“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.”
“Would you like to tell his lordship and the jury why?” She half turned to the judge, pinned him to his chair with a hypnotic blue gaze, clasped her hands in front of her and began.
“On the 28th April it was my daughter’s eighteenth birthday,” she said.
“Does this have any bearing on the matter?” enquired the judge.
“I was asked,” Lady Fenneltree said quellingly, “to tell the story in my own words.”
“By all means, by all mean” said the judge, and made a hasty and irrelevant note.
“It was my daughter’s eighteenth birthday,” recommenced Lady Fenneltree, “and we bad arranged a ball in her honour. We had naturally invited a number of people. In fact,”—she allowed herself a small grim smile—“I can say that everybody who is anybody was there. I had asked my husband to think up some original entertainment, possibly of a humorous nature, for the edification of the guests. He assured me he had this matter well in hand, but wished to keep it a secret, I had been up in town shopping with my daughter, and on my return I found that” (she said gesturing disdainfully at Adrian) “installed in the house.”
“With his elephant?” enquired the judge.
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.
“But how,” enquired the judge giving her his full attention, and obviously deeply interested, “how did he manage to get it up and down stairs?”
“Er, my lord,” said Sir Augustus getting to his feet hurriedly. “I think it should be explained that the defendant kept his elephant in the stable yard, unbeknownst to Lady Fenneltree.”
“Oh,” said the judge, “that’s different”
He looked at Sir Magnus, convinced by now that he was an authority on elephants.
“Can elephants walk up stairs?” he asked.
“Indubitably,” said Sir Magnus.
“Anyway,” said Lady Fenneltree, irritated by the judge’s interruption, “my husband had secreted the elephant in the stables, as Sir Augustus said, unbeknownst to me. He had worked out a ridiculous scheme which, if it had been brought to my attention, I would have put an immediate stop to. He and that Rookwhistle creature were going to dress themselves up as Indians and bring the elephant into the ballroom, sitting in a howdah.”
The judge leant forward and stared at her, puzzled. “But I always though,” he said, “that a howdah was a thing that elephants wore on their backs.”
“They do,” said Lady Fenneltree.
“But then, how,” asked the judge plaintively, “did they manage to get the elephant into the howdah?”
Sir Augustus leapt to his feet once more, aware that Lady Fenneltree was on the verge of giving the judge a short but pungent correction.
“My lord,” he said, “Lord Fenneltree and the defendant dressed themselves in Indian costume, put a howdah on the back of the elephant and rode into the ballroom in the howdah.”
The judge started to make small squeaking, snuffling noises to himself, shaking all over as though with ague. It was some seconds before the court realised that he was laughing. Presently, still trembling with mirth, he wiped his eyes and leant forward.
“What you could almost call, Sir Augustus, a pretty how da do, eh?” he said and lapsed once more into helpless laughter.
“Ha, ha,” said Sir Augustus dutifully. “Extremely witty, my lord.”
A ghastly silence settled over the court while the judge grappled with his sense of humour. Presently, wiping his eyes on his handkerchief and blowing his nose, he waved a hand at Lady Fenneltree. “Do please go on, madam,” he said.
“My guests were all enjoying the humble but adequate entertainment that we were offering them,” said Lady Fenneltree, “when suddenly the doors of the ballroom burst open and the elephant rushed in and slid to the end of the room.”
“Slid?” enquired the judge.
“Slid,” said Lady Fenneltree firmly.
The judge peered at Sir Augustus. “I am not altogether sure,” he said, “that I understand the witness.”
“It slid, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, “on the parquet floor.”
“Slid,” said the judge musingly. He looked at Sir Magnus. “Can elephants slide?” he enquired.