Before the case was called on, the Magistrate left the Bench, and Quaritch and his opponent were summoned behind the scenes. This was unusual. By the time the three reappeared excitement was running high.
The Magistrate’s clerk nodded, and the case was called on.
Pembury stepped into the dock, and the Magistrate cleared his throat.
“Mr. Shorthorn,” he said. The Solicitor to the Police rose to his feet and bowed. “I have decided, before proceeding with this case, to tell you that I have formed a very definite opinion.
“The position in which I stand is one of peculiar difficulty. If the charge was less grave, if the social position of the defendant was less considerable, if all the circumstances did not combine, rightly or wrongly, to attract to this case a good deal of attention, my path would be plain and easy to follow. As it is, I have thought proper to consult the Chief Magistrate and I may say that he agrees with me that the course which I am about to take is the only one which is at once convenient and just.
“By the merest accident, I am in possession of information which has a direct and powerful bearing upon this charge. That information would become evidence, if I could be put into the box.”
He paused.
Except for the noise of breathing and the flick of a reporter’s page, the Court, which was crammed with people, was still as death.
In a retired waiting-room Lady Elizabeth sat fretfully straining her ears, continually crossing and recrossing two sweet pretty legs and striving desperately to possess a mutinous spirit.
The Magistrate proceeded.