Clara shrugged, her face looking even more worried after the short but sharp exchange between the lawyers. “Not too long ago, I guess.”

“Before you met Dr. Kreizler?” Clara reluctantly shook her head. “After you met Dr. Kreizler?” Clara didn’t move. “Or was it when you met Dr. Kreizler?”

Mr. Picton was up again. “Your Honor, with all due respect, which question does the learned counsel from Illinois wish the witness to answer?”

“Sit down, Mr. Picton,” Judge Brown replied. “The counsel for the defense is within his rights.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow said. “Well, Clara?”

“I never forgot,” the girl answered, more tears coming as she did. “I never forgot, not really.”

“And what didn’t you forget? You never knew what happened to Tommy and Matthew, that’s fine, you’ve told us that. So you couldn’t and don’t remember it. But what did you know that you didn’t forget?”

“I never-” Looking up at the bench pleadingly, Clara said, “I don’t know what he means.”

“I mean, Clara,” Mr. Darrow went on, being a little firmer now, “what was it that you know that you never forgot, and what was it that you know that you forgot and only remembered not too long ago?”

Her body shaking once, Clara finally let out a sob as she looked from the judge to Mr. Darrow, and then tried to peer around the lawyer at the Doctor, who, for his part, was also desperately attempting to get himself into position to be seen by her.

“What the devil?” the Doctor whispered. “He’s deliberately attempting to confuse her-”

“I don’t understand!” Clara said again, openly crying now.

“Clara,” Mr. Darrow went on, “it’s very simple-”

“It’s not!” the girl cried. “I don’t understand-”

“Which is which?” Mr. Darrow said, surprising everyone in the room by letting his voice get stern, even a bit harsh. “What did you always know, and what did you forget but remember not too long ago, perhaps at about the time that you met Dr. Kreizler-and perhaps when you met Dr. Kreizler? Clara! You must-”

“Stop it!”a voice called out, silencing both the lawyer and the mumbling what had started in the galleries. The entire room turned to the defense table, where Libby Hatch was, like her daughter, in tears. “Leave her alone!” she shouted at Darrow. “You can’t treat her like this, not with what she’s been through. If she doesn’t remember, then she doesn’t! Stop browbeating my child! Stop it-stop!” Throwing her face into her hands, Libby collapsed onto the table as the crowd started to hum like a hive again, causing Judge Brown to smash his gavel down.

“The defendant will get herself under control!” he ordered. “And so will the galleries! Mr. Darrow-the court would like to know-”

“If it please the court, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow said quickly. “The defense will forgo the remainder of its questions to this witness. Under the circumstances, we ask for an adjournment until tomorrow morning.”

The noise of the crowd grew louder at that, and the judge set to rapping away. “Silence! I won’t have another sound!” As his order began to take effect, the judge set his gavel aside, looking very displeased. “The witness is excused,” he called. “And court is adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow morning-at which time I’d better see some radically different behavior, or I will close these proceedings!” A final rap, and Bailiff Coffey moved to help Clara-who was weeping heavily now-down out of the witness box. Mr. Picton rushed over to lend a hand, but the little girl’s tormented eyes were fixed on her apparently devastated mother.

“Don’t cry, Mama!” Clara called once more as she was led away. But her tone was very different, now: all the grown-up quality was gone, and the desperation in her words was underlined by the weight of her sobs. “Don’t cry, it’s going to help you! It’s supposed to help you, they told me-”

Libby Hatch never looked up. Sensing what was happening, the Doctor moved quickly for the gate in the railing; but when Clara saw him, her anguish only appeared to get worse, and she ran past him down the center aisle to Mr. and Mrs. Weston, who rushed her out of first the room and then the building.

The judge had already departed; and as the jury moved to do the same, Mr. Darrow got Libby to her feet and moved her in the direction of the side door down to her cell. But before either she or jury had exited, she began to wail, “She doesn’t remember! She doesn’t remember, how can you expect her to, she’s just a child! Oh, my poor Clara, my poor baby!”

At that Mr. Darrow turned to the jury box, looking uneasy; but the sight of their confused faces seemed to reassure him, and he gave the guard who’d been standing behind Iphegeneia Blaylock the okay to take his client on downstairs.

With things finally settling down, Mr. Picton made his way over to the Doctor. The look what they exchanged indicated nothing good, and I certainly didn’t have any trouble understanding why. The rest of our group crowded round, also looking deeply troubled; only Mr. Moore was scratching his head.

“Well,” he said, “if you ask me, Vanderbilt’s throwing his money away. Imagine trying to bully an eight-year-old girl like that! Darrow must be crazy! Hell, even her own mother-” Then he suddenly stopped: watching the rest of our faces, he finally realized what we’d already grasped. “Dammit!” he seethed quietly, with a stamp of his foot. “I hate being the last one to get these things! He planned the whole scene, didn’t he?”

“Son of a bitch,” Marcus said, more amazed than angry. “He took an unmitigated disaster for his client and turned it into a possible advantage.”

“And she played her part perfectly,” Mr. Picton said regretfully. Then he turned to Mr. Moore. “Men like Vanderbilt do not maintain their stations in life by making stupid choices, John.” He hissed once and slapped at the railing. “What the hell does Darrow care if people think he’s callous, if at the same time he can make the jury believe that Libby genuinely loves her daughter, and wouldn’t do anything to hurt her?”

I looked up at the Doctor, whose face had gone a little pale. He turned to stare at the mahogany doors, as if he thought Clara might come back into the room; but all he saw, all any of us saw, was the crowd filing out, some of them turning back to give our group what might politely be called very unsympathetic glances. Feeling for his chair, the Doctor swayed back and then sat on it, his features suddenly going very ashen: the kind of ashen they’d gone, I realized with some dread, when he’d gotten the news about Paulie McPherson.

As I stood there watching him, I felt a little tug at my arm, and turned to find El Niño giving me a grave look.

“Señorito Stevie,” he said, trying not to be heard by the others, “this is not a good thing.”

“No,” I answered, “it ain’t.”

The aborigine considered that, and then nodded, straightened his white silk tie, and put his hands to his hips. “This man Darrow-you are certain I should not kill him?”

“Actually,” I answered, shaking my head, “I’m beginning to wonder…”