MAYOR. What do you say to that, constable?
MOON. [Stepping the mechanical two paces] I don't deny there was a struggle, Your Worship, but it's my impression I was 'it.
CHANTREY. Of course you were bit; we can see that. But with the cane or with the fist?
MOON. [A little flurried] I—I—with the fist, sir.
MAYOR. Be careful. Will you swear to that?
MOON. [With that sudden uncertainty which comes over the most honest in such circumstances] Not—not so to speak in black and white, Your Worship; but that was my idea at the time.
MAYOR. You won't swear to it?
MOON. I'll swear he called me an idiot and a lout; the words made a deep impression on me.
CHANTREY. [To himself] Mort aux vaches!
MAYOR. Eh? That'll do, constable; stand back. Now, who else saw the struggle? Mrs Builder. You're not obliged to say anything unless you like. That's your privilege as his wife.