Stokes’s second trial starts in December 1872. The lawyers are the same as before, but the judge is different. Douglas Boardman suffers neither fools nor feckless jurors; he is determined that there will be a verdict this time, and he holds the two sides to a swifter selection of a jury and a closer adherence to their central arguments. The testimony recapitulates what has gone before; little new evidence is adduced.

On January 5, 1873, the defense concludes its arguments. Lyman Tremain stresses the doctrine of reasonable doubt. The prosecution summarizes the state’s case, with counsel William Beach asserting that any doubt of Stokes’s guilt is unreasonable. Judge Boardman charges the jury. He reminds the members that Stokes, not Fisk, is on trial. He says that Stokes’s testimony, being more directly self-interested than that of other witnesses, must be treated with greater caution. He reiterates that the killing is not at issue, only the degree of culpability. Stokes can be found guilty of murder in the first degree or manslaughter in the third degree, or the homicide can be judged justifiable. In the strongest language he can muster, Judge Boardman urges the jury to reach a verdict. The question, he says, is a simple one to honest men.

The jury retires at ten past eight in the evening. Few in the audience expect a verdict that night, and most go home. The resolute, however, are rewarded. A little past eleven Judge Boardman returns to the courtroom and takes his place at the bench. The prisoner is brought in. The jury is summoned.

“Gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?” the clerk of the court inquires.

“We have,” the foreman answers.

Stokes is ordered to stand. The jury also rises.

“Prisoner, look upon the jury,” the clerk directs. “Jury, look upon the prisoner.”

The twelve jurors gaze at Stokes. He slowly lifts his eyes toward them.

“Gentlemen of the jury, how say you? Do you find Edward S. Stokes, the prisoner at the bar, guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty of murder in the first degree.”

Stokes shudders. His sister shrieks, but as her voice dies away the room is perfectly still.

After a long frozen moment the jurors sit down. Stokes slumps into his chair. Judge Boardman, appearing relieved and not a little surprised, thanks and discharges the jury.

Stokes’s shock gradually turns to anger. He faces the private prosecutor. “Mr. Beach,” he says bitterly, “you have done your work well. I hope you have been paid for it.”

District Attorney Fellows answers Stokes by declaring that Beach has served reluctantly and without any fee from the family or friends of Jim Fisk.

“Not from Jay Gould?” Stokes demands disbelievingly.

He gets no answer from Beach. Fellows, who thanks his associates for their diligence, says he has had enough of the prosecution business and is retiring. The seamy side of human nature has taken its toll.

Stokes is led toward the door, his anger growing by the second. As he passes Beach, he appears about to fly at his nemesis, and Beach’s co-counsel gather around to protect him.

One of the jurors, on exiting, leans over to defense attorney Tremain. “I hope that you do not feel in any way bad against us, as we tried to do our duty,” the juror says. “I am sure you did yours, and worked as hard for Stokes as if he was your own son.”

“I have nothing to say,” Tremain replies. “But how did you stand on the jury?”

“I do not think I have any right to state that, sir,” the juror responds.

“Oh, there is no harm,” District Attorney Fellows interjects. “Now it is all over you may speak your mind.”

“Well, we stood, going out, ten for conviction and two for acquittal.”

A junior counsel on Stokes’s side blurts out: “Yes, and those two gave in like cravens and cowards.”

Tempers flare, and a fistfight seems likely. But Fellows has another purpose. The district attorney approaches Stokes. Tears are seen rolling down the prosecutor’s cheeks. He holds out his hand. “Ned, I hope you have no hard feelings against me,” he says. “I did only my duty, and did not try to exceed it, as God made me.”

Stokes rejects the hand. “I hear all you say, and I suppose you think it’s all right,” he says. “But a verdict given on perjured testimony is a villainy that no one will countenance—never, never, so long as the world stands.”