He put his hand over his mouth to smother a laugh and his eyes fairly sparkled with mischief.
“Who is Conkey?” I asked the Doctor.
“Sh! He is speaking of the judge up there, the Honorable Eustace Beauchamp Conckley.”
“Now,” said Mr. Jenkyns, bringing out a notebook, “tell me a little more about yourself, Doctor. You took your degree as Doctor of Medicine at Durham, I think you said. And the name of your last book was?”
I could not hear any more for they talked in whispers; and I fell to looking round the court again.
Of course I could not understand everything that was going on, though it was all very interesting. People kept getting up in the place the Doctor called the witness-box, and the lawyers at the long table asked them questions about “the night of the 29th.” Then the people would get down again and somebody else would get up and be questioned.
One of the lawyers (who, the Doctor told me afterwards, was called the Prosecutor) seemed to be doing his best to get the Hermit into trouble by asking questions which made it look as though he had always been a very bad man. He was a nasty lawyer, this Prosecutor, with a long nose.
Most of the time I could hardly keep my eyes off poor Luke, who sat there between his two policemen, staring at the floor as though he weren’t interested. The only time I saw him take any notice at all was when a small dark man with wicked, little, watery eyes got up into the witness-box. I heard Bob snarl under my chair as this person came into the courtroom and Luke’s eyes just blazed with anger and contempt.
This man said his name was Mendoza and that he was the one who had guided the Mexican police to the mine after Bluebeard Bill had been killed. And at every word he said I could hear Bob down below me muttering between his teeth,
“It’s a lie! It’s a lie! I’ll chew his face. It’s a lie!”
And both the Doctor and I had hard work keeping the dog under the seat.
Then I noticed that our Mr. Jenkyns had disappeared from the Doctor’s side. But presently I saw him stand up at the long table to speak to the judge.
“Your Honor,” said he, “I wish to introduce a new witness for the defense, Doctor John Dolittle, the naturalist. Will you please step into the witness-stand, Doctor?”
There was a buzz of excitement as the Doctor made his way across the crowded room; and I noticed the nasty lawyer with the long nose lean down and whisper something to a friend, smiling in an ugly way which made me want to pinch him.
Then Mr. Jenkyns asked the Doctor a whole lot of questions about himself and made him answer in a loud voice so the whole court could hear. He finished up by saying,
“And you are prepared to swear, Doctor Dolittle, that you understand the language of dogs and can make them understand you. Is that so?”
“Yes,” said the Doctor, “that is so.”
“And what, might I ask,” put in the judge in a very quiet, dignified voice, “has all this to do with the killing of er—er—Bluebeard Bill?”
“This, Your Honor,” said Mr. Jenkyns, talking in a very grand manner as though he were on a stage in a theatre: “there is in this courtroom at the present moment a bulldog, who was the only living thing that saw the man killed. With the Court’s permission I propose to put that dog in the witness-stand and have him questioned before you by the eminent scientist, Doctor John Dolittle.”
VI
The Judge’s Dog
At first there was a dead silence in the Court. Then everybody began whispering or giggling at the same time, till the whole room sounded like a great hive of bees. Many people seemed to be shocked; most of them were amused; and a few were angry.
Presently up sprang the nasty lawyer with the long nose.
“I protest, Your Honor,” he cried, waving his arms wildly to the judge. “I object. The dignity of this court is in peril. I protest.”
“I am the one to take care of the dignity of this court,” said the judge.
Then Mr. Jenkyns got up again. (If it hadn’t been such a serious matter, it was almost like a Punch-and-Judy show: somebody was always popping down and somebody else popping up).
“If there is any doubt on the score of our being able to do as we say, Your Honor will have no objection, I trust, to the Doctor’s giving the Court a demonstration of his powers—of showing that he actually can understand the speech of animals?”
I thought I saw a twinkle of amusement come into the old judge’s eyes as he sat considering a moment before he answered.
“No,” he said at last, “I don’t think so.” Then he turned to the Doctor.
“Are you quite sure you can do this?” he asked.
“Quite, Your Honor,” said the Doctor—“quite sure.”
“Very well then,” said the judge. “If you can satisfy us that you really are able to understand canine testimony, the dog shall be admitted as a witness. I do not see, in that case, how I could object to his being heard. But I warn you that if you are trying to make a laughingstock of this Court it will go hard with you.”
“I protest, I protest!” yelled the long-nosed Prosecutor. “This is a scandal, an outrage to the Bar!”
“Sit down!” said the judge in a very stern voice.
“What animal does Your Honor wish me to talk with?” asked the Doctor.
“I would like you to talk to my own dog,” said the judge. “He is outside in the cloakroom. I will have him brought in; and then we shall see what you can do.”
Then someone went out and fetched the judge’s dog, a lovely great Russian wolfhound with slender legs and a shaggy coat. He was
