“In fact, you wish to interrogate him yourself. Very well. Let us have him in.”
When Sir Charles Collingham entered, he included the three officials in one cold, stiff bow, waited a moment, and then, finding he was not offered a chair, said with studied politeness:
“I presume I may sit down?”
“Pardon. Of course; pray be seated,” said the Judge, hastily, and evidently a little ashamed of himself.
“Ah! thanks. Do you object?” went on the General, taking out a silver cigarette-case. “May I offer one?” He handed round the box affably.
“We do not smoke on duty,” answered the Chief, rudely. “Nor is smoking permitted in a court of justice.”
“Come, come, I wish to show no disrespect. But I cannot recognize this as a court of justice, and I think, if you will forgive me, that I shall take three whiffs. It may help me keep my temper.”
He was evidently making game of them. There was no symptom remaining of the recent effervescence when he was acting as the Countess’s champion, and he was perfectly—nay, insolently calm and self-possessed.
“You call yourself General Collingham?” went on the Chief.
“I do not call myself. I am General Sir Charles Collingham, of the British Army.”