It seemed to Samuel a game.  The whole rigmarole of police and police-cells and formalities seemed insincere.  His cousin’s case was not like any other case, and, though formalities might be necessary, it was rather absurd to pretend that it was like any other case.  In what manner it differed from other cases Samuel did not analytically inquire.  He thought young Lawton was self-important, and Daniel too humble, in the colloquy of these two, and he endeavoured to indicate, by the dignity of his own demeanour, that in his opinion the proper relative tones had not been set.  He could not understand Daniel’s attitude, for he lacked imagination to realize what Daniel had been through.  After all, Daniel was not a murderer; his wife’s death was due to accident, was simply a mishap.

But in the crowded and stinking court-room of the Town Hall, Samuel began to feel qualms.  It occurred that the Stipendiary Magistrate was sitting that morning at Bursley.  He sat alone, as not one of the Borough Justices cared to occupy the Bench while a Town Councillor was in the dock.  The Stipendiary, recently appointed, was a young man, from the southern part of the county; and a Town Councillor of Bursley was no more to him than a petty tradesman to a man of fashion.  He was youthfully enthusiastic for the majesty and the impartiality of English justice, and behaved as though the entire responsibility for the safety of that vast fabric rested on his shoulders.  He and the barrister from Hanbridge had had a historic quarrel at Cambridge, and their behaviour to each other was a lesson to the vulgar in the art of chill and consummate politeness.  Young Lawton, having been to Oxford, secretly scorned the pair of them, but, as he had engaged counsel, he of course was precluded from adding to the eloquence, which chagrined him.  These three were the aristocracy of the court-room; they knew it; Samuel Povey knew it; everybody knew it, and felt it.  The barrister brought an unexceptionable zeal to the performance of his duties; be referred in suitable terms to Daniel’s character and high position in the town, but nothing could hide the fact that for him too his client was a petty tradesman accused of simple murder.  Naturally the Stipendiary was bound to show that before the law all men are equal—­the Town Councillor and the common tippler; he succeeded.  The policeman gave his evidence, and the Inspector swore to what Daniel Povey had said when charged.  The hearing proceeded so smoothly and quickly that it seemed naught but an empty rite, with Daniel as a lay figure in it.  The Stipendiary achieved marvellously the illusion that to him a murder by a Town Councillor in St. Luke’s Square was quite an everyday matter.  Bail was inconceivable, and the barrister, being unable to suggest any reason why the Stipendiary should grant a remand—­indeed, there was no reason—­ Daniel Povey was committed to the Stafford Assizes for trial.  The Stipendiary instantly turned to the consideration of an alleged offence against the Factory Acts by a large local firm of potters.  The young magistrate had mistaken his vocation.  With his steely calm, with his imperturbable detachment from weak humanity, he ought to have been a General of the Order of Jesuits.