CHAPTER III
THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION
"I know, Mrs. Catesby, I'm not much of a chap," said Brasset, "but what's a feller to do? I did drop a hint to Fitz, you know."
"Fitz!!" The art of the littérateur can only render a scorn so sublime by two marks of exclamation.
"What did Fitz say?" I ventured to inquire.
"Scowled like blazes," said Brasset, miserably. "Thought the cross-grained, three-cornered devil would eat me. Beg pardon, Mrs. Catesby."
The noble Master subsided into his glass of beer in the most lamentably ineffectual manner.
I cleared my voice in the consciousness that I had an uncle a judge.
"Brasset," said I, "will you kindly inform the court what are the specific grounds of complaint against this much-maligned and unfortunate—er—female?"