“Well?” Mr. Moore said; though I’d already told him and the others where things stood, I guess he figured he ought to observe the formalities.

“Well,” Mr. Picton echoed quietly in response, “I think we’ve got a very decent chance. She seems to be taking us quite seriously. I don’t think she wants to have her mother made aware of what her only daughter’s done with her life, or dragged into court to testify about an infanticide that took place right under her nose. The possibility of her brother’s being prosecuted seemed to strike a nerve, too.”

“There’s no reading the woman, though,” the Doctor added, considering it. “Something in her tone was-wrong. She was shocked, certainly, but-she doesn’t have the manner of someone who feels the trap closing. Not yet.”

“Maybe what you said is true, then, Doctor,” Lucius answered. “Maybe some part of her unconscious mind is drawn to the idea of prison.”

The Doctor shook his head quickly, struggling with something. “No, there was a different quality. I can’t quite define it. And I don’t think I’ll be able to. Not, at any rate”-he pulled out his watch-“for another fourteen minutes…”

Those fourteen minutes passed in almost complete silence. The three people in Mr. Picton’s office kept their voices very low, making it impossible for us to tell what they were talking about; and as for our group, I think we were all too nervous to speculate any further about what might happen. Both the Doctor and Mr. Picton checked their watches every minute or so, always breathing heavily when they found how little time had passed. Finally, though, the moment did come for them to head back into the office. Mr. Picton gave the Doctor a little nod of his head, and then he rapped on the door gently. Not waiting for a reply, he headed in, holding the door open for the Doctor and then closing it on the rest of us.

“Stevie!” Mr. Moore whispered; but I’d already gotten halfway up Cyrus’s back, and was looking through the transom by the time Mr. Picton said:

“Well, Darrow? Do you have a decision?”

Looking at the floor and going through his pockets in a busy but meaningless sort of way, Mr. Darrow said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to direct your questions to Mr. Maxon from now on, Picton.”

Mr. Picton looked surprised. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Mr. Darrow answered, still not wanting to look either Mr. Picton or the Doctor in the face. “Mrs. Hunter has seen fit to dispense with my advice. Such being the case, I intend to return to Chicago by the next available train.”

Trading what you might call astonished looks, Mr. Picton and the Doctor both did their best not to show any obvious signs of relief or gloating. “Oh, surely not!” Mr. Picton said.

“You can spare me the professional courtesy, Picton,” Mr. Darrow said. “But if you want to crow, feel free-you’ve managed to pull off one hell of a stunt.”

Through all this, Libby Hatch just sat staring straight ahead, with a look on her face what said she’d pretty well had done with Mr. Darrow. As for Mr. Maxon, his usually nervous face showed, for the first time, a certain sort of relief.

“I’ve got to catch the trolley and get my things,” Mr. Darrow went on as he headed for the door. His big shoulders looked more stooped to me than usual, though I could’ve been imagining it. “There’s a midnight train, I think, to Buffalo-I can catch a connection there.”

“Well!” Mr. Picton said, relighting his pipe, “I am sorry you won’t be here-”

“Oh, I’m sure you are, Picton,” Mr. Darrow said, smiling a bit; then, before I had a chance to do anything but rap on Cyrus’s head, the lawyer grabbed hold of the knob on the door and pulled. Cyrus jumped to the left, so that at least the rest of the people in the office wouldn’t be able to see us; but when Mr. Darrow came out and closed the door behind him, he looked up to see me still perched on Cyrus’s shoulders. I half expected him to give out with some kind of outraged lecture concerning the ethics of our behavior; so I was very surprised when he just shook his head, causing one of those locks of hair of his to fall forward, and then chuckled in a very friendly fashion.

“I have never seen anything to beat this,”he said, saluting our group with two fingers and then exiting through the outer office door.

As soon as he was gone, Cyrus stepped back over to his right, positioning me by the transom again. I carefully peered into the office once more, to find that the Doctor, Mr. Picton, and Mr. Maxon were all staring at the still-silent Libby Hatch.

“Mrs. Hunter has decided that she will accept your terms,” Mr. Maxon said, looking calmer by the second. “Mr. Darrow advised against it, but I-”

“You don’t need to explain, Maxon,” Mr. Picton said good-naturedly. “Darrow’s a big-city lawyer who wants to make a national name for himself. Not much publicity in accepting a plea bargain, is there? Not when you had every reason to expect a dramatic victory. But I’m sure Mrs. Hunter knows that you have her best interests, rather than your own reputation, at heart.”

“Thank you, Picton,” Mr. Maxon said with a nod. “That’s very decent of you. Yes, all things considered, I do think acceptance of your terms is the wisest choice. Do you need anything else from us right now, or shall we leave the rest for court tomorrow?”

Shaking his head, Mr. Picton said, “No, I have nothing more-unless Mrs. Hunter wants to make some kind of a statement?”

Still sitting very still, Libby slowly began to shake her head; then, thinking of something, she held up a finger. “There’s just one point,” she said quietly. “My brother Eli. I don’t want you going after him. He didn’t know anything about it.”

“Surely he suspected something?” Mr. Picton asked.

“Do you prosecute people for being suspicious these days?” Libby countered. “No-I want your guarantee, on that.”

Mr. Picton nodded. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hunter. By accepting this deal, you abort any investigation into the business at your family’s house. If that isn’t too unfortunate a choice of words…” Looking to the door, Mr. Picton then called, “Stevie!”

“Lemme down!” I whispered to Cyrus, who grabbed my arms and lowered me to the floor, more gracefully this time. I opened the office door and stuck my head in to see Mr. Maxon helping Libby to her feet.

“Stevie, would you ask Henry to come back up and escort Mrs. Hunter back to her cell?” Mr. Picton asked.

I just nodded and bolted off again-though this time, I got only as far as the second-floor hallway:

There, pacing nervously, was Henry, smoking on a cigarette what he held in one hand and biting the fingernails of his other paw between drags.

“Say!” I called to him. “Mr. Picton says Mrs. Hunter’s supposed to go back to her cell.”

Throwing his cigarette onto the floor and stamping it out with one of his heavy boots, Henry rushed past me into the office. I didn’t even have time to get back in myself before he’d reappeared with his charge, who looked for all the world as though the roof of her world had just caved in. I had no reason to think that she didn’t really feel that way; and as I watched her wander toward the stairs, my own spirits began to pick up considerably, though in a quiet sort of way. The speedy departure of Mr. Maxon only increased this mood; and when I finally got back into Mr. Picton’s office, I found that everybody else was feeling about the same: happy, yes, but sort of stunned at how quickly the whole thing had turned around.

Mr. Moore was the first one to actually say anything: “Well, what’s the procedure, here, Rupert? Is it time to celebrate, or…” His words trailed off as he looked to his friend.

Mr. Picton just smiled, shrugged, and tried not to look too excited. “Guardedly, John-guardedly. Judge Brown still has to approve the deal, and he’s not very fond of surprises.”

“Still,” Miss Howard said, also not sure just how happy she ought to let herself get, “he can’t quash it, can he? Not when the defendant herself has agreed.”