was a stir. Ball was sidling over from the clerk’s desk to a chair Bentley wheeled forward for him, and as he sank into it, he fixed his eyes on Griscom. The convict shifted uneasily, took down his hand, coughed loosely and swallowed painfully, his protuberant larynx rising and falling. "Just give Koerner’s exact words," urged Eades. "Well, he said he had it in for Kouka, and was going to croak him when he got home." "What did he mean by ’croak,’ if you know?" "Kill him. He said he was a dead shot--he’d learned it in the army." "How many times did you talk with him?" "Oh, lots of times--every time we got a chance. Sometimes in the bolt shop, sometimes in the hall when we had permits." "What else, if anything, did he say about Kouka?" "Oh, he said Kouka’d been laggin’ him, and he was goin’ to get him. He talked about it pretty much all the time." "Is that all?" "That’s about all, yes, sir." "Take the witness." Griscom, evidently relieved, had started to leave the chair, and as he moved he drew his palm across a gray brow that suddenly broke out in repulsive little drops of perspiration. "One moment, Griscom," said Marriott, "I’d like to ask you a few questions." The court was very still, and every one hung with an interest equal to Marriott’s on the convict’s next words. Griscom found all this interest too strong; his pallid lips were parted; he drew his breath with difficulty, his chest was moving with automatic jerks; presently he coughed.