“I have a desire, and that’s sufficient. I’m as safe there as I am here. More so, perhaps.”
It may, and doubtless it does, appear singular that Peace should have had any desire to disport himself in the court referred to, but it is, nevertheless, a fact, he was present at one of the examinations of the detectives, and this has since been proved beyond all question.
The court was crowded almost to suffocation when the detective case came on, and Peace had the greatest difficulty in elbowing his way in. The Bow-street court, as most of our readers know, is miserably small, and inconvenient. As far as the public is concerned it could not very well be worse in the way of accommodation. It has for years been acknowledged to be ill adapted for the purpose for which it was constructed.
Peace found this out. He was a little man, and behind him was a man of elephantine dimensions, who kept bearing the greater portion of his weight on his shoulders.
“I wish you’d not press on me in this manner,” said our hero to his tormentor.
“I can’t help it, the people are shoving behind. Don’t blame me.”
“Order! Silence in the court!” cried the usher.
“But I’m half stifled,” observed Peace. “Can’t you make room for me somewhere?”
“No, every place is occupied.”
“If you don’t like it go out,” said the big man.