Rosy Is My Relative (27 page)

“Now, my lord,” said Sir Magnus after Ethelbert had left the box, “we are starting to get a clear picture in our minds.”

“I suppose you are right, Sir Magnus,” said the judge doubtfully.

“I think I have shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that the elephant in question is one of the most charming and tractable animal, of its kind. On the occasions when it caused a certain amount of damage it is quite obvious that this was inadvertent and the animal can be in no way blamed for it, nor indeed can its owner.”

“Well, that point may have been cleared up to your satisfaction, Sir Magnus,” said the judge, “but not as yet to mine.”

“Very well, my lord,” said Sir Magnus, “then if I may crave the court’s indulgence, I will recall Lord Fenneltree.”

Lord Fenneltree drifted amiably back into the box, polished his monocle, inserted it in his eye and beamed round.

“This is jolly,” he remarked. “I didn’t think I’d be up here twice.”

“Lord Fenneltree,” said Sir Magnus, “will you kindly take your mind back to the night of 28th April. The night of your daughter’s birthday ball.”

“Yes, yes,” said Lord Fenneltree. “I have it clearly in mind”

“Now, you had arranged for yourself and for the defendant to ride into the ballroom with the elephant, had you not?”

“Indubitably,” said his lordship.

“Did the elephant prior to that display any evil characteristics?”

“What, old Rosy?” said his lordship. “Of course not. Wonderful animal.”

Sir Magnus smiled with quiet satisfaction.

“But on the night of the ball,” he continued, “did the defendant display any qualms about the projected adventure?”

“Qualms,” said his lordship chuckling. “He was a quivering mass of nerves. He worries too much, that boy, you know. That’s half his trouble. I keep telling him it’s very fatiguing.”

“In other words,” said Sir Magnus, “he did suggest to you that it might be an unwise manoeuvre to introduce the elephant into the ballroom.”

“Frequently,” said his lordship. “About ten times a day on an avenge.”

“For what reason?” enquired Sir Magnus.

“Well, he didn’t think my wife would like it,” said Lord Fenneltree. “My wife has that effect on some people.”

“I can well imagine,” said Sir Magnus dryly. “So before the actual night of the ball, he had made several endeavours to stop the plan.”

“That is quite correct.”

“Was he still alarmed on the evening of the ball itself?”

“Alarmed is a mild way of putting it,” said his lordship. “And of course when he found that she was drunk it was all I could do to persuade him to go ahead with the plan.”

“I see,” said Sir Magnus silkily. “Then the defendant in actual fact wanted to call the whole thing off prior to the ball, and on the evening of the ball, finding the animal was intoxicated, he again made serious attempts to persuade you to abandon the project.”

“Yes,” said Lord Fenneltree.

“So, in other words,” said Sir Magnus, “one could really say that the havoc created at the ball was neither the fault of the animal, who was under the influence of alcohol, nor the defendant, since you were directly responsible.”

There was a pause while Lord Fenneltree mused on this for a moment. It was an original approach that had escaped him hitherto.

“Come to think of it,” he said at last, breathing on his monocle, polishing it and screwing it back into his eye, “come to think of it, you are quite right. The whole thing was my fault.”

“Rupert,” came the bugle-like call of Lady Fenneltree from the body of the court. “Watch what you are saying.”

“Who is creating this interruption?” enquired the judge, peering round myopically.

“I think it’s the witness’s wife,” said Sir Magnus with satisfaction.

“My lord,” boomed Lady Fenneltree, “my husband is being led astray.”

“Madam, do you mind being quiet?” enquired the judge.

“I will not be quiet,” shouted Lady Fenneltree. “I have never met such an inane judge in all my life. I will not stand by and see a miscarriage of justice sliding under your nose.”

“Now, now, dear,” shouted Lord Fenneltree, waving at her in a placating manner, “just keep calm.”

“I will not keep calm,” shouted Lady Fenneltree.

“Lady Fenneltree,” said the judge, “this case is quite confused enough without your adding to it.”

“You’re the one who’s confused it,” shouted Lady Fenneltree.

“Madam,” said the judge icily, “if you do not be quiet and sit down, I shall have you removed from the court.”

Lady Fenneltree grasped her parasol in front of her like a spear.

“You will do so at your peril,” she said.

“Remove that woman,” said the judge excitedly.

Two large constables moved in on Lady Fenneltree who, displaying a remarkable agility for her bulk, danced back three paces and then lunged with her parasol. The point of it caught the largest constable a shade north of his umbilical and he doubled up, completely winded. Lady Fenneltree then wheeled and hit the other constable over the back of the neck. It took the two constables several minutes to subdue her and drag her ignominiously from the court, and the jury watched breathless and fascinated. As she was dragged out, her last despairing cry was carried down. “Rupert, don’t you dare say anything.”

“Lord Fenneltree,” said the judge, “I apologise to you for the necessity of having to deal with your wife in that fashion.”

“My dear chap, don’t mention it,” said Lord Fenneltree. “I am lost in admiration. Would it be possible for me to have the names of those two constables before I leave?”

“After that unfortunate incident, may I proceed, my lord?” enquired Sir Magnus.

“Pray do so,” said the judge.

“So we now know,” said Sir Magnus looking at Lord Fenneltree, “that you are directly responsible for all the damage caused by the elephant at your ball.”

“Yes,” said Lord Fenneltree, “I don’t think you can put it fairer than that and I, for one am only sorry poor old Adrian has ended up in this way. He’s a charming young man and it was a most delightful elephant.”

“Thank you, Lord Fenneltree,” said Sir Magnus. “I have no more questions to ask you.”

He sat down and with an air of triumph took out his snuff-box, plugged some snuff up his nose and then gave an enormous and triumphant sneeze and smiled winningly at Sir Augustus.

“Well, um, yes,” said the judge. “Have you anything to say, Sir Augustus?”

Sir Augustus, who had been looking more and more miserable, rose to his feet, quivering with ill-suppressed indignation.

“My lord,” he said shakily, “I have little to add to my previous summary of the case. I can only say at this juncture that I hope that my learned friend’s introduction of so many dubious witnesses has not in any way damaged his case in the eyes of the jury. The introduction of white witches, strolling players of doubtful background and people who believe in reincarnation should, I would think, undermine rather than buttress the case for the defence.”

Sir Magnus rose to his feet. “If I may interrupt for a moment,” he said, “I would also like to point out to my learned friend that among white witches, strolling players and believers in reincarnation, there was Lord Fenneltree.”

He sat down and Sir Augustus gave him a look of such scorching ferocity that Adrian was surprised not to see Sir Magnus disappear in a tiny puff of black smoke.

“It seems to me,” aid Sir Augustus, “that the jury can only bring in one verdict, and that is that the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, is guilty.”

Sir Magnus got to his feet.

“I think, my lord, gentlemen of the jury, that I have made my side of things more than dear. I feel from the evidence that we have heard that I have more than vindicated the good character of the defendant and of the noble creature who is his companion.”

The foreman of the jury had been opening and shutting his mouth for some considerable time. He now got to his feet.

“What is it, what is it?” said the judge testily.

“Excuse me, your honour,” said the foreman, “but is the elephant in question the one what’s been down on the beach for the last week?”

“Yes,” said Sir Magnus, “she enjoys going down there and playing with the little children.”

The foreman sat down and had a whispered conclave with the rest of the jury. Sir Magnus watched them with a beaming, paternal smile.

“I think, my lord,” he said smoothly, “that I can rely on the good sense of the jury to bring in the right verdict.”

“Yes, yes, well,” said the judge. He shuffled his notes in a rather flustered fashion. “I would be glad if you would stop whispering among yourselves and pay attention to me,” he said to the jury.

The foreman of the jury got up once more.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said, “but we have already reached a verdict.”

“You what?” said the judge petulantly. “I’ve got to sum up.”

“Very well, sir,” said the foreman and sat down again. The judge cleared his throat, peered at his notes and then sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Basically, what you have got to decide,” he said, “is whether or not the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, is guilty.” He opened his eyes and cast a glance of triumph at the jury. “That,” he continued, “might be described as the crux of the whole case. However, there are certain things that you have to consider before you say definitely one way or the other that he is guilty or not guilty. We have heard a lot of evidence.” He shuffled his notes in a rather hopeless way. “A lot of evidence,” he repeated, “some of it for, and some of it against. Now it is not my job to tell you what to think, only to guide you along the right lines. You are perfectly free to think that the defendant even if he is not guilty. On the other hand, you can equally well think him not guilty, if he is guilty. That is the beauty of our legal system. I am merely here to act as a guide through the intricacies of the law.” He paused and coughed gently to himself for several seconds, shuffling again through his notes, many of which slipped off his desk to the floor.

“Now, we have heard evidence which proves conclusively that Adrian Rookwhistle, being in possession of the elephant and therefore, presumably, in control of it, allowed it to do considerable damage both to human beings and to property. But your astuteness will make you perceive that this evidence can be counteracted by other evidence which proves conclusively that the animal in question was not evilly disposed and that the defendant was forced into these invidious situations.”

The judge paused and cast a sharp look at the foreman of the jury.

“You are following my line of reasoning?” he inquired. The jury nodded as one man.

“Now, it is incumbent upon you,” said the judge waving a finger at them, “to bring in a verdict of not guilty should you think that the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, was in fact, er, um, erum not guilty. On the other hand, should you think him guilty, you must show no fear or favour and bring in a verdict of guilty, taking into consideration, as I have said, every aspect of the case. There are many points which you should consider and consider carefully, for example there is the point, on which I am not at all clear, as to whether or not elephants like gin. Again you might like to consider what I consider to be the vital evidence about the elephant sliding on the parquet. Now we have been assured by no lesser legal authority than Sir Magnus that elephants can slide on parquet. Therefore, if we accept this as a fact, we are driven to the conclusion that the elephant in question did slide on the parquet and as Sir Augustus has so penetratingly pointed out, caused considerable damage.

“Then there is the evidence of the caravan. You might say to yourselves, either individually or collectively, did the elephant really scratch itself against the caravan, or was this an unprovoked attack? The fact that the witness who was in the caravan at the time suffered no damage should in no way influence you. She may indeed have been the victim of an unprovoked attack which she did not recognise or, as has been suggested by the defence, the elephant was merely scratching itself. Now you, gentlemen of the jury, have a solemn duty ahead of you. You have heard both the case for the prosecution and for the defence and it is up to you to gather up all the details that have been vouchsafed you and weave them into a whole. My job is merely to clarify things for you. So I will now ask you to go away and quietly consider all the facts of the case and if you bring in a verdict of guilty, who is to blame you? On the other hand, if you decide in your wisdom, and being in possession of the full facts, to bring in a verdict of not guilty, no finger of condemnation can be pointed at you. In closing I can only say that I hope I have been of some help to you in forming the right decisions. You may now retire to consider your verdict.”

The foreman of the jury got to his feet.

“We have decided not to retire, your lordship,” he said.

“Most irregular,” said the judge. “You should have time for consultation and consideration.”

“We have considered, my lord,” said the foreman.

“Well,” said the judge reluctantly, “what is your verdict?”

“Well sir, we would like to get one thing quite clear in our minds before announcing our verdict. Is the elephant in question definitely the one that has been playing with my kids on the beach?”

“I think, Sir Magnus,” said the judge, “that you are best qualified to answer that question.”

“Yes,” said Sir Magnus. “If you possess children who have been playing on the beach recently, then assuredly they will have been playing with the elephant in question.”

“In that case,” said the foreman of the jury, “our verdict is not guilty.”

There was an outburst of clapping in the court in which the judge joined absent-mindedly. When the noise had died down, the judge cleared his throat and peered at Adrian.

“Adrian Rookwhistle,” he said. “You have been found guilty of the charges brought against you.”

“Beg pardon, my lord,” said the foreman of the jury, “but we have found him not guilty.”

“Oh,” said the judge, “did you? Well you have been found not guilty of the charges brought against you and so I find it my bounden duty to sentence you,” he paused and collected his thoughts, “so I find it my bounden duty to discharge you without a stain on your character.”