Other counsel were sitting cheek by jowl with Tommy's counsel. One of them, turning as Mrs. Tennant entered, looked her keenly up and down. He was an ugly, mean-looking, colourless, bloodless little man. His robe, or whatever they called the thing he wore, was different to the others--it was of silk. I wondered what he was.
Suddenly there was a stir in court. Somebody appeared like an undertaker's mute--only he wasn't a mute--from a door at the back.
"The judge."
Everybody rose to their feet. In waddled the fat little fellow I had seen in the train. He reminded me, somehow, of the comic man in the burlesque. He had on an enormous wig, about sixty yards of what, from where I sat, looked like some sort of scarlet blanketing, and--as if that wasn't enough!--fur. He presented a dreadful spectacle. Goodness knows that he had a red enough face of his own! They might have put him in white.
There was some rubbish which I did not understand--and did not want to. It was some time before I could take my eyes off the judge. He was something to stare at. The more I looked at him the more I wondered what they would do if the man was struck with apoplexy. To me the risk of something of the kind, which he seemed to be running, was simply awful.
Then they swore in the jury. Among them were some of the stupidest-looking men I ever saw. If they were married it was a pity they could not have sent their wives, and they themselves have stayed at home. There must have been more sense somewhere in the family.
Then somebody said--
"Bring in Thomas Tennant!"
A hush came over the court. All eyes were turned in one direction. I, alone, did not dare to turn to look. There were movements behind me, then all was still. I noticed that Mrs. Tennant had removed her veil again, and had turned round in her seat and was looking at some one whom I could not see--looking at this some one with a smile.
I knew that she was looking at her husband, and that Tommy was going to be tried for the murder of me.