“Ah,” said Sir Magnus brightly, “Gussy’s finished, has he? Hear what he was saying?”
“Yes,” hissed Adrian, “he’s twisting everything to make it look as though Rosy and I are guilty.”
“Bound to,” said Sir Magnus. “That’s what he’s paid for.”
“But can’t you say something?” said Adrian. “Can’t you get up and tell the judge it isn’t true?”
“Don’t panic, dear boy,” said Sir Magnus. “Remember that a spider spends hours weaving a web which you can destroy with a walking-stick with the flick of a wrist.”
And with this Adrian had to be content. Sir Augustus was shuffling through his notes and re-settling his gown, and Adrian examined the jury.
All of them looked sour-faced, gimlet-eyed and unrelenting, and those who had not immediately gone into a trance spent their time looking surreptitiously at their watches and did not appear to be concentrating on anything in particular. They looked at Adrian as though they would be willing to condemn him there and then, either from a sense of vindictiveness or from a desire to get back to their businesses as rapidly as possible.
“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.