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Morgan-Griffiths.
    ‘Because how the hell would I get home from court?‘ Sir Lancelot explained crossly. ‘Not with a back like this.‘
    ‘We have our duty,‘ she declared, with a sharp wag of the trifle.
    Sir Lancelot eyed her like a trout who‘d refused his fly. ‘In that case I wish to make a special plea on behalf of the accused.‘
    ‘But, Sir Lancelot!‘ Mr Evans put a hand over his eyes, hoping heaven wouldn‘t overhear that one. ‘You can‘t defend the prisoner, man! Not from the Bench.‘
    ‘I‘m not on the blasted Bench. In spirit I‘m down there in the well of the court trying to inject some reasonable advocacy into the proceedings. Do you realize, Evans, you will be depriving this man not only of his licence but his livelihood? I assure you I cannot possibly afford to employ both Millichap and another chauffeur. He has a wife and children, Miss Morgan-Griffiths,‘ Sir Lancelot continued, with the air of Marshall Hall warming up at the Old Bailey. ‘Moreover, the poor fellow would be utterly lost in any employment but mine. He will go on the dole and even drift into a life of crime, causing misery to his family and eating great holes in the rates. You may he precipitating a ghastly human tragedy. Not something I‘d care to go to bed with on my conscience, Evans.‘
    ‘Well — ‘ faltered Mr Evans, who suffered badly from insomnia already. Millichap cleared his throat.
    ‘Your Worships, I happened to overhear the plea for leniency made on my behalf by Sir Lancelot, it was very moving, and I thank him from the bottom of my heart. But I could have saved him the trouble. In the past twelvemonth I‘ve got fair browned off driving all over the countryside on his little errands, and I‘ve been wanting an excuse to turn in this chauffeuring lark all winter. So I have today entered employment as gillie to a local gentleman, Mr Charles Chadwick — ‘
    ‘What!‘ Sir Lancelot quivered. ‘How dare you! You renegade! You turncoat! You rat! I‘ve employed you now for twenty years — ‘
    ‘But this has nothing whatever to do with the case!‘ cried Mr Evans, fluttering his handkerchief
    ‘How the devil can you — Evans, I do wish you‘d take something for that blasted cold - how the devil can you bring yourself to work for that blood-blister Chadwick?‘
    ‘Very simple reason, sir. Twice the wages.‘
    Sir Lancelot banged the desk, shaking the lion and unicorn overhead. ‘Have you no speck of loyalty, man?‘ he roared.
    ‘No, sir. Not after the miserable pay you‘ve been getting away with all these years. Half a mind to report it to the TUC, I have.‘
    ‘Really, really!‘ complained Mr Evans, glancing nervously not only at heaven but the reporter from the Brecknock Bugle as well.
    ‘Ye gods, what is the world coming to?‘ concluded Sir Lancelot, thumping the desk again and rattling the glass on the water jug, the windows, and Miss Morgan-Griffiths‘ teeth.
    ‘Next case, next case,‘ demanded Mr Evans hurriedly. ‘Twenty pounds, six months‘ disqualification.‘
    ‘Timothy Aldous Tolly,‘ announced the Clerk.
    Sir Lancelot paused. He looked up. He stroked his beard. His expression changed.
    ‘Well, well,‘ he said.
    His tone would have gone unnoticed only in Robespierre at his nastiest.
    ‘Well, well,‘ he repeated. ‘Timothy Aldous Tolly, eh?‘ He adjusted his glasses and Millichap was blotted from his mind by even blacker fogs of infamy. He squared his shoulders like a man settling down to a good dinner. ‘Proceed,‘ he directed.
    Tim stood in the dock feeling as confused as Alice during similar proceedings in Wonderland. This fellow Spratt, like the eye of God, seemed to be everywhere. While driving at twenty-eight mph to court his head had buzzed with ideas to ingratiate himself with the old man, from setting fire to his house and dragging him out of the flames — after, of course, rescuing Euphemia first - to writing respectfully for reprints of his latest papers in