“Frustrate, perhaps?”
“Aye, that’s th’ verry word, tho’ how yo’ come to leet on it so clivver’s beyond me. An’ oo wanted to know if aw could sweer to ’em agen, tho’ that wasn’t th’ word oo used—iden—iden—drat it all, it’s slipped me again.”
“Identify, perhaps?”
“Tha’s getten it agen—see what eddication ’ll do. Identify—that were it, for a sovrin’. Nah, yo’ see, one hare’s varry like another, especially when they’re dead. Yo’ can pick ’em out when they’re wick, if yo’re used to ’em, for even a hare ’ll ha’ a look o’ its own. But when they’re dead it’s different. So I were fair flummaxed. But Ruth theer weren’t oo gate a pair tweezers, an’ we snipped their front teeth, an’ if them two hasn’t teeth yo’ may ca’ Enoch Hoyle a liar, an he’ll eit them hares, skin an’ fur an’ all. Oo tuk ’em away wi’ her, an aw’n nivver seed ’em sin ’till this day o’ our Lord.”
“Well, I think that will do, Mr. Hoyle, unless my friend would like to have a few words with you.”
“Not for a pension.” said Mr. Alison, emphatically.
“Perhaps them gentlemen up theer ’ud like to ax me summat,” said Enoch. “Aw’ve noan said haulf mi nominy yet. Aw had prepared a few words anent the wickedness o’ layin’ i’ wait to tak’ another man’s life, or what’s awmost as bad, another man’s liberty, an’ we’n plenty o’ time i’ front of us. …”
“Stand down!” bawled a constable, and Enoch, with great dignity and with obvious reluctance, left the witness box, having, as he boasted all his life, confounded the mighty that sit in high places.
“I suppose you can prove that these hares were handed to the prisoner?” asked the Clerk of Mr. Blackburn.
“Certainly.”