Let's Choose Executors
Let's Choose Executors
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It had been stuffy in the courtroom, and it was a relief to come out into the open, even on a raw January day. Antony Maitland, barrister, paused to savor the moment, when a voice hailed him breathlessly, and a tall woman hurried to join him. It took him a moment to realize he'd seen her in court that morning, in the gown of a junior barrister.
"My name's Langhorne, Vera Langhorne," she said. "You may not like what I've got to say. Want your help."
"What's the trouble?" Antony asked.
"There's a girl. I don't think she's getting a square deal. Nice, girl, rather stupid. Have you heard about our local murder?"
He had. Wealthy, old Mrs. Randall had been killed, and her goddaughter had been arrested for her murder.
"This girl," Miss Langhorne persisted, "Fran Gifford---she's frightened; and she has not friends...now. And I think she's innocent."
Antony thought about it, talked to people in town, and eventually telephones his wife, Jenny. "I may still be home tomorrow, love, but not on the early train," he told her.
"You said it would all be over today. Or is this something else?"
"You see, there's a girl," he explained.
"A nice girl?" Jenny asked.
"So I'm told. I haven't seen her yet."
"I'd like you to come home," said Jenny, "but if you think she's 'really' a nice girl, you'd better stay."
Antony stayed, and became embroiled in what seemed like a hopeless case. But he was determined to do what he could---to rescue a damsel in real distress.