"Griscom," said Marriott, risking his whole case on the words, and the silence in the room deepened until it throbbed like a profound pain, "when Ball came to tell you to testify as you have against Archie, he promised to get you a pardon, did he not?" Eades was on his feet. "There is no evidence here that Ball went to the witness," he cried. He was angry; his face was very red. Marriott smiled. "Let the witness answer," he said. "The question is improper," said Glassford. "Is it not a fact, Griscom, that Ball made you some promise to induce you to testify as you have?" Griscom hesitated, his eyes were already wavering, and Marriott felt an irresistible impulse to follow them. Slowly the convict’s glance turned toward Ball, sitting low in his chair, one leg hung over the other, a big foot dangling above the floor. His arm was thrust straight out before him, his hand grasped his cane, his attitude was apparently careless and indifferent, but the knuckles of the hand that held the cane were white, and his eyes, peering from their narrow slits, were fastened in a steady, compelling stare on Griscom. The convict looked an instant and then he said, still looking at Ball: "No, it isn’t." The convict had a sudden fit of coughing. He fumbled frantically in the breast of his jacket, then clapped his hand to his mouth; his face was blue, his eyes were staring; presently between his fingers there trickled a thin bright stream of blood. Ball got up and tenderly helped the convict from the chair and the court-room. And Marriott knew that he had lost.