“They think they’re really beginning,” mused Miriam, rousing herself.
“A genuine accident within the meaning of the act,” blared Mr. Craven.
“An actident,” murmured Mr. Corrie.
“In that case,” said another man, “I mean since the man was discovered ill, not drunk, by a doctor in his box, all the elaborate legal proceedings would appear to be rather—superfluous.”
“Not at all, not at all,” said Mr. Corrie testily.
Miriam listened gladly to the anger in his voice, watching the faint movement of the window curtains and waiting for the justification of the law.
“The thing must be subject to a detailed inquiry before the man can be cleared.”
“He might have felt ill before he took up his duties—you’d hardly get him to admit that.”
“Lawyers can get people to admit anything,” said Mr. Craven cheerfully, and broke the silence that followed his sally by a hooting monotonous recitative which he delivered, swaying right and left from his hips, “that is to say—they by beneficently pursuing unexpected—quite unexpected bypaths—suddenly confront—their—their examinees—with the truth—the Truth.”
“It’s quite a good point to suggest that the chap felt ill earlier in the day—that’s one of the things you’d have to find out. You’d have, at any rate, to know all the circumstances of the seizure.”