Mr. Darrow smiled humbly and chuckled. “I hope,” he said, in a deep, soothing sort of voice, “that those communications haven’t prejudiced Your Honor against me.”

The people in the galleries liked that; and so, in his own way, did Judge Brown. “It certainly doesn’t help,” he said, producing some chuckles in the crowd that he let go. “If the defendant wishes to retain out-of-state counsel, that is her prerogative. But this court does not require advice from anyone in New York City on how to conduct its affairs.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow answered, smiling in a way what I had to admit was charming. “We feel the same way about New York City in Chicago.”

The crowd laughed again, but got the gavel and a scowl for it. “If it is the defendant’s true request,” the judge said, turning to the defense table again, “then the court will be pleased to allow Mr. Darrow to practice in this state, pro hac vice.”The judge then looked to Libby Hatch, who stood up and widened her glowing eyes innocently.

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” she said, her lips curling up a little as she did. “I’m afraid I never had any Latin.”

Little whispers to the effect of “Me, neither” and “Well, of course she didn’t” circulated through the crowd, bringing another rap of the gavel.

“Pro hac vice,”the judge explained, as gently as I’d guess he was capable of, “simply means ‘for this occasion,’ Mrs. Hunter. It grants Mr. Darrow the right to practice in New York, but only for this case. Is that your wish?”

Libby nodded gently, then sat back down.

“And does the state have any objection?” the judge asked.

Mr. Picton smiled gamely, tucked his thumbs into the vest of the crisp gray suit he was wearing, and stood up. “Not at all, Your Honor,” he said, moving out beside his table and seeming even shorter, more wiry, and quicker up against Mr. Darrow. “The court knows of Mr. Darrow by reputation, and if the defense contends that adequate counsel cannot be found in Saratoga County, then, while we may not share their assessment of our native talent, neither can we think of any reason why Mr. Darrow should not be permitted to serve.”

The audience wasn’t in much of a mood to find anything Mr. Picton said funny-but they couldn’t help a few proud, satisfied smiles at his statement.

Mr. Darrow also smiled, in a gracious sort of way; but his face went straight when, looking over toward Mr. Picton, he caught sight of Marcus. Quickly recovering, he made a quick motion what said he took his cap off to the detective sergeant for his clever bit of research work. Marcus smiled and saluted back as Mr. Darrow said, “I thank the honorable district attorney. And I must say I’m impressed by his efforts to learn all about my-reputation.”

Mr. Picton, having seen the little exchange what’d taken place between Mr. Darrow and Marcus, grinned. “Mr. Darrow inflates me, Your Honor. He is perhaps unaware that I am only an assistant county prosecutor, District Attorney Pearson being, as yet, unwilling to quit his very fine suite of offices.”

Putting on a puzzled face what was so extreme as to make it plain that he actually knew exactly what Mr. Picton’s rank was, Mr. Darrow scratched at his head. “An assistant? Well, I beg the state’s pardon, I’m sure, Your Honor-I’d assumed that in a capital case as fraught with importance as this one the state would’ve wanted its senior officer to represent the people.”

“As Your Honor knows, here in Ballston we enjoy as few temperate weeks as do the citizens of Chicago,” Mr. Picton answered. “And we did not wish to deprive Mr. Pearson of any of them. Since I was the investigating officer in this case, we felt safe entrusting it to my meager talents.”

Judge Brown was nodding his head and looking a little annoyed. “If you two gentlemen are finished needling each other,” he said, “I’d like to see if we can’t get a plea in this matter before noon. Mr. Darrow, the state having no objection, you are permitted to serve as primary counsel for your client in this court. I hope you don’t regret the trip. Now, then, Mrs. Hunter, you have heard the very grave charges against you. How do you plead?”

Looking to Libby Hatch, who was staring up at him anxiously, Mr. Darrow nodded. Then Libby stood again, folded her hands before her, and said, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

A wave of whispers went through the courtroom, bringing a bang from Judge Brown’s gavel. “Very well,” he said, scowling around the room again. “Now, Mr. Picton, as to the matter of-” The judge paused as he noticed Mr. Picton staring at Mr. Darrow with a puzzled face, one what was about as genuine as the bigger man’s had been just a few seconds earlier. “Mr. Picton? Are you mesmerized, sir, by the learned counsel from Illinois?”

Shaking himself, Mr. Picton turned to the bench. “Hmm? Oh! I am sorry, Your Honor. I confess I wasn’t aware that the defense had completed its plea.”

“You find their plea inadequate, Mr. Picton?” the judge asked.

“It isn’t for me to find it so, Your Honor,” Mr. Picton answered. “I only thought that some sort of-defining phrase might be attached to it. ‘By reason of something-or-other’-that sort of thing.”

The judge stared down hard at him. “Mr. Picton-you and I have done too much business in this room over the last few years for me to be unaware of what you’re up to. But there’s no jury here for you to vex with your suggestions yet, and I won’t tolerate any playing to the galleries. Mr. Darrow is a qualified attorney who does not appear to suffer from any impediments of speech. If he wished to qualify the defendant’s plea in any way, I’m sure he would have. Do you wish to so qualify the plea, Mr. Darrow?”

“Certainly not, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow said, in dark earnest. “The plea is a simple, straightforward, and absolute ‘Not guilty.’ ”

“Clear enough,” Judge Brown replied. “In future, Mr. Picton, the state can keep its assumptions, as well as its hopes, to itself.” Mr. Picton just smiled and bowed. “Now,” the judge continued, “as to the matter of bail-”

“Bail?”Mr. Picton blurted out, getting a groan and another scowl from the judge.

“Yes, Mr. Picton,” the old man said. “Bail. You are familiar with the practice?”

“In a case like this, I fear I am not, Your Honor,” Mr. Picton replied. “The defendant is accused of the worst sort of violent assault on her own children, one of whom barely escaped with her life and is currently the state’s principal witness. Does the court seriously intend that the state should, even for a moment, countenance the possibility of bail in this matter?”

“The court intends that the state should follow the rules of criminal procedure, whatever the offense!” Judge Brown bellowed back. “I warn you, Mr. Picton-do not make any more efforts to get on my bad side so early in this trial! As you well know, it’s a big place, my bad side, and once on it you may have trouble finding your way back over again!”

Mr. Picton tried not to smile, and nodded with what you might call pronounced respect. “Yes, Your Honor. I ask the court’s pardon. The state earnestly directs the court’s attention to the severity of the crime with which the defendant is accused, and the danger that might be posed to the state’s principal witness should the defendant be freed. We ask that bail in any amount be denied.”

“Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow countered, looking shocked, “my client is a respectable woman who endured the greatest tragedy that can be inflicted on a member of her sex: the savage murder, before her eyes, of two of her own children, and the attempted murder of a third-”

“I beg the learned counsel’s pardon,” Mr. Picton answered, with a hefty dose of sarcasm. “I was not aware that the issue had already been decided so conclusively. I thought that we were gathered together in this room to determine what, in fact, happened to the defendant’s children.”