“Was there a pistol aboard the yacht?” Sir Winston continued. “Was there a shotgun? Probably, but the Atlantic Ocean is a very large rubbish bin, so we shall never know. Instead, we must put ourselves aboard that yacht and see what certainly happened there—how Paul Manning was, one way or another, consigned to the sea; how he may have watched the yacht sailing away without him, leaving him alone with the sharks and other creatures that would devour the evidence of his murdered corpse.

“Allison Manning thought she could get away with it, but she had not counted on the will for justice in St. Marks, and she had not counted on you—a jury of honest men who would see through her protestations and her tears to the truth—that she coldly and maliciously and with malice aforethought murdered her husband. Not even when he suspected her motives, as his diary shows he did, could he be on guard every second of the day and night, to protect himself from his evil wife. No, his fate was sealed as soon as he sailed from the Canary Islands. At that moment, he was a dead man.

“In St. Marks we do not placidly accept the murder of human beings. We have constructed a system of justice which has no tolerance for murderers and which rids us of them with dispatch. Today, you are the instrument of that justice, and your island nation expects of you that you will swiftly reach a verdict of guilty and allow His Lordship to pronounce the sentence that follows from such guilt.

“Gentlemen,” he said slowly and gravely, “do your duty!” He turned and sat down.

Stone leaned over to his co-counsel. “I hope you will speak longer than that,” he said.

Sir Leslie looked at his pocket watch and shook his head. “I must be finished soon or appear to insult the jury by requiring them to attend this trial for another day. That would not rebound to our client’s benefit.”

The judge was staring harshly at the defense table. “Sir Leslie, will you close now?”

Hewitt stood up. “Yes, indeed, Your Lordship.” He left the defense table and walked closer to the jury. “Gentlemen,” he said softly but clearly, “today you have been treated to a demonstration of what happens when too much power collects in too few hands.”

“Sir Leslie!” the judge barked.

“My apologies, Your Lordship,” Hewitt said. “My remarks were not directed at the court but at the prosecution.”

“Nevertheless…” the judge said, then sank back into his chair.

Hewitt turned again to the jury. “Gentlemen, my remarks were not intended to be of a personal nature but merely to comment on how the ministry of justice is operated by the whim of one man. Only in such a ministry would this case ever have been brought to trial.”

“Sir Leslie,” the judge said, “I will not warn you again. You do not wish to incur my wrath.”