“Sir Augustus,” said the judge, “I don’t know why it is, but every time you get up to examine a witness, you manage to introduce a new animal of some sort. I find this very confusing.”
“My lord,” said Sir Augustus, “I was merely trying to make clear . . .”
“Well, you are not making it dear,” snapped the judge. “We have now got a cat mixed up in it.”
“It was a beautiful cat,” said Mr. Filigree. “He recognised me instantly.”
“The cat has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the case,” said the judge. “I find your line of questioning, Sir Augustus, most irrelevant.”
“As your lordship pleases,” said Sir Augustus with restraint. “Then I have no further questions.” He sat down and glowered at Sir Magnus, who was lying back with his eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face.
“The witness may stand down,” said the judge. He shuffled through his notes and then looked at Sir Magnus.
“Do you intend to call any more witnesses, Sir Magnus?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord. I have several more.”
The judge looked at his watch.
“Well, I would be glad if you would make it as rapid as possible,” he said.
The next witness that Sir Magnus introduced was Honoria, and to Adrian’s astonishment, for his heart had sunk when her name was called, she proved to be an admirable witness. It was not until afterwards that Adrian learned that a bottle and a half of gin had gone into the making of her performance, but she stood in the witness-box, her magnificent bosom heaving in a low-cut dress that bad every juryman’s eye fixed longingly upon it. She was in turn soulful and vibrant. Her eulogy on Rosy and on her own friendship with her was a masterpiece. She stood heaving and panting in the witness-box, her head held up proudly while tears trickled in vast quantities down her checks as she described how she and she alone had been responsible for the wrecking of the theatre by her introduction of gin into Rosy’s diet. By the time she had finished, there was not an unmoistened eye among the jury and even the judge had to blow his nose vigorously before dismissing Honoria.
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.”