“An’ do ye think as how they’ll bring it hoame to the murdering scoundrel, zur.”
“I don’t give an opinion without the usual fee,” observed Slapperton.
This retort was greeted with loud and continuous guffaws.
“You’ve got ee change, old man,” said one.
“It aint no yoose trying it on wi’ a lawyer,” cried another.
“Oh, there’s no secret about the matter, gentlemen,” said Slapperton. “It is simply a question of identity. If the witnesses are mistaken, which I affirm they are, it would be wrong indeed to hang a man upon their testimony. So many questions arise in cases of this sort. Fatness and thinness are great aids to recognition, yet they are temporary, dependent sometimes on mere accidents of health. We have all of us met friends whom we have not seen, say, for three years, who have grown wider if not wiser in the interval, and whom we should not, without speech, have recognised.”
“That be true enough,” said one of the company. “I ha’ had the thing occur to me.”
“So have I,” said the lawyer, who was on his favourite hobby. “I can say so positively.”
“You’re not agoin’ to mek me b’lieve that ee be innocent, identity or no identity,” cried Brickett, who was one of the company.
“Oh, it’s you, eh?” said the lawyer, looking curiously at the speaker. “I shall not endeavour to do so. You heard what I said about prejudice?”