“Tiffin tyar hai, [185] Sahib,” said the Mess butler, approaching the President, and the Court adjourned.
The afternoon session of the Court proved dull up to the moment when the lady who was an orphan and the mother of the ninety-year-old, bounded into Court with a scream of:
“Ask him where he got his petticoat!”
Apparently this was very distressful to the defendant, for he was instantly seized with violent stomachic pains.
“Poignant! . . . Searching! . . .” murmured Augustus.
“Where did you get that ’Mericani?” asked Wavell of the prisoner, pointing to his only garment.
“He got it from the Germanis. It was part of his share of the loot,” screamed the old lady. “It is from my own shop. I know it by that mark,” and she pointed to a trade-mark and number stencilled in white paint upon the selvedge of the loin-cloth.
Terrible agonies racked the prisoner as he replied: “She is a liar.”
“Trade-mark don’t prove much,” remarked the President. “My pants and vest might have same trade-mark as the Kaiser’s—but that wouldn’t prove he stole them from me.”
The sense of this remark was conveyed to the witness.