‘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 him 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 theprosecution, 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.’
After 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 today.’
‘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.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘as my learned friend has so astutely pointed out, this is a very unusual case.’
Here he paused and pulled the large leather suitcase from under the table, opened it and very slowly and carefully produced from it some three dozen massive volumes which, smilingly, he piled one by one into a sort of defensive rampart on the edge of his desk.
‘All these books,’ he said, patting the pile as though it were a horse, ‘contain parallel examples which show conclusively that my client is innocent. But,’ he went on, holding up an admonishing forefinger, ‘as the innocence of my client is perfectly obvious to the jury, I needn’t weary you with a lot of details.’
He picked up all the books and returned them to the suitcase. The jury were much impressed.
‘Gentlemen of t
he jury,’ Sir Magnus went on, ‘you have before you the defendant Adrian Rookwhistle. Now it must be obvious to anyone that he is a fine, honest, upstanding young man, who has the one special quality which we all admire and which so few of us possess. He has courage. Which one of you gentlemen would willingly dive into a threshing, storm-tossed sea in order to rescue a dumb animal? Now, as I said to you, my client’s innocence is obvious. You know this and I know this. The crux of the matter, as I am sure you will all have perceived, is whether or not the elephant in question is the savage, uncontrolled and uncontrollable animal that it is made out to be. I would therefore like to call just a few witnesses to reassure you on this point.
‘Mr Pucklehammer,’ he called.
Mr Pucklehammer came into the box, beamed at Adrian and made gestures of encouragement. He took the oath and gave the closest attention to Sir Magnus.
‘I believe, Mr Pucklehammer,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘that you were with the defendant Rookwhistle on the day when he took delivery of the elephant.’
‘Yes, I was,’ said Mr Pucklehammer. ‘He brought it down to my yard.’
‘Your yard?’ said Sir Magnus. ‘What is your occupation exactly?’
‘I am a coffin maker and carpenter,’ said Mr Pucklehammer.
‘So then, your yard would presumably be full of all the accoutrements of your trade?’
‘What was that again, sir?’ said Mr Pucklehammer.
‘Was your yard full of coffins and similar items of carpentry?’ said Sir Magnus.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Pucklehammer.
‘I have often wondered,’ said the judge, ‘how they manage to make coffins that shape.’
‘I am sure, my lord,’ said Sir Magnus smoothly, ‘that Mr Pucklehammer would be delighted to give you a practical demonstration of this at the end of the proceedings.’
‘Most kind,’ said the judge.
‘Now you say,’ Sir Magnus went on, ‘that the elephant Rosy was brought into your yard. During the time she was there, two days I believe it to be, what was her demeanour?’
‘Bread, mostly,’ said Mr Pucklehammer. ‘Then we found she liked vegetables as well.’
‘No, no,’ said Sir Magnus. ‘What was her behaviour like?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Mr Pucklehammer enthusiastically. ‘She’s a lovely animal.’
‘So she didn’t cause you any distress while she stayed in your yard?’
‘None whatsoever,’ said Mr Pucklehammer. ‘Good as gold she was. Helpful too. She helped Adrian wash the trap down.’
‘Wash the trap down what?’ enquired the judge.
‘Well, we were cleaning the trap, see, sir, and so Rosy squirted water on it with her trunk.’
‘Extraordinary,’ said the judge. ‘Have you ever in your experience, Sir Magnus, come across an elephant washing down a trap?’
‘No, my lord, I can’t say that I have,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘but I believe them to be immensely sagacious beasts.’
‘Extraordinary,’ said the judge again. ‘Pray continue.’
‘So, during the whole two days she was in your yard, she did no damage to you or to your property?’ said Sir Magnus.
‘None at all,’ said Mr Pucklehammer determinedly. ‘I told you, she’s as timid as a mouse. Rosy’d never hurt anybody deliberately.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sir Magnus. He glanced at Sir Augustus interrogatively, but Sir Augustus, who had not known about the Pucklehammer episode, was at a slight loss as to how to cross-examine, so he merely shook his head mournfully.
‘Call,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘Emily Nelly Delilah Trickletrot.’
‘Who the hell’s that?’ whispered Adrian.
‘Black Nell,’ said Sir Magnus.
Black Nell, like a chirpy moth-eaten little bird, climbed into the witness-box and peered over the edge of it with some difficulty.
‘I understand,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘that you encountered the defendant Rookwhistle and his elephant when you were on your way to Tuttlepenny Fair.’
‘That’s right,’ said Black Nell.
‘Now, you are by trade a fortune-teller?’ enquired Sir Magnus.
‘Witch,’ said Black Nell.
A rustle immediately ran through the court. The jury gave her their absolutely undivided attention.
‘Witch?’ said the judge.
‘Yes, your honour,’ said Black Nell. ‘I am a white witch. Black Nell’s me name.’
‘I find this very confusing,’ said the judge, looking at Sir Magnus. ‘Would you like to elucidate?’
‘Certainly, my lord. There are apparently two forms of witches. The black kind who do evil deeds or are reputed to do evil deeds, and the white ones who do good deeds. This lady is a white witch and during the course of her witchcraft she also tells fortunes.’
‘Do you use a crystal ball?’ enquired the judge.
‘Sometimes,’ said Black Nell. ‘Not always though.’
‘I had one once,’ said the judge musingly, ‘but I could never see anything in it.’
‘It’s a question of concentration,’ said Black Nell. ‘You should try it in a diamond ring some time.’
‘Diamond ring? Really?’ said the judge. ‘I must try that.’
‘May I continue, my lord?’ enquired Sir Magnus with a long-suffering air.
‘By all means, by all means,’ said the judge.
‘Now, when you met the defendant and his elephant, what happened?’
‘I was asleep, see,’ said Black Nell, ‘and suddenly my whole caravan started to shake.’
‘We now appear to be suffering from a surfeit of wheeled vehicles,’ said the judge. ‘This caravan has not appeared before, has it?’
‘No,’ said Sir Magnus. ‘It is the caravan belonging to the witness.’
‘Why was it shaking?’ enquired the judge.
‘Because the elephant was scratching herself against it,’ said Black Nell.
‘Do elephants scratch themselves against caravans?’ the judge asked Sir Magnus.
‘I believe, my lord, that all pachyderms, if they find a suitably abrasive surface, will ease any minor skin irritation by rubbing themselves against it,’ said Sir Magnus.
‘We are certainly learning a lot about elephants,’ said the judge with satisfaction. ‘Well, go on.’
‘When you finally came out of your caravan,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘did the elephant attack you?’
‘Lord bless us, no,’ said Black Nell. ‘Tame as a rabbit she was. We all sat down and had breakfast together.’
‘So she did no damage to your caravan, nor did she attempt in any way to harm you?’
‘No,’ said Black Nell. ‘That creature wouldn’t harm a fly.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sir Magnus, and again glanced at Sir Augustus.
But Sir Augustus was feeling that he was liable to get bogged down in a lot of irrelevant details about witchcraft and again refused to cross-examine.
‘Will you now call,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘Peregrine Filigree.’
Mr Filigree, wreathed in smiles, undulated his way into the court and wedged himself with a certain amount of difficulty into the witness-box.
‘Hello, Adrian,’ he shouted, waving a fat hand. ‘How’s it going?’ The judge peered at him.
‘Mr Filigree,’ he said, ‘I would be grateful if you would confine yourself to giving evidence and not carry on an exchange of saucy badinage with the defendant.’
‘I am sorry, your lordship,’ said Mr Filigree, chastened. The clerk of the court held out the Bible for him to take the oath.
‘You haven’t by any chance got a prayer wheel, have you?’
‘What’s that?’ said the judge.
‘A prayer wheel, my lord,’ said Sir Magnus. ‘I believe it to be something that is used quite extensively in Tibet and similar places where Buddhism is the basic religion.’
‘What do you want a prayer wheel for?’ asked the judge.
‘Because,’ said Mr Filigree, ‘I am a Buddhist.’
&n
bsp; ‘I don’t really think, Sir Magnus,’ said the judge, ‘that we can expect the clerk of the court to go running around at this late date in order to find a prayer wheel. I am not altogether sure that it would be legal either.’
‘Perhaps, Mr Filigree,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘you would be kind enough to take the oath on the Bible, and pretend that it is a prayer wheel.’
‘Very well,’ said Mr Filigree. ‘If it’s going to be of any help to you.’
‘Now,’ said the judge, ‘perhaps we can proceed.’
‘Mr Filigree,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘on the night of the 29th April the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, and his elephant arrived at the Unicorn and Harp, a hostelry which you and your daughter run?’
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Filigree, beaming. ‘It was a most lovely surprise.’
‘Would you like to tell his lordship and the jury, in your own words, exactly what happened.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Mr Filigree.
He clasped his fat hands together as though in prayer and fixed his round eyes on the judge.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘I haven’t had an elephant for years.’
‘Do you mind elaborating that extraordinary statement?’ said the judge.
‘Well, you see,’ said Mr Filigree, ‘I once had one hundred and one of them; the chief one, of course, was Poo-Ting. But that was some considerable time ago.’
‘Am I correct in believing, Sir Magnus, that the witness is saying on oath that he had one hundred and one elephants?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘It seems to me,’ said the judge, ‘and please do correct me, Sir Magnus, if I am wrong, that the defendant had considerable trouble with one elephant. How is it that this gentleman managed successfully to keep one hundred and one?’
‘I believe, my lord, that he kept them while in India in a previous incarnation,’ said Sir Magnus suavely. ‘Though that is not the really important point at all. I merely brought this witness into the box as he has had such considerable experience with elephants.’
The judge was now even more confused than the jury. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘he is what you might call an expert witness.’