SUVORIN. Yes.
SALTER. You are the father of Rosalie Suvorin?
SUVORIN. Yes.
SALTER. Isn’t it a little strange, Mr. Suvorin, that you, the father of Miss Suvorin, should have happened to be passing along Front Street at so opportune a moment for your prospective son-in-law?
SUVORIN. It was strange, yes.
SALTER. Isn’t it strange, also, that you have so far said nothing about the fact?
SUVORIN. No. One does not testify unless necessary.
SALTER. How long have you lived in this country?
SUVORIN. Thirty years.
SALTER. Have you spent all of that time in this city?
SUVORIN. I was in the West for twenty years.
SALTER. The West?
SUVORIN. Illinois, West Virginia.
SALTER. What was your occupation?
SUVORIN. Coal miner.
SALTER. Have you ever been convicted of a crime?
SUVORIN. No.
SALTER. Are you a citizen of this country?
SUVORIN. No.
SALTER. Of what country?
SUVORIN. None.
SALTER. You came from what country?
SUVORIN. Russia.
SALTER. Why have you not altered your citizenship?
SUVORIN. I have no interest in politics.
SALTER. You witnessed the murder of Kendall?
SUVORIN. Yes.
SALTER. Had you ever witnessed a crime before?
SUVORIN. Not that I remember.
SALTER. You would not remember then, perhaps?
SUVORIN. I think so.
SALTER [turns away as if baffled, then returns]. Did you ever work in the mills in this state?
SUVORIN [pausing]. No.
SALTER. I have just been handed the record of a man named Gregorin who worked in the Falltown mills in 1892. You are not that man?
SUVORIN. No.
SALTER. The man of whom I speak was one of a radical group of workers who led a strike in which considerable property was destroyed. He was convicted of sabotage and sentenced to twenty years in the federal penitentiary. Before his sentence was complete he escaped. You are not that Gregorin?
SUVORIN. No.
SALTER. This man escaped, finding it necessary to murder a guard, as you may remember. He was caught, tried, and sentenced to hang. He escaped once more on the way to prison. You are not the man?
SUVORIN. No.
SALTER. If the court will pardon me, I have here also the record of a man named Thievenen who was apprehended in Colorado last year as one of two bandits who robbed a mail truck of $170,000. He escaped from the Denver jail, but not until after he had been finger printed and photographed. You are not by any chance that man Thievenen?
SUVORIN. No!
SALTER. I think you are! Mr. Henry, I think this is your prisoner. [Henry rises.] Your Honor, I am distressed to interrupt the session.
[Henry comes forward. Suvorin rises.]
SUVORIN. I’m not your man yet. I saw you here. You won’t take me till I’m ready.
JUDGE VAIL [To Henry]. You have a warrant for his arrest?
HENRY. Right here.
JUDGE VAIL. Then if the prosecution has finished with the witness—
SUVORIN [speaking slowly and heavily]. He’ll wait for me. You’ll all wait. [To Salter.] You thought it somewhat strange that I should have been so opportunely at the scene of the murder of Kendall. I’ll explain that. The man who shot down Kendall was killed in White Plains a month ago, by a federal officer. He was what you call a rum-runner in his spare time. So am I—in my spare time. When he needed cash he took it—where he could get it. So do I. We took Kendall’s twenty-eight thousand. We divided it between us. I ought to know. I planned it. I carried it out.
SALTER. Are you, by any chance, confessing to participation in this crime?
SUVORIN [menacing]. Are you slow in the head? What do you think I’m doing? You asked Macready if he planned the rioting to make his opportunity for the holdup. He did not. But I knew the plans of the longshoremen. I overheard them. And I am guilty and they are not. That may not interest you but it interests me. You would rather they were guilty. You would rather pin this crime on a radical than on a criminal. It suits your plans better. The radicals are not criminals. They are young fools who think they are saving humanity. They think they will change the government and bring in the millenium.
SALTER. Who killed Kendall, if you don’t mind telling us?
SUVORIN. Heine, the Gat.
JUDGE VAIL. Mr. Gluckstein, were you aware of this person’s record?
GLUCKSTEIN. No, your Honor.
JUDGE VAIL. Why was he called?
GLUCKSTEIN. He told me the story he told first in Court.
JUDGE VAIL [To Suvorin]. What did you say your occupation was, sir?
SUVORIN. I came to this country a young man. I came believing in it; and I worked in your mines and your mills and I set myself to establish justice to the workers. I was a fool. I believed in Justice. They found me guilty of sabotage and sent me to prison. I studied you there. I knew you there for what you are. I tasted your justice. I drank it deep. I bear its marks on my body and I bear them on my brain. My wife died and I had loved her. She died after fifteen years of your justice and I swore by the bleeding Christ you would pay me! You have paid me.
JUDGE VAIL. I asked you a question.
SUVORIN. I say you have paid me! I have had my day with you! You have felt me when you least knew it. You have puzzled over me and I have laughed at you. Fifteen years I had my way with you and you’d never have caught me if I hadn’t tried to save innocent men! I have had my revenge—and it was little enough for a woman dead when I could not even say good-bye to her; too little—oh damn you—too little—!
SALTER. This man’s confession is an obvious fraud. He is under sentence of death. He has nothing to lose. His daughter is to marry Macready. The man on whom he fixes the crime is dead. This story has been concocted to save the defendants.
SUVORIN. What!
SALTER. This story has been concocted to save the defendants.
SUVORIN. I have confessed to this crime—!
SALTER. Oh, no—you’ve confessed that Heine, the Gat did it—and Heine’s dead. I say it’s a fraud—
SUVORIN. You do not believe this?
SALTER. No, I tell you. You’ve got nothing to lose. There’s a murder in your record already.
SUVORIN. That would be like you, too! To kill us all three, innocent and guilty together—burn us in your little hell to make your world safe for your bankers—you kept Judge, of a kept nation, you dead hand of the dead.
[Several jurors rise. The Judge thunders with his gavel. Suvorin puts out his hands for the waiting handcuffs. General confusion.]
ACT II
SCENE III
Scene: The court room.
There is no jury present; the Judge is on the bench, the Attendants in place, and Macready and Capraro face the judge. Aside from the lawyers Rosalie is the sole spectator.
GLUCKSTEIN. If the court please I should like to move for a new trial before sentence is pronounced. My motion is based on the depositions of four witnesses. Your Honor has these depositions before you.
JUDGE VAIL. I have read them.
GLUCKSTEIN. I shall make only a brief summary of the evidence they disclose. Mrs. Lubin, a chief witness for the prosecution, swears that her identification of Macready was obtained under duress. She retracts that identification. Her son, a witness for the defense, corroborates that retraction by evidence tending to show that his mother was threatened with the exposure of certain facts in her history of which he himself had been ignorant. Jerome Bartlet, the only witness to identify Capraro as at the scene of the crime, retracts that identification—
SALTER. You will find that he has retracted that retraction, Mr. Gluckstein—
GLUCKSTEIN. I know nothing of that. No doubt the attorney for the prosecution has seen him again—
SALTER. I have.
GLUCKSTEIN. The other affidavit is signed by the ballistic expert, Mr. Howard, who appeared in the trial. He states that his answers to the State’s questions were pre-arranged to mislead the jury—
SALTER. Pre-arranged?
GLUCKSTEIN. Pre-arranged between himself and the district attorney—that he did not intend to say that the mortal bullet was fired from the pistol in the possession of Macready, but only that it might have been fired from that weapon.
JUDGE VAIL. Does this affidavit indicate that Mr. Howard committed perjury during the trial?
GLUCKSTEIN. No, your Honor. It merely amplifies the statements made during the trial, which were so worded as to create a false impression.
JUDGE VAIL. If the witness amplifies but does not alter his statements his affidavit cannot be accepted as basis for a new trial. Such a motion strikes at the jury’s competence to decide.
GLUCKSTEIN. But the jury was deliberately misled.
JUDGE VAIL. Can it be proved that it was misled? Even if there was intention to mislead?
GLUCKSTEIN. Your Honor, I believe this addition to the expert testimony of sufficient importance to rank as new evidence. And it appears incontrovertible that the identifications are rendered null by the first three affidavits.
JUDGE VAIL. I have considered the additions to the ballistic evidence and I find them in entire accordance with the evidence already in the record. As for the identifications, it does not astonish me that the identification witnesses have withdrawn their testimony. It was obvious to me, and was no doubt obvious to the jury, that the identifications were completely discredited by the defense. The verdict of guilty was brought in on other grounds. In my opinion those grounds must have been the defendant’s consciousness of guilt, as shown by their actions after the crime, and, furthermore, the general principles of the defendants, tallying, as they did, with the circumstantial evidence. These affidavits do not attack those grounds for the verdict, and the motion is therefore denied.
GLUCKSTEIN. Does your Honor mean that these men were convicted on circumstantial evidence and consciousness of guilt—?
JUDGE VAIL. There was no other evidence which was not disposed of most ably during the trial.
GLUCKSTEIN. But in that case, your Honor— [He pauses.]
JUDGE VAIL. Yes?
GLUCKSTEIN. In that case there was no real evidence against these men! And you make that fact the basis for denying a new trial!
JUDGE VAIL. There was sufficient evidence to convict.—If you have no further motion we will proceed to the sentence.
THE CLERK. James Macready, have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon you?
MAC. Well—no, I guess not. The only reason I can think of is that I’m not guilty of the murder, and that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with this case. I’m not guilty as charged but I am guilty—I’m guilty of being a radical—and that’s what I was convicted for and that’s what you’re sentencing me for. I’m guilty of thinking like a free man and talking like a free man and acting like a free man—and the jury didn’t like it and you don’t like it—and so the logical thing is to put me where I can’t do it any more. I’m guilty of spreading unrest among the slaves and raising hell with slave morality. I’m guilty of exercising my rights under the constitution and I guess the constitution’s gone out in this country. It isn’t being done. So you go right ahead and sentence me, and don’t let your conscience bother you at all, because you’re doing exactly what you were put there for.
JUDGE VAIL. You have quite finished?
MAC. Oh, quite.
THE CLERK. Dante Capraro, have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon you?
CAPRARO. What I say is that I am innocent, not only of this crime but of all crimes. I have worked, I have worked hard, and those who know these two hands will tell you they have never needed to kill to earn bread. I have earned by labor what I wanted to live, and I have refused to be a member of any class but the working class, even when it could have been, because to be in business is to take profits, to be a parasite, to take what you have not deserved, and that I could not do. All my life I have worked against crime, against the murder of war, against oppression of the poor, against the great crime which is government—. Do not do this thing, Judge Vail. It has been a long time and I have suffered too much to be angry. I know that you have been an unjust judge to us, that you have fear for us, and therefore hate for us—that you have wanted us dead and have taken advantage to kill us. You have ruled to help us in the little things so that you could safely rule against us at the last. But you are an old man, and wearier than we, even if we have been in prison; and you too will die sometime, even if you kill us first. So I say to you, do not do this thing, not because the world looks at us and knows that you are wrong, but because if you do it you will prove that I was right all the time. If you kill us in this one-time free city, in this one-time free country, kill us for no wrong we have done but only for passion of prejudice and greed, then there is no answer to me, no answer to the anarchist who says the power of the State is power for corruption, and in my silence I will silence you.
JUDGE VAIL. Under the law the jury says whether a defendant is guilty or innocent. The court has nothing to do with that question. It is considered and ordered by the court that you, James Macready, and you, Dante Capraro,—
CAPRARO. I am innocent!
MAC. You know he’s innocent! You couldn’t listen to him without knowing that!
CAPRARO. One more moment, your Honor,—I want to speak to Mr. Gluckstein.
GLUCKSTEIN. It’s too late, Capraro.
JUDGE VAIL. I think I should pronounce the sentence. That you, James Macready, and you, Dante Capraro, suffer the punishment of death by the passage of a current of electricity through your body within the week beginning on Monday, the tenth day of August, in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and twenty-seven. This is the sentence of the law.
ACT III
Scene: The restaurant as in the first act.
Pete, the counter-man, is leaning on his elbows, reading a paper. The clock points to 11:30.
It is dark outside. The murmur of a crowd is heard for a moment and dies away.
Milkin, bent, grey, and more wizened, enters from the street and looks questioningly about.
MILKIN. Miss Rosalie here?
PETE. No.
MILKIN. Give me coffee. [He pays for the coffee and sits gloomily without touching it.]
PETE [grudgingly]. She’s seeing the governor.
MILKIN. She don’t get no sleep.
PETE. You think they’re going to bump ’em off?
MILKIN. I couldn’t say dat.
PETE. Tonight, I mean?
MILKIN. De signs is wrong. Dey might. De signs is bad.
[Bauer enters from the left, a paper folded in his hand. He goes directly across to the window.]
BAUER. I’ll bet money they get themselves raided over at the Zeitung. They’ve got a sheet up to flash bulletins of the executions. They kept it dark till the last minute.
PETE. Yeah?
BAUER. And what the hell is all the row about, anyway? Some rough guys get caught for murder and when they start to put ’em through all the radicals and poets in the country begin marching around the jail. You’d think nobody ever got it before.
[A Policeman enters.]
PETE. Yeah, that’s the truth.
BAUER. Look here, officer, you see what they’re doing over at the Zeitung? They’re all ready to flash bulletins.
OFFICER. Yeah, I saw it. We haven’t got any orders about that. We’re just watching the street here.
[He lowers his voice.] Where’s the girl, do you know?
[Ike appears in the doorway.]
BAUER. She’s seeing the governor again.
OFFICER. They’ll have to hurry if they’re going to stop it now. [He glances at the clock.]
BAUER. Think it’s going through this time?
OFFICER. Sure, it’s going through. They put it off once and that’s enough. [He goes out.]
PETE. Everybody comes in here looks at that damn clock. It makes me feel queer.
IKE. Any news?
[Bauer goes out left.]
PETE. No.
IKE. Then I guess there won’t be any. Not till twelve o’clock.
PETE. Maybe not.
[Sowerby enters as in the first act, with his pile of books and the slippers.]
IKE. Meanwhile, life goes on as usual. Where are you living now?
SOWERBY. It’s extraordinary how economic difficulties manage to catch one at the most embarrassing moments. [He puts down his things.] You’ve noticed that, I suppose?
IKE. In my walk of life I couldn’t miss it. What’s the trouble?
SOWERBY. Simple enough. Lack of funds.
IKE. Milkin’ll stake you to something. Hey, Milkin, ain’t you going to eat?
MILKIN. Naw. Dere ain’t no use eating.
IKE. I can’t get him to eat any more.
SOWERBY. What’s the matter? That? [He points to the clock.]
IKE. Yeah, he won’t eat at all.
PETE. I don’t eat so good myself.
IKE. Yeah, but he’s got a special worry, see? You know that theory about putting the number on them—by the cabalistic system? Well, he put it on ’em.
SOWERBY. Yeah?
IKE. Yeah, he put the number on the judge and said, “Come down from dere!” and the judge didn’t come down.
SOWERBY. I daresay that hit him pretty hard.
NEWSBOY. Extra! Extra—
IKE. Jeez, it busted him up. You been over in the square?
SOWERBY. No.
IKE. There’s about a million people there.
SOWERBY. Any fights?
IKE. No, sir. Nobody said a word to the police. They’ve got machine guns trained right on them. Down by the jail you can’t even walk past. There was a bright little girl down there making a speech. They took her away. This ain’t a favorable time for speeches. Personally I prefer a ham sandwich. You paying, Milkin?
MILKIN. Sure ting—if you can eat.
SOWERBY. Indeed I could eat.
MILKIN. Wid dat going on out dere?
SOWERBY. You mean the crowds?
MILKIN. I mean what dey’re doing to Mac and Capraro and de old man.
SOWERBY. They won’t do it. I have never for one moment believed they would carry it out.
MILKIN. Oh, yes, dey will. If somebody don’t get de numbers on ’em and do it quick. And dere ain’t much time.
SOWERBY. My friend, I am something of a historian, and I have made a specialty of labor developments. Never within my memory has there been a plutocracy which did not play the game with an eye to the future. Now they feel like executing Mac and Capraro. That feeling pervaded the trial and swayed the jury. On the other hand, it would be a gigantic error, from a tactical point of view to kill these men now when the whole world is watching them. They will pursue a safer and more dastardly course of action. They will execute Suvorin and commute the sentences of Mac and Capraro to life imprisonment. They will do this and then they will sit back and laugh at us, having drawn the sting from all our arguments. That was what they did in the Mooney case. Trust any government to choose the safe and dastardly course.
MILKIN. Not dis time.
SOWERBY. I think so.
MILKIN. How about de stars? How about de numbers? Dey don’t come out dat way. Dey come out— [He turns down an expressive thumb.]
SOWERBY. If the government wishes the friendship of other nations, if it wishes the respect of its own citizens, it will take, as I said, the safe and dastardly course.
[Ward enters.]
WARD. Have you seen the cheap story that’s out in the Herald—about the governor going to hold it up? [He shows a paper.]
SOWERBY. And why not?
WARD. They’re all crazy fighting for papers up in the avenue. I had to battle for this one.
SOWERBY. Is it definite?
WARD. Read it. All the news it’s safe to print.
SOWERBY [reading]. “Macready-Capraro Reprieve Likely.”
IKE. About as definite as the price of clothes in a one-price second-hand store.
SOWERBY [reading]. “The correspondent of this paper learned from an inside official source this evening that the governor had practically made up his mind to issue a stay of execution pending further investigation into the Macready-Capraro case. This will probably mean that the executions set for midnight will be postponed another ten days.” That means the governor will act.
WARD. Like hell it does! It means he’s stringing us along till he gets ’em good and dead and it’s too late to say anything. He knows nobody cares but the radicals, and he’s playing them for suckers. Why should he worry about the crowd over in the square? There’s several million around here going to bed and going to sleep as usual. Why shouldn’t they? There’s nothing unusual happening. This isn’t a miscarriage of justice! It is justice! The government’s putting away some bad boys the way governments always put away the boys that won’t play the game! You ask any honest citizen what he thinks about it and he’ll say, “Hell, they killed a paymaster, didn’t they? Anyway, they’re anarchists, ain’t they? I should worry!” And he should. They won’t bother him as long as he’s a fat-head! [Rosalie enters from the left. The men rise.] Oh, Rosalie! I thought you were seeing the governor.
ROSALIE. I was. I just got back. [To Pete.] Has anybody telephoned for me here?
PETE. No, Miss Suvorin.
ROSALIE. Oh, but there must be a mistake! [She takes up the phone.] Will you get me Mr. Gluckstein’s office—right away?
WARD. What did he say, Rosalie?
ROSALIE. He said he couldn’t decide. He—he was weighing the evidence. He had stacks of letters on both sides, and he was reading them. Oh, God—if it were anything else it would be just—funny. To think such a fool should decide if Mac will live or die. [In the phone.] Hello—yes, yes—. But he must be. Yes, I see. Yes, yes—but he must hurry. And tell him to call me—please—no, at the Lyceum. [She hangs up the receiver.] I thought there might be news here. Everywhere I go I think maybe there’s news somewhere else.
SOWERBY. There’s something in the Herald.
ROSALIE. I’ve quit trying to read about it.
SOWERBY. It says there’s going to be a reprieve.
ROSALIE. Oh, but why didn’t he tell me then?— [She looks at the paper.]
SOWERBY. It’s been very unlikely from the beginning that they’d carry out the sentence. I don’t know that it’s much better if they commute to life imprisonment,—still—they might be pardoned, if we ever get a decent governor in office.
ROSALIE [looking up]. Yes—they might. They might. I haven’t allowed myself to think it, since they turned down the appeals.
SOWERBY. That was only the judge, my dear. We know where the judge stands and where the governor’s committee stands, but nobody else has spoken. The governor doesn’t have to act as his committee advises. And even if the governor failed to act there’s a supreme court justice waiting with a writ of certiorari—and everything in his record indicates that he’ll come forward if necessary.
ROSALIE. But where is he? Here it’s the last—my God—the last few minutes, and Gluckstein hasn’t even answered!
[Rosalie, who has been dry-eyed, looks round her at the group, then sinks into a chair and begins to sob.]
WARD. I don’t know as I’d do that, Rosalie.
[Two Policemen enter casually.]
FIRST OFFICER. What’s going on?
IKE. Not a thing.
FIRST OFFICER. What’s she crying about?
IKE. Her? Oh, she had a sweetheart killed over in France. And every once in a while she gets thinking about it, see?
FIRST OFFICER. Don’t kid me, big boy.
IKE. I wouldn’t think of it.
[The Policemen go out.]
MILKIN. Christ, when I look at dem—when I look at dem—de paid hirelings of de unjust—I kin feel strengt’ coming back in me, de strengt’ I lost! If I was worthy to do it I could break dem all—I could break dem and bring dem down. It ain’t knowledge I lack. It ain’t courage! It’s being worthy! Worthy to rise above self! [He snatches a paper napkin and marks it feverishly with a pencil, then rises, stretching up his arms to full length, the napkin clutched in the right.] On dis paper I have set down de sign of One, de great cabalistic sign, wit’ powers over Earth and Heaven and all de Hells! Dat is de sign which de powers has said will sway de tides and draw aside de stars from deir paths in de infinite! It is de power over all powers, de invisible signum monstrum, de gloria cœlis, gloria mundi! And by dis sign I conjures you in dis moment out of de endless of eternity—strike down dat judge—palsy de hands dat would lay demselves on does two men—by all dat is cognate under dis abstraction—strip dem of deir powers for good and evil, make dem as little children—and dis by de sign of One—by de sign of de mystery! [For a moment he holds his pose, then sits again, staring gloomily before him.] It don’t work. I ain’t worthy. Dat’s de second time.
[Andy enters.]
ANDY. A couple of telegrams for you, Ward.
WARD. Thanks.
ANDY. Anything else happened?
[Crowd offstage. “They’ve escaped,” etc.]
WARD. No. Just a few more helpful friends asking us why in God’s name we don’t do something.
[Jerusalem Slim flings open the street door and enters hastily in great excitement. A burst of cheering is heard.]
JERUSALEM SLIM. I knew it would happen! I knew it would happen—if I prayed for it! The women are all crying out there—and Rosalie’s crying—but don’t cry any more—don’t cry any more! Haven’t you heard it? Haven’t you heard it?
IKE. What?
JERUSALEM SLIM. They’ve escaped.
IKE. Who’s escaped?
JERUSALEM SLIM. The men! Mac and Cappie and Suvorin! They’re gone and nobody knows where they are!
WARD. Escaped? Out of the death-house!
JERUSALEM SLIM. Yes! It’s in the papers.
SOWERBY. You’re crazy, Slim!
[A newsboy passes shouting.]
JERUSALEM SLIM. Everybody says so.
[Ward makes a dash for the door and goes out].
IKE. What paper’s it in?
JERUSALEM SLIM. I don’t know.
[Ward enters with a paper. He looks at it in astonishment.]
WARD. “Break from death-house reported!” They must be doing it to sell papers.
[Crowd dies away. Rosalie looks at the paper.]
ROSALIE. Ward—could it be true?
WARD. I—I don’t think so, Rosalie. It’s never happened. I wish it might. But it couldn’t possibly.
[The Salvation Lass enters from the street, looking at Rosalie expectantly. The news is written in her face.]
SOWERBY. However, it’s extraordinary that the Gazette should print it—if there’s nothing in the story.
WARD. It says it’s reported—any kind of rumor could get about. There’s no use hoping for anything like that. If it did happen, they’d just take them back again.
[An elderly priest enters from the street and goes to the counter. The group fails to notice him.]
THE PRIEST. Give me same coffee, please.
[At the sound of his voice, Rosalie recognizes Suvorin in the priest. She turns toward him.]
ROSALIE. Then—it is true! Oh, God, it is true!
WARD. What is it?
ROSALIE. It’s—my father. Don’t you see? Dad—Dad!
[Suvorin makes an almost imperceptible motion for silence. The words freeze on Rosalie’s lips. A Policeman enters and walks to the counter.]
THE OFFICER. Coffee, old man, and fill it up with milk. I’ve got to drink fast. Evening, father.
[Pete serves him. Suvorin and the Policeman sip their coffee elbow to elbow. The Policeman goes out without a word.]
ROSALIE. But—dad—then it’s true! You got away!
SUVORIN. Yes.
ROSALIE. Why are you here?
SUVORIN. I had to come back for some money. I’ll go out the other way. [Goes toward door at left.]
ROSALIE. Then—where are the others?
SUVORIN. The others?
ROSALIE. Cappie—and Mac?
SUVORIN. I couldn’t help them. I’m sorry.
ROSALIE. Oh—
SUVORIN. They couldn’t hold me. I knew they couldn’t. But I couldn’t help anybody else. I’m sorry.
ROSALIE. You mean—you left Mac—there?
SUVORIN. I couldn’t help him.
ROSALIE. No. [Suvorin goes out left.] But—they won’t go ahead now—now that one of them’s escaped! They won’t, will they, Ward?
WARD. I don’t know.
ROSALIE. No—no! Say they won’t! What are we doing here! Oh, don’t you see it’s nearly time! Why do we wait for other people to do something! It will be too late soon—and then we’ll think of what we might have done! They’re going to kill Cappie—and—and Mac—don’t you know it? They’re going to kill them—and we’ve had all day to help—we’ve had days and weeks—and years! We’ve let it go on till—till it’s almost too late. Oh, dear God, don’t they know Mac couldn’t be guilty? They know it! They can’t kill him! [The phone rings. Rosalie looks at it, clenching her hands, staring wildly.]
WARD. I’ll answer it. [He goes to the phone.] Hello. Yes. Yes, this is Ward. Yes. I can take a message. [He waits.] I didn’t hear that. [He listens, then turns toward Rosalie apprehensively. Rosalie is looking away. The men watch him. He makes a downward sign for silence.] Yes, we know that. Thank you. Yes, sure. [He hangs up, slowly. It is obvious that the news was bad.]
ROSALIE. Was it Gluckstein?
WARD. Yes. It’s not decided yet. They’re still—trying everything.
ROSALIE. Oh, are they truly, Ward—or are you lying to me? Because, you see—he’s warm and alive now—and if they’d only wait till I could tell them again—No, no, we’ve told them over and over—and they listened to us—and went on killing them. Because they know they’re innocent—and they don’t care.
[Ike looks out the window and turns to pick up Sowerby and Ward with a glance. They look out. Ike whispers. The crowd murmurs outside.]
IKE. Capraro goes first.
[They watch in silence, then Ike whispers again.]
ROSALIE. Don’t!—Don’t!—Don’t whisper any more! What is it? [She sees the clock. The hands point to one minute of twelve.] There’s still time! There’s still time! Oh, my dear, my dear, one minute more time in all your world—only one minute more of time and I can do nothing! [The hands click to midnight! Ward returns to Rosalie.] You lied to me, Ward, they’re killing them now. What does it say over there? Tell me what it says. Ike, you can tell me.
IKE. It says “Capraro Murdered.”
[Rosalie drops her hands, frozen. One of the Officers enters, looks around casually, then looks out of the window. Sowerby speaks low to Ike.]
ROSALIE. Don’t whisper it! Don’t whisper it! Didn’t you hear me say not to whisper any more? That’s what they’ll want you to do—whisper it—keep quiet about it—say it never happened—it couldn’t happen—two innocent men killed—keep it dark—keep it quiet—No! No! Shout it! They’re killing them! [There is a cry from the crowd. The Policeman looks at Rosalie. The Men at the window stir uneasily. Cry from crowd—woman shrieks. Crowd silent.] What does it say now, Ike? [Ike makes no answer.] I know what it says! It says “Macready Murdered.” Mac—Mac—my dear—they have murdered you—while we stood here trying to think of what to do they murdered you! Just a moment ago you had a minute left—and it was the only minute in the whole world—and now—now this day will never end for you—there will be no more days! [The crowd is heard again.] Shout it! Shout it! Cry out! Run and cry! Only—it won’t do any good—now.