It did occur to Fisher minor at this juncture that a change of air might be refreshing. But it was too late now. The enemy had him fast. There was no getting out of the “warm weather” which had been promised him.
“Come on—we’ll have a regular Old Bailey of it,” cried Percy. “Go and tell the fellows, and collar some witnesses, do you hear; and tell the hangman he’ll be wanted in half an hour.”
This promise of judicial dispatch was not consoling to the prisoner, who had grave doubts as to the impartiality of the tribunal before which he was to be arraigned. He wondered if Ashby, or D’Arcy, or any of his friends would appear among the witnesses.
The trial took place in the room jointly owned by Percy, Ramshaw, Cottle, and Lickford. A chair was planted on the bed for the accommodation of the judge. The fender was brought out in front of the chest of drawers for a witness-box; while Rix minimus, who officiated as jury, sat on a footstool on the table.
As for the prisoner, a dock was provided for him in the form of a wash-stand, out of which the basin had been removed to make room for his uneasy person in the vacant hole.
“Now, you chaps,” said Percy, who had naturally appointed himself, in addition to his other offices, “usher of the court”, “no larks. Shut up. This is a big job. This young cad cheated at Elections.”
Here the door opened, and Dangle looked in.
“What on earth is all this row?” he said.
“A trial. I say, Dangle, will you be judge? It’s a Classic kid that cheated at Elections.”
“No, really, I didn’t,” said Fisher, painfully aware that so far, the trial was going against him.