“My lord,” said the counsel for the prosecution, noting the smile, and the significant grin with which it was reflected on the countenances of the twelve good men and true, “I may state that we are prepared to bring forward a large mass of scientific evidence—including a well-known man of science, the editor of Wisdom, a popular journal which takes all knowledge for its province—to prove that there is nothing physically impossible in the facts deposed to by this witness. He is at present suffering, as you see, from a serious accident caused by the very machine of which he speaks, and which can be exhibited, with a working model, to the Court.”
“It certainly requires corroboration,” said the judge. “At present, so far as I am aware, it is contrary to scientific experience. You can prove, perhaps, that, in the opinion of experts, these machines have only to take one step further to become practical modes of locomotion. But that is the very step qui coûte. Nothing but direct evidence that the step has been taken—that a flying machine, on this occasion, actually flew (they appear to be styled volantes, a non volando)—would really help your case, and establish the credibility of this witness.”
“With your lordship’s learned remarks,” replied the counsel for the crown, “I am not the less ready to agree, because I have an actual eye-witness, who not only saw the flight deposed to by the witness, but reported it to several persons, who are in court, on the night of its occurrence, so that her statement, though disbelieved, was the common talk of the neighborhood.”
“Ah! that is another matter,” said the judge.
“Call Eliza Gullick,” said the counsel.
Eliza was called, and in a moment was curtsying, with eagerness, but perfect self-possession.
After displaying an almost technical appreciation of the nature of an oath, Eliza was asked:
“You remember the night of the 7th of February?”
“I remember it very well, sir.”
“Why do you remember it so well, Eliza?”