M. Arago.—How did you know there was any assault at all?
Le Verrier.—I reckoned it couldn't be otherwise, when I saw the prosecutor making those odd turns on the pavement.
M. Arago.—You reckon and you calculate! Why, you'll tell me, next, that you policemen may sit at home and find out all that's going on in the streets by arithmetic. Did you ever bring a case of this kind before me till now?
Le Verrier.—Why, you see, your worship, the police are growing cleverer and cleverer every day. We can't help it:—it grows upon us.
M. Arago.—You're getting too clever for me. What does the prosecutor know about the matter?
The prosecutor said, all he knew was that he was pulled behind by somebody several times. On being further examined, he said that he had seen the prisoner often, but did not know his name, nor how he got his living; but had understood he was called Neptune. He himself had paid rates and taxes a good many years now. Had a family of six,—two of whom got their own living.
The prisoner being called on for his defence, said that it was a quarrel. He had pushed the prosecutor—and the prosecutor had pushed him. They had known each other a long time, and were always quarreling;—he did not know why. It was their nature, he supposed. He further said, that the prosecutor had given a false account of himself;—that he went about under different names. Sometimes he was called Uranus, sometimes Herschel, and sometimes Georgium Sidus; and he had no character for regularity in the neighborhood. Indeed, he was sometimes not to be seen for a long time at once.
The prosecutor, on being asked, admitted, after a little hesitation, that he had pushed and pulled the prisoner too.
In the altercation which followed, it was found very difficult to make out which began:—and the worthy magistrate seemed to think they must have begun together.
M. Arago.—Prisoner, have you any family?