As he sat down, I realized that it was not going to be a walk-over.

Mr. Douglas Bladder made a masterly witness.  I have rarely seen a more accomplished liar.  His regret was infinite.  With horrified hands he deplored what he referred to as “the shocking affair.”  He thundered unsought denunciation of “the dastardly conduct of some fugitive cur.”  As a motorist, he “so well understood our feelings.”  But—­at length and with a wealth of detail he described how he and his chauffeur had spent the twenty-second of May.  With the exception of an hour for lunch, they had worked on the car in the garage from ten o’clock until five.  “It seemed a shame,” concluded the witness, “to waste such a beautiful day, but I had earmarked the twenty-second for the job, so we went through with it.”

A most dangerous thing in the hands of any witness, detail is seldom employed by the dishonest.  It is not difficult safely to embroider a lie, but it apparently requires more thought, patience, and rehearsal than ninety-nine rogues out of a hundred are prepared to spend.  It soon became unpleasantly clear that Mr. Bladder was the hundredth knave, and that in return for his labour he had a story to tell which was as excellent an imitation of the truth as you might reasonably expect to hear in six whole months of Sundays.

I began to feel extremely uneasy.

To make matters worse, he came through his cross-examination untouched.  For every question put to him he had a good natural answer, and, when he stepped down from the box and the Court rose at five-and-twenty minutes past one, it was with something of a shock that I found myself wondering whether by any possible chance a mistake had been made, and we were pursuing an innocent man.

Berry had engaged a table at the Savoy, and he and the others left immediately, for there was little time.

I stayed for a moment to speak with our advisers.

“It’s no use disguising the fact,” said counsel in a low tone, “that we are up against it.  I believe that fellow to be a prize liar.  He’s too infernally suave.  But he knows his job inside out, and he’s shaken our case badly.  I can’t speak for the Judge, but he’s impressed the jury, and you can’t get away from it.  If his chauffeur comes up to the scratch, I believe they’ll stop the case.”  I groaned, and he touched me on the shoulder.  “You go and get your lunch,” he said.

Heavily I made my way out of the building.

I was waiting for the taxi to which I had signalled, when—­

“I observe,” said a quiet voice, “that you don’t remember me.”

I swung round to see a tall dark girl with grey-blue eyes and a charming smile regarding me amusedly.  But a moment before I had passed her upon the steps, and, as I did so, wondered what was her business with the Supreme Court.  I took off my hat.  Now that I saw her properly, her face seemed faintly familiar.