iously deferential, for one of their number
had that morning been severely censured for being unable to
discriminate between the effects upon the human frame of laudanum and
whisky.

Nobody was interested--there was nothing in which to be interested--and
there was less oxygen than usual in the court, the magistrate had a
cold. It was a miserable business, this detection and punishing of
crime.

"Twenty shillings costs, seven days," snuffled the presiding genius.

A piece of human flotsam faced about and disappeared.

Another name was called. The sergeant in charge of the new case
cleared his throat. The magistrate lifted his handkerchief to his
nose, the clerk removed his spectacles to wipe them, when something
bounded into the dock, drawing up two other somethings behind it.

The magistrate paused, his handkerchief held to his nose, the clerk
dropped his spectacles, the three reporters became eagerly alert--in
short, the whole court awakened simultaneously from its apathy to the
knowledge that this was a dramatic moment.

In the dock stood a medium-sized man with nondescript features, a thin
black moustache, iron-grey hair, and dishevelled clothing. Each side
of him stood a constable gripping an arm--they were the somethings that
had followed him into the dock.

For a moment the prisoner, who seemed to radiate indignation, looked
about him, his breath coming in short, passionate sobs.

The clerk stooped to pick up his glasses, the magistrate blew his nose
violently to gain time, the reporters prepared to take notes. Then the
storm burst.

"You shall pay for this, all of you!" shouted the man in the dock,
jerking his head forward to emphasise his words, his arms being firmly
held straight to his sides. "Me a burglar--me?" he sobbed.

"Silence in the court!" droned the clerk, who, having found his
glasses, now began to read the charge-sheet, detailing how the prisoner
had burglariously entered No. 13 Audrey Mansions, Queen's Club, in the
early hours of that morning. He was accustomed and indifferent to
passionate protests from the dock.

The prisoner breathed heavily. The clerk was detailing how the
prisoner had awakened the occupant of the premises by lifting his gold
watch from the table beside the bed. At this juncture the prisoner
burst out again:

"It's a lie, it's a lie, an' you all know it! It's a plot!
I'm--I'm----" He became inarticulate, sobs of impotent rage shaking
his whole body, a