Lady Dain sighed.

‘Are you going to town early?’ she inquired.

‘Yes,’ he replied.  ‘I’m on the rota today.’

He was chairman of the borough Bench of magistrates.  As he drove into town he revolved his scheme and thought it wild and dangerous, but still feasible.

II

On the Bench that morning Sir Jee shocked Mr Sherratt, the magistrates’ clerk, and he utterly disgusted Mr Bourne, superintendent of the borough police. (I do not intend to name the name of the borough—­whether Bursley, Hanbridge, Knype, Longshaw, or Turnhill.  The inhabitants of the Five Towns will know without being told; the rest of the world has no right to know.) There had recently occurred a somewhat thrilling series of burglaries in the district, and the burglars (a gang of them was presumed) had escaped the solicitous attentions of the police.  But on the previous afternoon an underling of Mr Bourne’s had caught a man who was generally believed to be wholly or partly responsible for the burglaries.  The Five Towns breathed with relief and congratulated Mr Bourne; and Mr Bourne was well pleased with himself.  The Staffordshire Signal headed the item of news, ’Smart Capture of a Supposed Burglar’.  The supposed burglar gave his name as William Smith, and otherwise behaved in an extremely suspicious manner.

Now, Sir Jee, sitting as chief magistrate in the police-court, actually dismissed the charge against the man!  Overruling his sole colleague on the Bench that morning, Alderman Easton, he dismissed the charge against William Smith, holding that the evidence for the prosecution was insufficient to justify even a remand.  No wonder that Mr Bourne was discouraged, not to say angry.  No wonder that that pillar of the law, Mr Sherratt, was pained and shocked.  At the conclusion of the case Sir Jehoshaphat said that he would be glad to speak with William Smith afterwards in the magistrates’ room, indicating that he sympathized with William Smith, and wished to exercise upon William Smith his renowned philanthropy.

And so, at about noon, when the Court majestically rose, Sir Jee retired to the magistrates’ room, where the humble Alderman Easton was discreet enough not to follow him, and awaited William Smith.  And William Smith came, guided thither by a policeman, to whom, in parting from him, he made a rude, surreptitious gesture.

Sir Jee, seated in the arm-chair which dominates the other chairs round the elm table in the magistrates’ room, emitted a preliminary cough.

‘Smith,’ he said sternly, leaning his elbows on the table, ’you were very fortunate this morning, you know.’

And he gazed at Smith.

Smith stood near the door, cap in hand.  He did not resemble a burglar, who surely ought to be big, muscular, and masterful.  He resembled an undersized clerk who has been out of work for a long time, but who has nevertheless found the means to eat and drink rather plenteously.  He was clothed in a very shabby navy-blue suit, frayed at the wrists and ankles, and greasy in front.  His linen collar was brown with dirt, his fingers were dirty, his hair was unkempt and long, and a young and lusty black beard was sprouting on his chin.  His boots were not at all pleasant.