An arrangement had been proposed—even to the sacrifice of the proceeds of Mr. Blagden’s sale of B.A.R.’s ordinary; it was refused. John K. Petre wasn’t out to add to his fifty millions a paltry two. He was out for blood.
Counsel’s opinion had been taken, experts called in, documents of every kind drawn up, written, engrossed, typed, filed, stamped, endorsed, docketed, and in general treated to the excellently elaborate and lucrative ritual which documents in such cases uncomplainingly suffer; pleadings had been entered, several consultations enjoyed, briefs marked, tremendous leaders chosen. Everything had been done upon Mr. Blagden’s side to swell the costs to the largest possible figure; and that is the test of sincere and conscientious work on the part of a man’s legal advisers. Upon John K. Petre’s side the same process had been even more thoroughly and conscientiously performed. In his own country the Rotor King—I mean Baron—would have known how to check these figures; here under the immemorial traditions of the English Courts, he was helpless. But his relentless humor tolerated any extravagance, so only that he might drink deep of vengeance.
The case was set down for October the 20th. It came before Mr. Justice Honeybubble. Its importance as a precedent, and the fees—a record, as the American Press was careful to call them—were checks upon undue haste.
Nine times the space that measures day and night to mortal man did those lawyers on the floor grind guineas out of the great John K. Petre mill. Then the lawyer perched up above them talked for half a day more, and after that the judgment. The decision fell for the Defendants. Mr. John K. Petre, of Summit, Merryvale, in New Hampshire, one of the United States of North America, failed to recover.
Nor was the Defendant subjected to the necessity of disproving impersonation though he was prepared in evidence clearly and firmly to swear that he had no such intention, but had had thrust upon him a chance name at a moment when he did not desire to do business under his own. That point—which had loomed so large before the case came on, was forgotten by public and professionals in the really interesting development which the great action took.
For behold, the Defendant’s counsel had advanced on a most unexpected line, coming in flank upon John K.’s attack and disturbing it horribly. They granted—while they vigorously denied—the technical plea of impersonation—it was nothing of the sort, but no matter. They based the defense on the Statute cited as Fraudeurs et Tireurs, vulgarly and humorously known as “Frauds and Terrors,” of the 13th of Ed. III., Cap. 2, where it is laid down that if a merchant use the name of another, even by error, and under such obtain a delivery of cheptal, he is at the mercy of the King, saving in Market of Free Cloison (that is the point) and (of course) “excepting precincts.”
Mr. Justice Honeybubble’s judgment will long be quoted as a model. It was lengthy—that was inevitable under the circumstances—but it was conclusive.
Free Cloison being proved, the exception of Precincts (a technical term) did not lie.
The Press vigorously applauded the common sense and justice of the decision.
A writer hired to write in the Howl said it was bluff English stuff. Another writer, hired to write on the Times, said it bore witness to that sense of reality and impatience with technicalities, peculiar to the Anglo-Saxon race.