The Man in the Queue

in Gowbridge Police Court that he was wont to refer to his profession as a dog’s life. And today he was in a bad mood. He found himself looking with a jaundiced eye on the rank and file of the force as represented by those on duty in the court, on the hearty and self-sufficient magistrate, on the loafers on the public benches. Conscious of his nauseated mental condition, he hunted round as usual for the reason with a view of banishing it and, after a little cogitation, ran it to earth. He was unhappy about giving his evidence! At the bottom of his heart he wanted to say, “Wait a bit! There’s something here that I don’t understand. Just wait till I find out a little more.” But, being a police inspector with perfectly good evidence and the countenance of his superiors, he could not do that. He could not qualify what he had to say with any remarks of that sort. He glanced across the court to where the lawyer who had Lamont’s case was sitting. Lamont would want some bigger guns than that when he came up for his trial at the Old Bailey or he wouldn’t have a dog’s chance. But big guns cost money, and lawyers are professional men, not philanthropists.

Two cases were summarily dealt with, and then Lamont was brought into court. He looked ill, but was perfectly collected. He even acknowledged the inspector’s presence with a slight smile. His arrival created a stir in the public part of the court. There had been no press warning that the case would be dealt with there today, and all those present were either curious idlers or friends of principals in other cases. Grant had looked for Mrs. Everett, but she was not there. Lamont’s sole friend in court seemed to be the paid one who had charge of his interests. Nevertheless, Grant looked again now for a sign of personal interest on any face. He had found before now that useful information can be obtained from the expressions of presumed strangers in the body of a court. But a careful scrutiny revealed nothing; nothing but curiosity was apparent on any countenance in the audience. But as he left the box, after giving his evidence, he saw a newcomer at the back of the court, and the newcomer was Miss Dinmont. Now Miss Dinmont’s holiday did not finish for a week yet, and she had said at that fateful manse tea that since she had holidays only once a year she spent them all at home; and as he sat down Inspector Grant was marvelling at the girl who would not soften towards a man she believed to be guilty of a terrible thing, but who would cut short her holiday and travel five hundred miles to hear the evidence for herself. Lamont had his back to her, and it was unlikely, unless he deliberately looked round the room as he went out, that he would be aware of her presence. She caught the inspector’s eye upon her, and bowed to him, unperturbed. In her neat, dark tailor-made and small hat she looked the complete, self-possessed, charming woman of the world. She might have been a writer looking for copy, for all the emotion she showed. Even when Lamont was remanded and led out of court, her good-looking face was not stirred. They were very alike, aunt and niece, Grant thought; that was probably why they did not like each other. He went up to her as she was leaving and greeted her.

“Are you doing anything, Miss Dinmont? Come and have lunch with me, will you?”

“I thought inspectors lived on tablets of condensed beef extract, or something like that, during the day. Do they really have time to sit down to a meal?”

“Not only that, but they have a very good one. Come and see!” And she smiled and came.

He took her to Laurent’s, and over the meal she was quite frank about her change of plans. “I couldn’t stay in Carninnish after what happened,” she said. “And I had an itch to hear the court proceedings, so I just came. I have never been in a court of law in my life before. It isn’t an impressive spectacle.”

“Not a police court, perhaps,” he admitted; “but wait till you see a big trial.”

“I hope I never shall⁠—but it seems that I’m going to. You have a beautiful case, haven’t you?”

“That is the word my chief uses about it.”

“And don’t you agree?” she asked quickly.

“Oh, yes, certainly.” To admit to Mrs. Everett that he was not satisfied was one thing, but he was not going to blazon it abroad. And this independent girl was certainly “abroad.”

Presently she mentioned Lamont directly. “He looks bad,” she said judicially, using “bad” in her professional sense. “Will they look after him in prison?”

“Oh, yes,” said Grant; “they take very good care of them.”

“Is there any chance of their badgering him? Because I warn you he won’t stand any badgering as he is now. Either he’ll be seriously ill or he’ll say that he did it.”

“Then you don’t believe he did?”

“I think it’s unlikely, but I’m quite aware that the fact that I think so doesn’t make it so. I just want him to get a fair deal.”

Grant remarked on her matter-of-fact acceptance of his word at Carninnish as to the man’s guilt.

“Well,” she said, “you knew much more about it than I did. I never saw him till three days previously. I liked him⁠—but that didn’t make him guilty or innocent. Besides, I’d rather be a brute than a fool.”

Grant considered this unfeminine pronouncement in silence, and she repeated her question.

“Oh, no,” Grant said; “this isn’t America. And in any case, he has made his statement, as you heard, and he is not likely to change his mind or make another.”

“Has he any friends?”

“Only your aunt, Mrs. Everett.”

“And who will pay for his defence?”

Grant explained.

“Then he can’t have any of the