George takes a glass of water and sits in an armchair. His mother has returned to Wyrley and he is currently alone in Miss Goode's lodgings, whose address is registered with Scotland Yard. He places a notebook on the arm of the chair, as he does not want to mark the Report itself. Perhaps he is not yet cured of the regulations governing the use of library books in Lewes and Portland. Arthur stands with his back to the fireplace while Jean sews, her head already half-cocked for the extracts Arthur will read to her. She wonders if they should have done more on this day for George Edalji, perhaps invited him for a glass of champagne, except that he does not drink; although since it was only this morning they heard the Report was due to be released…
George Edalji was tried on the charge of feloniously wounding…
'Hah!' says Arthur, barely half a paragraph in. 'Listen to this. The Assistant Chairman of Quarter Sessions, who presided at the trial, when consulted about the conviction, reported that he and his colleagues were strongly of the opinion that the conviction was right. Amateurs. Rank amateurs. Not a lawyer among them. I sometimes feel, my dear Jean, that the entire country is run by amateurs. Listen to them. These circumstances make us hesitate very seriously before expressing dissent from a conviction so arrived at, and so approved.' George is less concerned by this opening; he is enough of a lawyer to know when a however is round the corner. And here it comes – not one, but three of them. However, there was considerable feeling in the neighbourhood of Wyrley at the time; however, the police, so long baffled, were naturally extremely anxious to arrest someone; however, the police had both begun and carried on the investigation for the purpose of finding evidence against Edalji. There, it was said, quite openly and now quite officially. The police were prejudiced against him from the start.
Both Arthur and George read: The case is also one of great inherent difficulty, because there is no possible view that can be taken of it, which does not involve extreme improbabilities. Poppycock, Arthur thinks. What on earth are the extreme improbabilities in George's being innocent? George thinks, this is just an elaborate form of words; they are saying there is no middle ground; which is true, because either I am completely innocent or I am completely guilty, and since there are extreme improbabilities in the prosecution case, therefore it must and will be dismissed.
The defects in the trial… the prosecution case changed in two substantial regards as it went along. Indeed. First in the matter of when the crime was supposed to have been committed. Police evidence inconsistent, and indeed contradictory. Similar discrepancies about the razor… The footprints. We think the value of the footprints as evidence is practically nothing. The razor as weapon. Not very easy to reconcile with the evidence of the veterinary surgeon. The blood not fresh. The hairs. Dr Butter, who is a witness quite above suspicion.
Dr Butter was always the stumbling block, thinks George. But this is very fair so far. Next, the letters. The Greatorex letters are the key, and the jury examined them at length. They considered their verdict for a considerable time, and we think they must be taken to have held that Edalji was the writer of those letters. We have ourselves carefully examined the letters, and compared them with the admitted handwriting of Edalji, and we are not prepared to dissent from the finding at which the jury arrived.
George feels himself going faint. He is only relieved his parents are not with him. He reads the words again, we are not prepared to dissent. They think he wrote the letters! The Committee is telling the world he wrote the Greatorex letters! He takes a gulp of water. He lays the Report down on his knee until he can recover himself.
Arthur, meanwhile, reads on, his anger rising. However, the fact that Edalji wrote the letters doesn't mean he also committed the outrages. 'Oh, that's very white of them,' he exclaims. They are not the letters of a guilty man trying to throw the blame on others. How in the name of all earthly and unearthly powers could they be, Arthur growls to himself, since the man they throw most blame on is George himself. We think it quite likely that they are the letters of an innocent man, but a wrong-headed and malicious man, indulging in a piece of impish mischief, pretending to know what he may know nothing of, in order to puzzle the police, and increase their difficulties in a very difficult investigation.
'Balderdash!' shouts Arthur. 'Bal-der-dash.'
'Arthur.'
'Balderdash, balderdash,' he repeats. 'I have met no one in my entire life who is a more sober and straightforward man than George Edalji. impish mischief - did the fools not read all those testimonials to his character supplied by Yelverton? wrong-headed and malicious man. Is this, this… novella' – he slaps it on the mantelpiece – 'protected by Parliamentary privilege? If not, I'll have them in the libel court. I'll have the lot of them there. I'll fund it myself.'
George feels he is hallucinating. He feels as if the world has gone mad. He is back at Portland having a dry bath. They have ordered him stripped to his shirt, they have made him lift his legs and open his mouth. They have pulled up his tongue and – what's this, D462? What's this you've been hiding under your tongue? I do believe it's a crowbar. Don't you think this is a crowbar the prisoner has hidden under his tongue, officer? We'd better report this to the Governor. You're in serious trouble, D462, I'd better warn you. And you with all your talk about being the last prisoner in the gaol who might want to escape. You with your sainted airs and your library books. We've got your number, George Edalji, and it's D462.
He stops again. Arthur continues. The second defect of the prosecution's case lay in whether or not Edalji was meant to have acted alone; they changed their mind as the evidence suited them. Well, at least the officially appointed dunderheads couldn't miss that. The key question of eyesight. much stress has been laid on this in some of the communications addressed to the Home Office. Yes indeed: stress laid by the leading men of Harley Street and Manchester Square. We have carefully considered the report of the eminent expert who examined Edalji in prison and the opinion of oculists that have been laid before us; and the materials now collected appear to us entirely insufficient to establish the alleged impossibility.
'Imbeciles! entirely insufficient. Dunderheads and imbeciles!'
Jean keeps her head lowered. This was, she remembers, the very starting point of Arthur's campaign: the reason he did not just think George Edalji was innocent, he knew it. How disrespectful can they be, to treat Arthur's work and judgement so lightly!
But he is reading on, rushing ahead as if to forget this point. 'In our opinion, the conviction was unsatisfactory and… we cannot agree with the verdict of the jury. Ha!'
'That means you've won, Arthur. They have cleared his name.'
'Ha!' Arthur does not even acknowledge the interjection. 'Now listen to this. Our view of the case means that it would not have been warranted for the Home Office previously to interfere. Hypocrites. Liars. Wholesale purveyors of whitewash.'