At two o’clock I was back in court. The judge was a brusque, businesslike little old man with the brisk, aggressive air of a terrier. His hair was clipped short and his cropped beard grew in every direction. He wore a coarse suit of tweeds, hobnailed shoes, and a cheap flannel shirt, with a linen collar and no tie. He had two sheets of paper in his hand, looking at them.

“Have you anything more than this?” he asked the Crown counsel.

“Nothing, Your Lordship.”

“And do you expect me to try a man on this ragged rot?” Throwing the papers on his desk, he turned toward me. “Defendant discharged.”