"Lucas, let me in at once."
"I can't, sir, more than my position is worth."
"Then let me out," howled the suffering junior, "you're crushing my foot and my neck."
The stalwart policeman lessened a fraction of his weight against the door, and the imprisoned junior was allowed to scrape himself out as gradually as his peculiar position would admit.
The one person who considered the presence of the Lion in Court to be the most natural thing in the world was Ridgwell, who, standing beside the Writer, peeped through the little glass panel let into the door leading from a passage to one of the witnesses waiting-rooms.
"Is the Round Game going to commence?" Ridgwell asked the Writer innocently.
The Writer admitted gravely that the Round Game was going to commence with a vengeance.
"The ones who lose have to pay the forfeits, haven't they?" persisted
Ridgwell.
"Yes," agreed the Writer. "Exactly—ahem!—heavy forfeits."
"I hope Sir Simon wins then," observed Ridgwell.