"Oh, two tiny glasses of Crème-de-Menthe."
Counsel (triumphantly). "I knew it; at last, my Lord, we have the mystery explained. The mystery of the Lion's green eyes, the strangeness of the Lord Mayor's attitude, the strangeness of his speech, his dress, all due, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, to Crème-de-Menthe! My Lord, that one phrase explains this whole mystery, and with it I finish my statement of this case, my Lord, finish it with those three, deadly, green, significant words—Crème-de-Menthe."
Whereupon, to everybody's relief, the pompom explosions of Mr. Dreadful ceased. The last shell had been fired, followed by the usual whistles, and he sat down.
The silky tones of Mr. Gentle Gammon came as a positive relief as he re-examined and asked gently—
"Have you got the particular bottle of Crème-de-Menthe in Court?"
The Writer said he had brought it.
The bottle was fetched promptly.
"My Lord," observed Mr. Gentle Gammon, "I do not think the amount taken could possibly have had any effect upon anybody. Your Lordship observes that the bottle is nearly full, and the bottle produced is the identical vessel used upon the evening in question. Was any other sort of refreshment partaken of that evening in your chambers?"
"None whatever."
"One more question before you go. Of course this ballad, rearranged, as you say, from the original by you, was written without any thought of giving offence?"