Graviter.  Oho!

Winsor.  I said Dancy ought to have called him.

Graviter.  We considered it.  Sir Frederic decided that he could use him better in cross-examination.

Winsor.  Well!  I don’t know that.  Can I go and see him before he gives evidence to-morrow?

Graviter.  I should like to hear Mr Jacob on that, Winsor.  He’ll be in directly.

Winsor.  They had Kentman, and Goole, the Inspector, the other bobby, my footman, Dancy’s banker, and his tailor.

Graviter.  Did we shake Kentman or Goole?

Winsor.  Very little.  Oh! by the way, the numbers of those two notes were given, and I see they’re published in the evening papers.  I suppose the police wanted that.  I tell you what I find, Graviter—­a general feeling that there’s something behind it all that doesn’t come out.

Graviter.  The public wants it’s money’s worth—­always does in these Society cases; they brew so long beforehand, you see.

Winsor.  They’re looking for something lurid.

Margaret.  When I was in the bog, I thought they were looking for me. [Taking out her cigarette case] I suppose I mustn’t smoke, Mr Graviter?

Graviter.  Do!

Margaret.  Won’t Mr Jacob have a fit?

Graviter.  Yes, but not till you’ve gone.

Margaret.  Just a whiff. [She lights a cigarette].

Winsor. [Suddenly] It’s becoming a sort of Dreyfus case—­people taking sides quite outside the evidence.

Margaret.  There are more of the chosen in Court every day.  Mr Graviter, have you noticed the two on the jury?

Graviter. [With a smile] No; I can’t say—­

Margaret.  Oh! but quite distinctly.  Don’t you think they ought to have been challenged?

Graviter.  De Levis might have challenged the other ten, Miss Orme.

Margaret.  Dear me, now!  I never thought of that.

As she speaks, the door Left Forward is opened and old Mr Jacob Twisden comes in.  He is tallish and narrow, sixty-eight years old, grey, with narrow little whiskers curling round his narrow ears, and a narrow bow-ribbon curling round his collar.  He wears a long, narrow-tailed coat, and strapped trousers on his narrow legs.  His nose and face are narrow, shrewd, and kindly.  He has a way of narrowing his shrewd and kindly eyes.  His nose is seen to twitch and snig.

Twisden.  Ah!  How are you, Charles?  How do you do, my dear?

Margaret.  Dear Mr Jacob, I’m smoking.  Isn’t it disgusting?  But they don’t allow it in Court, you know.  Such a pity!  The Judge might have a hookah.  Oh! wouldn’t he look sweet—­the darling!

Twisden. [With a little, old-fashioned bow] It does not become everybody as it becomes you, Margaret.