“I will now call my first witness,” said Sir Augustus “Sir Hubert Darcey.”
“Call Sir Hubert Darcey,” cried the clerk of the court.
Sir Hubert strode into the court as though on to a parade ground. He looked even more magnificently be-whiskered and terrifying than Adrian had remembered him. He stamped into the witness box and took the oath with the air of one who finds it faintly insulting that anyone should even question his truthfulness.
“You,” said Sir Augustus, “are Hubert Darcey of Bangalore Manor in the village of Monkspepper?”
“Yes,” replied Darcey thunderously.
“Sir Hubert,” said the judge, “I wonder if you would be so good as to offer your evidence in a slightly lower tone of voice? The acoustics of this place are such that if you use the full power of your lungs, it sets up an extraordinary reverberation which runs through both my desk and my chair.”
“Very good, my lord,” Darcey barked.
“You are the Master of the Monkspepper Hunt, are you not?” enquired Sir Augustus.
“Yes,” said Darcey. “Have been for twenty years.”
“Now, do you recall the 20th April?”
“I do,” said Darcey. “Vividly,”
“Well, would you be so kind as to tell his lordship and the jury, in your own words, exactly what happened.”
“Yes,” said Darcey in his muted roar. “It was a fine mornin’, mi lud, and the hounds had found in the oak woods behind Monkspepper . . .”
“Found what?” enquired the judge.
“The scent,” said Darcey.
“What sort of scent?” enquired the judge with interest.
“The scent of a fox,” said Darcey.
“These rural pursuits are really most interesting,” said the judge musingly. “Pray continue.”
“Well, the line took us through the oak woods down the Monkspepper Road and eventually led us into a meadow which abuts the river. I would like to say that there was only one entrance to this meadow and it was completely surrounded by a very thick and large bull-finch,”
“Did you say bull-finch?” enquired the judge.
“Yes,” said Darcey.
“I think, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, feeling that at this rate he would be unable to get any evidence out of his witness at all, “I think the witness means a thick hedge. A bull-finch is a term meaning a thick hedge.”
“I thought it was a term meaning a bird with a red breast.”
“It is the same word, but with different connotations,” said Sir Augustus.
“Thank you,” said the judge.
“Well,” said Darcey, “the hounds went into the meadow and we followed ’em. The first thing that caught my eye was an extremely vulgar-lookin’ trap, painted in bright colours such as a gipsy might have used. Then suddenly, from behind the trees, there appeared to my astonishment an elephant. Not unnaturally, the hounds panicked, as did the horses, to such an extent in fact that even experienced riders like myself, caught unawares, were thrown. I unfortunately landed on my head and was only saved by my top hat. Before I could rid my eyes of this encumbrance, I was seized by the elephant, carried across the meadow and dashed to the ground at the feet of the accused who, to my horror, I saw was wearin’ nothin’ but a pair of very damp underpants.”
“Why was he only in underpants?” asked the judge, obviously fascinated.
“He told me that he had been swimmin’ in the river with the elephant, mi lud—frightenin’ the salmon.”
“Did you sustain any injury from this encounter?” enquired the judge.
“Fortunately, mi lud, just some slight bruising.”
“I bring this matter up, m’lord,” said Sir Augustus, “merely in order to prove my point that the defendant did in fact know his elephant to be a dangerous creature, as this type of assault upon people had happened prior to the affair at the Alhambra Theatre.”
“I see,” said the judge doubtfully.
Sir Augustus sat down and the judge, peering at the apparently unconscious Sir Magnus, said, “Would you care to join us for a brief moment, and cross-examine the witness?”
“Yes, m’lord,” said Sir Magnus, rising slowly to his feet. He fixed Darcey with a penetrating eye. “You say that the only damage you suffered was slight bruising?”
“Yes.”
“Was your horse a good one?” Sir Magnus enquired unexpectedly. Darcey’s face grew purple.
“I breed the finest horses in the country,” he barked.
“But it obviously could not have been very well trained?” enquired Sir Magnus.
“It’s a perfect mount,” snapped Darcey. “But horses outside circuses are not trained to cope with elephants.”
“So you would say it was quite normal for your horse to panic and throw you?” said Sir Magnus.
“Of course,” said Darcey.
“So your bruises were in fact sustained by falling off the horse?” enquired Sir Magnus. Darcey glared at him.
“Come, come,” said Sir Magnus silkily, “surely that is what you have been telling us?”
“I don’t really see where this line of questioning is getting us,” said the judge plaintively.
“M’Iord,” said Sir Magnus, “I am merely trying to point out to your lordship and to the jury” (here he cast a fierce eye which seemed to electrify the entire jury) “that the slight bruising, and I use the witness’s own words, that he sustained, was due to the fact that be was thrown off his horse and that the bruising had nothing whatsoever to do with the elephant in question.”
Sir Augustus got to his feet.
“My lord,” he said, “the fact that the witness sustained the bruising through falling off his horse is not the point. He would not have fallen off his horse if it had not been threatened by the elephant.”
“Did the elephant do anything to your horse?” enquired Sir Magnus of Darcey.
“No,” said Darcey reluctantly. “It just trumpeted.”
“Trumpeted, eh,” said the judge. “Interesting. I don’t think I have ever heard an elephant trumpet. What’s it sound like?”
“A sort of squeaking noise, your lordship,” explained Sir Magnus.
“However,” he continued, glancing at the jury, “I think we have made the point that in fact the elephant in question was not responsible for any damage the witness sustained. Do you not agree, your lordship?”
“Yes, yes. That’s very clear,” said the judge and made a note.
Sir Augustus cast a baleful stare in the direction of Sir Magnus. The point, as far as he was concerned, had not been made very clear at all, but if the judge said it had, he could not very well argue the point.
“I have no more questions,” said Sir Magnus, sitting down with an air of satisfaction. With the air indeed of one who has won the case. The jury were visibly impressed.
“I would perhaps like to recall this witness,” said Sir Augustus, “a little later in the proceedings.”
“Certainly, Sir Augustus,” said the judge. He bent over his notes for a moment or so and then looked up at Sir Magnus. “A squeaking noise, you said?” he enquired.
“Yes, my lord,” said Sir Magnus. “Rather like the noise of a slate pencil magnified.”
The judge carefully wrote this piece of natural history down in his notes.
“I would like to call Lady Berengaria Fenneltree.” Lady Fenneltree, clad in a deep purple velvet dress and with a black veil on her straw hat, sailed into court like a successful galleon. She took the oath, threw back her veil and nodded to the judge as much as to say “you may proceed now”. In answer to Sir Augustus’s questions she identified herself in her clear penetrating voice and so impressive was her demeanour that even the more absent-minded of the jurymen sat up and took interest.
“Lady Fenneltree,” said Sir Augustus, “do you remember the evening of the 28th April?”
“It is an evening,” said Lady Fenneltree, in a voice as brittle as the sound of icicles falling off the roof, “that is indelibly engraved upon my memory.”