‘We must move, then, m’lud, for a fresh trial.’
‘Who and what is this witness? and why is he not here?’
‘He is not here because there has not been time to bring him, m’lud. He has been at the Cape of Good Hope for nearly thirty years; far back in the wilds, or veldt, as it is called. I believe—’
‘What is his name?’
Mr. Netherpoint paused and looked round, so as to give everyone full opportunity of hearing what he said.
‘His name, m’lud, is Sir Herbert Farrington.’
There was a sensation in the court.
Lady Farrington, with a half-stifled shriek, seized Herbert convulsively by the hands, and ejaculating ‘I knew it, I knew it,’ swooned away. Sir Rupert Farrington, as he still claimed to be called, half rose in his seat, as if determined to protest against this new and most audacious attempt at fraud; there was a flutter of excitement, a murmur of voices in the body of the court, the solicitors whispered and winked significantly to one another, and the bar generally woke up to give attention to what had long been a threadbare and uninteresting affair.
Meanwhile, the judge had been scanning his notes assiduously; Sir Rupert’s counsel and solicitors had been equally busy with brief and papers, while Mr. Netherpoint and Mr. Bellhouse had continued in close confabulation, and interchanging memoranda and ideas.
‘Sir Herbert Farrington?’ the judge asked, at length, snappishly and garrulously. ‘There is no such person in existence that I am aware of, at present. The young gentleman, who is one of the plaintiffs, has no right to the title until he has proved his claim—’