"I only wish
he would. There's no chance of that, unfortunately. He's in the
court there, this moment, breathing out fire and slaughter against
you both; and we're here to protect you if he should happen to fall
upon you. He's been locked up all night on your mistaken affidavits,
and, naturally enough, he's mad with anger."
"If you haven't let him go, I'm satisfied," Charles answered.
"He's a fox for cunning. Where is he? Let me see him."
We went into the court. There we saw our prisoner conversing
amicably, in the most excited way, with the magistrate (who, it
seems, was a personal friend of his); and Charles at once went
up and spoke to them. Dr. Polperro turned round and glared at him
through his pince-nez.
"The only possible explanation of this person's extraordinary and
incredible conduct," he said, "is, that he must be mad--and his
secretary equally so. He made my acquaintance, unasked, on a glass
seat on the King's Road; invited me to go on his coach to Lewes;
volunteered to buy a valuable picture of me; and then, at the
last moment, unaccountably gave me in charge on this silly and
preposterous trumped-up accusation. I demand a summons for false
imprisonment."
Suddenly it began to dawn upon us that the tables were turned. By
degrees it came out that we had made a mistake.
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