A titter is heard at the idea of a man going about with a name like that.  His Lordship, regarding it as a nuisance rather than a joke, threatens to have the court cleared.  A juryman in waiting in the gallery seizes the opportunity to ask, if anyone is to be turned out, might it be himself.

Counsel goes on to mention the case.  “A complicated case of false pretences, my Lord——­,” he begins.  But his solicitor plucks at his gown and points out to him that he is confusing his briefs.  Counsel apologises to the Court and asks leave to refresh his memory.  In a passionate whisper to his solicitor he asks who is this Hohenzollern man, anyway, and why the devil does he want to be mentioned before his time?  Enlightened, he explains to the Court that the accused has got some money together for a dock defence and would like an opportunity to instruct his counsel more fully.

His Lordship refuses a postponement; Hohen-what’s-his-name should have thought of this before.  His Lordship has every confidence in counsel’s ability to pick up the facts as the case proceeds.  If counsel’s personal convenience is involved that is another matter.  But as for Zohenhollern—­["Hohenzollern, my Lord"]—­he cannot expect particular treatment; and that will do, thank you.

The ushers start calling out for him to surrender to his bail:  “Hohenzollern!  Hhhohenzollern!  Owen Zollern!” re-echoes throughout the building.  “Zollern—­O-N!” is heard faintly in the far distance.  No one notices that a gentleman with a fierce moustache has already made his dramatic entry and is trying to push his way into the dock....

He is stood up with half-a-dozen other prisoners, so that one jury may be sworn for the lot.  It is desired that each prisoner should be identified with his name as it is called.  WILLIAM HOHENZOLLERN, whichever he may be, is asked to bold up his hand.  An old man in corduroys, who wears a dirty handkerchief round his neck for collar and cravat, and is charged with feloniously stealing, taking and carrying away his forty-first pair of boots and is also a bit ’ard of ’earing, insists that he is the man.  As nothing will persuade him that he is not, the Clerk of Assize leaves it to the warders to decide which of the two is which.  After all it is a small point.

    The case is called on and WILLIAM is left in sole possession of the
    dock.  This is his moment, thinks he.  With set features he stands
    forward and assumes the most important attitude possible.

    “Are you WILLIAM HOHENZOLLERN?” asks the Clerk of Assize.

    There is a pause.  “I am,” says he.

    Everyone turns to have a look at him.  Feeling that he is thoroughly
    impressing everyone WILLIAM fixes a commanding eye on the judge,
    compelling, as he supposes, his utmost attention.

    “Let’s adjourn for lunch,” says the judge....