He cast a faintly worried look at Sir Magnus.
“Perhaps my honourable friend would like to cross-examine?” he enquired.
“No,” said Sir Magnus, waving a lavish hand, “I have no wish to cross-examine at this precise moment, my lord, but I would ask permission to recall this witness later.”
Sir Augustus leapt to his feet.
“I object, my lord,” he said. “This is most unethical.”
“It is rather unusual, Sir Magnus,” said the judge.
“Yes, mi lord, I realise that,” said Sir Magnus, “but I feel once you have heard the evidence of my other witnesses you will find that Lord Fenneltree has something of worth to contribute to my side of the case.”
“Very well,” said the judge. “Just this once. And now I suggest that we all adjourn. I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I am beginning to feel decidedly peckish. We will resume at two o’clock.”
“My lord,” said Sir Magnus, “prison fare, as you know, is not of the sort that makes a gourmet tremble with delight. I would therefore ask your lordship most humbly, if it would be possible for you to release my client so that he may lunch with me?”
“You really do ask for the most unusual things, Sir Magnus,” said the judge severely. “However, I suppose there can’t be any harm in it. But make sure you bring back.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Sir Magnus.
The judge scrambled out of his chair while the court stood and disappeared through the door into his chambers.
“Well,” said Sir Magnus, taking a teaspoonful of snuff and inserting it up both nostrils, “a most successful morning.”
He sneezed violently.
“Let us go and have some lunch, dear boy,” he said to Adrian.
“I don’t know what you are so pleased about,” said Adrian. “As far as I can make out, everyone has talked a lot of nonsense this morning which hasn’t settled anything one way or the other, and the prosecution is actually telling lies.”
“Dear boy,” said Sir Magnus, “what a charming innocent you are. However, wait until this afternoon, when we start telling lies.”
20. FINAL SETTLEMENT
They went over the road to a small oak-beamed tavern where they sustained themselves with several flagons of ale followed by crisp, brown lamb chops, each wearing a frilly ballet skirt of paper around the bone. These were adorned with tender green asparagus shoots, awash in butter, piles of mashed potatoes mixed with cream, and a regiment of tender peas. This was followed by a cherry tart and a cheese board containing cheeses so ripe that you were aware of their presence long before they entered the room.
“Why did you say that you wanted to recall Lord Fenneltree?” asked Adrian towards the end of lunch. Sir Magnus placed a great greeny-gold lump of Stilton on a morsel of bread and thrust it into his mouth.
“Because,” he said munching, “I consider him to be a better witness for the defence than for the prosecution.”
“But he’s a prosecution witness,” said Adrian.
“He thinks he is,” corrected Sir Magnus. “So does the prosecution, but in fact if anyone’s going to win this case for you, it’s going to be him.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, let’s have another swift pint of beer,” he said, “and then we’d better be getting back into court.”
Alter lunch Sir Augustus put Mr. Clattercup in the box. From Sir Augustus’s point of view he proved to be an unfortunate witness, who only succeeded in giving the impression that, at whatever cost and by whatever means, he was determined to see both Adrian and Rosy condemned. But in spite of this, the fact that his leg was encased in an enormous plaster cast and that he had to get in and out of the witness-box with the aid of two crutches and two policemen obviously impressed itself upon the jury. When Mr. Clattercup had thumped and staggered his way out of court, Sir Augustus rose to his feet and settled his gown. Then with a musing, almost affectionate air, he pulled the pile of books along the table and rested his hands upon them.
“My lord,” he said, “I think you have heard sufficient evidence to persuade you that, as I said initially, this case is a very unusual one.”
“Yes,” said the judge, who was looking rather rosy and benign as a result of lunch “It would be unusual even if it did not have any animals in it.”
“I would like at this juncture,” said Sir Augustus, “before we hear the defence, if indeed there can be a defence, to quote one or two parallel cases which I have succeeded in finding.”
He opened one of the massive tomes in front of him and ran his forefinger along the type.
“Here, for example,” he said, “you will see the case of Regina versus Pigwhistle, 1884, where the defendant was in charge of a large Shire horse which removed and ate, not only the hat, but the wig of an elderly lady in the town High Street. You will see, my lord, that it was ruled by the judge that the defendant, being in control of the Shire horse and knowing that it had a positively morbid liking for flowers, was therefore responsible by letting it come within eating distance of the hat of the lady in question. This, I think, is a very good parallel to the case which is before us to-day.”
“A good point, a good point,” said the judge, “but then, Sir Augustus, if the person in question had the horse under control, and the woman of her own volition moved within striking distance of the horse, what then?”
“I think,” said Sir Augustus smugly, “I can do no better than to quote the case of Regina versus Clutchpenny, 1894. The defendant in this case had a large bull . . .”
“Isn’t it possible,” interrupted the judge, “for you to find parallel cases which do not contain animals? It is really most confusing to dodge about between salmon and Shire horses and bulls and elephants.”
“Unfortunately, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, “it is a little difficult to find parallel cases that do not contain animals.”
“I had never realised before,” said the judge irritably, “that our entire legal system seems to be infested with the birds and beasts of the field. However, continue.”
Sir Augustus continued. Solemnly, during the next quarter of an hour, he opened the various volumes before him and read out cases, none of which—so far as Adrian could see—bore the remotest resemblance to his case. At length and with a certain reluctance, Sir Augustus closed the last book and laid it reverently on the table.
“I think, my lord,” he said, “that that should have cleared up one or two of the anomalies which might, hitherto, have been puzzling the jury.”
“I shall be delighted,” said the judge, “if the jury understands it. But before you sit down, Sir Augustus, just give me the details again about the man with the python.”
“I don’t think I’ve got any hope,” said Adrian to Sir Magnus. This massive pile-up of legal evidence on the part of Sir Augustus had convinced him beyond a shadow of doubt that he had lost his case. Sir Magnus opened his eyes and beamed at Adrian.
“Always remember, my lad,” he said, “that books are like tools. It depends how you use them. You can cut yourself on a chisel.”
He leant forward and gave an affectionate pat to something which Adrian had not seen earlier. Under Sir Magnus’s table was an extremely large leather suitcase. During the lunch hour Sir Magnus must have sent Screech out for this. What it contained, Adrian could not imagine.
“Poor old Gussy,” said Sir Magnus complacently, shuffling his notes into a neat pile as though he was about to deal a deck of cards, “he was really doomed before he’d even started.”
“Doomed?” said Adrian, “but he’s put up an almost cast-iron argument. I mean, we can’t deny that Rosy did all that damage. I mean, she did it with the best possible intentions, but nevertheless, she did do it.”
“Wait and see,” said Sir Magnus as he rose majestically to his feet. He gave a little bow in the direction of the judge and smiled benignly at the jury.