“Sir Magnus,” said the judge, “I hope I won’t have to remind you again about sneezing in court.”
“I apologise, m’lord,” said Sir Magnus. “I was carried away by emotion. It is with the utmost reluctance I have to make Lady Fenneltree undergo the very unpleasant experience of being in the witness-box. To a truthful, law-abiding citizen, this can be nothing but a degrading experience.”
He snapped his snuff-box shut, returned it to his pocket and turned once more to Lady Fenneltree. Somehow a subtle change seemed to have come over him. He bristled and quivered like a small, alert terrier at a rabbit hole.
“We have established then, Lady Fenneltree, have we not,” he said, “that you are exceptionally perceptive and that your recollection of the evening in question is exceedingly dear, and we have established, of course, your honesty without a shadow of a doubt.”
He glanced at the jury, a shiny, twinkling glance, and they all involuntarily nodded.
“Therefore,” said Sir Magnus, “I need not keep you very much longer. But there is just one small point which I would be glad if you would dear up for the sake of the jury.”
He paused and glanced down at his notes. It was perfectly obvious to everybody, including Lady Fenneltree, that he was not reading his notes. The pause was for effect, while he waited, open and gleaming like a gin trap. Lady Fenneltree realised she was being manoeuvred into something—her regal nose snuffed danger, but she could not see from which direction the danger threatened. Eventually Sir Magnus looked up and waved snow-white eyebrows at her in a disarmingly friendly fashion.
“You say that the elephant skidded down the ballroom and into the tables containing food?” he enquired.
“I have already told you that,” said Lady Fenneltree. Sir Magnus shuffled his notes.
“After that,” he said, “the elephant rampaged about?”
“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.
“During the course of its destructive progress,” said Sir Magnus, “you say that it pulled down the chandelier.”
“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.
“The ballroom at Fenneltree Hall, I take it,” said Sir Magnus, “is fairly large?”
“It is a magnificent room,” said Lady Fenneltree.
“It has, I believe, a minstrels’ gallery at one end?” said Sir Magnus.
“That’s where the band was situated,” said Lady Fenneltree.
“One would assume then,” said Sir Magnus silkily, “that since it is obviously a magnificent room, the ceiling is quite high.”
“I believe,” said Lady Fenneltree complacently, “that the ballroom is fifty feet high.”
“Have you,” enquired Sir Magnus, “ever measured an elephant’s trunk?”
There was an electric silence. Everybody in court had suddenly become aware of the line that Sir Magnus was taking with the exception of the judge and the jury.
“I do not spend my spare time measuring elephants’ trunks,” said Lady Fenneltree with dignity.
“Well, during the last ten days, I have had this unique opportunity,” said Sir Magnus, “and I have found, by experiment, that it is impossible for an elephant—however evilly disposed—to reach up and pull down a chandelier that is fifty feet above it.”
He paused and straightened his wig.
“Lady Fenneltree,” he said softly and sympathetically, “you underwent a ghastly experience. It is only to be expected that a woman of your fine qualities, under such circumstances, could make a mistake like this.”
Lulled into a sense of false security by Sir Magnus’s sudden change from harshness to sympathy. Lady Fenneltree inclined her head.
“On this one point,” she said, “I may possibly be mistaken?”
“It is a pity,” said Sir Magnus smoothly, “because, as you say, you are so observant. It is just on this one point (and who is to blame you for it) that you made a mistake. But you tell us that the rest of your description is completely accurate, and who am I to doubt the word of a lady?” He gave a small bow and sat down.
“What the hell was all that about?” asked Adrian. “I don’t see that this has got anything to do with the case at all.”
Sir Magnus gave him a frosty glance from under his eyebrows.
“Look at the jury,” he said.
Adrian looked and saw twelve faces staring at Lady Fenneltree almost avidly. Here was a woman, an aristocrat, a person who should, by all the rules and regulations, be infallible, and Sir Magnus by some alchemy had proved her to be just as fallible as the next person. You could see the thought fermenting in their minds like yeast. Adrian was horrified.
“But look,” he whispered, “Rosy did bring that chandelier down.”
Sir Magnus produced his snuff-box and opened it carefully and then glanced up at Adrian.
“Be careful of your choice of words,” he said quietly. “Lady Fenneltree wasn’t. Rosy brought the chandelier down, she didn’t pull it down.”
“But I don’t see that that makes any difference,” said Adrian.
“Stop quibbling,” said Sir Magnus. “I’m really not interested in the chandelier. I’m merely interested in putting what you very accurately described as a vindictive old cow into an invidious position.”
Lady Fenneltree left the box, casting black looks in the direction of Sir Magnus. Sir Augustus got to his feet.
“My next witness is Lord Fenneltree,” he said, with a faintly despairing air.
Lord Fenneltree ambled amiably into the witness-box as though sauntering into his favourite club, beamed and waved at Adrian, fixed his monocle carefully in his eye and took the oath. Sir Augustus, having identified beyond all shadow of doubt who Lord Fenneltree was, cleared his throat and fixed his soulful gaze upon the witness.
“On the 21st April, Lord Fenneltree,” he said, “I understand that you met the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle in a lane some distance away from your house.”
“Absolutely correct, my dear chap,” said Lord Fenneltree nodding.
“You then suggested to him that he and his elephant should take up residence at Fenneltree Hall so that elephant might take part in the birthday celebrations your daughter?”
“Yes,” said Lord Fenneltree. “Yes, you have grasped essential facts.”
“I take it,” said Sir Augustus, with the air of one who has primed his witness well, “that the defendant at no time intimated to you that the animal in question might be a danger to life and property?”
“No,” said Lord Fenneltree musingly, “I cannot say that he did, but then he had got no reason to, had he?”
“Lord Fenneltree,” said Sir Augustus hastily, “I would be glad if you would answer just ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to my questions. By elaborating on them you just confuse the jury.”
Sir Magnus at this point opened one eye and gave a tiny snort of derision.
“When you introduced the elephant into the ballroom, what was the result?” asked Sir Augustus.
Lord Fenneltree remained silent.
“Come, sir,” said Sir Augustus with some asperity, “surely you know what the result was when you introduced the elephant to the ball?”
“It is awfully difficult,” said Lord Fenneltree, looking plaintively at the judge, “to answer that sort of question with either a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Could I use some other word?”
“By all means,” said the judge.
“Let me repeat the question,” said Sir Augustus. “What was the result of your introducing the elephant to the ballroom?”
“Chaos,” said his lordship, smiling happily.
“What exactly do you mean by chaos?”
“Practically everything you can think of,” said his lordship. “She wrecked all the tables, she knocked down the chandalier, she did a very pretty waltz with my wife and picked up old Darcey and dumped him on the floor. I can assure you that if it hadn’t been for my wife’s indignation, the whole thing would have been splendidly diverting.
“Now, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, turning to the judge, “I think I have established my point that this elephant is a wild and savage animal and that Adrian Rookwhistle knew it to be. And that without any thought for persons or property, he continually allowed it to rampage throughout the county.”