The next witness to enter the box was Ethelbert. He corroborated Honoria’s story and even added a few embellishments of his own. He was reprimanded at one point for calling the judge “darling boy”, but nevertheless it was obvious to everyone in court that he was an honest and enthusiastic witness.
Sir Magnus had wanted to call Samantha, but Adrian had put his foot down. He was not going to have Samantha standing in a witness-box being bombarded with question, from Sir Augustus. As it turned out, he need not really have worried, because, Sir Augustus, after his futile attempt to cross-examine Mr. Filigree, sat hunched like a depressed crow, and shook his head every time he was asked to cross-examine.
“Now, my lord,” said Sir Magnus after Ethelbert had left the box, “we are starting to get a clear picture in our minds.”
“I suppose you are right, Sir Magnus,” said the judge doubtfully.
“I think I have shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that the elephant in question is one of the most charming and tractable animal, of its kind. On the occasions when it caused a certain amount of damage it is quite obvious that this was inadvertent and the animal can be in no way blamed for it, nor indeed can its owner.”
“Well, that point may have been cleared up to your satisfaction, Sir Magnus,” said the judge, “but not as yet to mine.”
“Very well, my lord,” said Sir Magnus, “then if I may crave the court’s indulgence, I will recall Lord Fenneltree.”
Lord Fenneltree drifted amiably back into the box, polished his monocle, inserted it in his eye and beamed round.
“This is jolly,” he remarked. “I didn’t think I’d be up here twice.”
“Lord Fenneltree,” said Sir Magnus, “will you kindly take your mind back to the night of 28th April. The night of your daughter’s birthday ball.”
“Yes, yes,” said Lord Fenneltree. “I have it clearly in mind”
“Now, you had arranged for yourself and for the defendant to ride into the ballroom with the elephant, had you not?”
“Indubitably,” said his lordship.
“Did the elephant prior to that display any evil characteristics?”
“What, old Rosy?” said his lordship. “Of course not. Wonderful animal.”
Sir Magnus smiled with quiet satisfaction.
“But on the night of the ball,” he continued, “did the defendant display any qualms about the projected adventure?”
“Qualms,” said his lordship chuckling. “He was a quivering mass of nerves. He worries too much, that boy, you know. That’s half his trouble. I keep telling him it’s very fatiguing.”
“In other words,” said Sir Magnus, “he did suggest to you that it might be an unwise manoeuvre to introduce the elephant into the ballroom.”
“Frequently,” said his lordship. “About ten times a day on an avenge.”
“For what reason?” enquired Sir Magnus.
“Well, he didn’t think my wife would like it,” said Lord Fenneltree. “My wife has that effect on some people.”
“I can well imagine,” said Sir Magnus dryly. “So before the actual night of the ball, he had made several endeavours to stop the plan.”
“That is quite correct.”
“Was he still alarmed on the evening of the ball itself?”
“Alarmed is a mild way of putting it,” said his lordship. “And of course when he found that she was drunk it was all I could do to persuade him to go ahead with the plan.”
“I see,” said Sir Magnus silkily. “Then the defendant in actual fact wanted to call the whole thing off prior to the ball, and on the evening of the ball, finding the animal was intoxicated, he again made serious attempts to persuade you to abandon the project.”
“Yes,” said Lord Fenneltree.
“So, in other words,” said Sir Magnus, “one could really say that the havoc created at the ball was neither the fault of the animal, who was under the influence of alcohol, nor the defendant, since you were directly responsible.”
There was a pause while Lord Fenneltree mused on this for a moment. It was an original approach that had escaped him hitherto.
“Come to think of it,” he said at last, breathing on his monocle, polishing it and screwing it back into his eye, “come to think of it, you are quite right. The whole thing was my fault.”
“Rupert,” came the bugle-like call of Lady Fenneltree from the body of the court. “Watch what you are saying.”
“Who is creating this interruption?” enquired the judge, peering round myopically.
“I think it’s the witness’s wife,” said Sir Magnus with satisfaction.
“My lord,” boomed Lady Fenneltree, “my husband is being led astray.”
“Madam, do you mind being quiet?” enquired the judge.
“I will not be quiet,” shouted Lady Fenneltree. “I have never met such an inane judge in all my life. I will not stand by and see a miscarriage of justice sliding under your nose.”
“Now, now, dear,” shouted Lord Fenneltree, waving at her in a placating manner, “just keep calm.”
“I will not keep calm,” shouted Lady Fenneltree.
“Lady Fenneltree,” said the judge, “this case is quite confused enough without your adding to it.”
“You’re the one who’s confused it,” shouted Lady Fenneltree.
“Madam,” said the judge icily, “if you do not be quiet and sit down, I shall have you removed from the court.”
Lady Fenneltree grasped her parasol in front of her like a spear.
“You will do so at your peril,” she said.
“Remove that woman,” said the judge excitedly.
Two large constables moved in on Lady Fenneltree who, displaying a remarkable agility for her bulk, danced back three paces and then lunged with her parasol. The point of it caught the largest constable a shade north of his umbilical and he doubled up, completely winded. Lady Fenneltree then wheeled and hit the other constable over the back of the neck. It took the two constables several minutes to subdue her and drag her ignominiously from the court, and the jury watched breathless and fascinated. As she was dragged out, her last despairing cry was carried down. “Rupert, don’t you dare say anything.”
“Lord Fenneltree,” said the judge, “I apologise to you for the necessity of having to deal with your wife in that fashion.”
“My dear chap, don’t mention it,” said Lord Fenneltree. “I am lost in admiration. Would it be possible for me to have the names of those two constables before I leave?”
“After that unfortunate incident, may I proceed, my lord?” enquired Sir Magnus.
“Pray do so,” said the judge.
“So we now know,” said Sir Magnus looking at Lord Fenneltree, “that you are directly responsible for all the damage caused by the elephant at your ball.”
“Yes,” said Lord Fenneltree, “I don’t think you can put it fairer than that and I, for one am only sorry poor old Adrian has ended up in this way. He’s a charming young man and it was a most delightful elephant.”
“Thank you, Lord Fenneltree,” said Sir Magnus. “I have no more questions to ask you.”
He sat down and with an air of triumph took out his snuff-box, plugged some snuff up his nose and then gave an enormous and triumphant sneeze and smiled winningly at Sir Augustus.
“Well, um, yes,” said the judge. “Have you anything to say, Sir Augustus?”
Sir Augustus, who had been looking more and more miserable, rose to his feet, quivering with ill-suppressed indignation.
“My lord,” he said shakily, “I have little to add to my previous summary of the case. I can only say at this juncture that I hope that my learned friend’s introduction of so many dubious witnesses has not in any way damaged his case in the eyes of the jury. The introduction of white witches, strolling players of doubtful background and people who believe in reincarnation should, I would think, undermine rather than buttress the case for the defence.”