“See, now, how we’re getting to the rights of it in the latter end,” commented Dr. Lyden imperturbably.  “Sweeny began here by saying”—­he checked off each successive point on his fingers—­“that the sheep wasn’t Darcy’s at all.  Then he said that his children of eight and nine years of age were too young to set the dog on the sheep.  Then, that if the dog hunted her it was no more than she deserved for constant trespass.  Then he said that the sheep was so old and blind that she committed suicide in his end of the lake in order to please herself and to spite him; and, last of all, he tells us that he offered to compensate Darcy for her before he came into court at all!”

“And on top of that,” Mr. Heraty actually rose in his seat in his exquisite appreciation of the position, “on top of that, mind you, after he has the whole machinery of the law and the entire population of Letterbeg attending on him for a matter o’ two hours, he informs us that we’re wasting his valuable time!”

Mr. Heraty fixed his eyes in admirable passion—­whether genuine or not we are quite incapable of pronouncing—­upon Sweeny, who returned the gaze with all the gloom of an unfortunate but invincibly respectable man.

Dr. Lyden once more pulled out his watch.

“It might be as well for us,” he said languidly, “to enter upon the inquiry as to the value of the sheep.  That should take about another three-quarters of an hour.  William, ask Darcy the price he puts on the sheep.”

Every emotion has its limits.  We received with scarce a stirring of surprise the variations of sworn testimony as to the value of the sheep.  Her price ranged from one pound, claimed by Darcy and his adherents, to sixpence, at which sum her skin was unhesitatingly valued by Sweeny.  Her age swung like a pendulum between two years and fourteen, and, finally, in crowning proof of her worth and general attractiveness, it was stated that her own twin had been sold for fifteen shillings to the police at Dhulish, “ere last week”.  At this re-entrance into the case of the personal element Mr. Heraty’s spirits obviously rose.

“I think we ought to have evidence about this,” he said, fixing the police officer with a dangerous eye.  “Mr. Cox, have ye anny of the Dhulish police here?”

Mr. Cox, whose only official act up to the present had been the highly beneficial one of opening the window, admitted with a grin that two of the Dhulish men were in the court.

“Well, then!” continued the Chairman, “Mr. Cox, maybe ye’d kindly desire them to step forward in order that the court may be able to estimate from their appearance the nutritive qualities of the twin sisther of Darcy’s sheep.”

At this juncture we perceived, down near the crowded doorway, two tall and deeply embarrassed members of the R.I.C. hastily escaping into the street.