“’Cute chap, your brother,” said Percy, aside.
“Shut up, Wheatfield. Now tell me this, young Fisher major,” said Dangle, with an air of importance which intimidated the prisoner; “what was it your brother said about the election?”
“It wasn’t to me, it was to Ranger, my senior. He said it was a regular sell, and he’d have given a lot to see you beaten, because he knew you couldn’t play fair at anything, even if you tried.”
Some of the court were rude enough to laugh at this very candid confession; but the judge himself failed to see any humour in it.
“Oh, that’s what he said? And yet you mean to tell me, after that, that your brother had nothing to do with trying to get Ranger elected instead of me?”
“I suppose he had; but I’m sure he didn’t mean to do anything fishy, any more than I did. I thought it was only a joke.”
“You’ve a nice notion of a joke. That’ll do, you can cut.”
“What!” exclaimed Percy, aghast, “aren’t you going to hang him?”
“No, I must go. You can finish the trial yourselves.”
As soon as the judge had quitted the bench, Percy mounted it, and proceeded to sum up.