'That is a serious accusation to make against an officer of the law, Mr Phillips. You will need to be most careful how you proceed further.' He turned to the policeman in the witness box. 'You will hold your right forefinger up to the jury, Mr Smith.'
George Smith held up his forefinger which appeared normal in all aspects and there was a bemused titter from the crowded court.
'Whatever can you have in mind, Mr Phillips?' the judge asked frowning at Ikey's barrister.
A high-pitched voice suddenly sounded from the public gallery and an urchin in a top hat jumped up from his seat. '
'E bit it orf. I seen 'im! 'E bit 'is nail orf while the judge were talkin'. 'E bit it orf and spat it out!' Sparrer Fart jumped to his feet in the public gallery and yelled at the top of his voice.
'Yeah, yeah we seen it!' several other urchins, seated around Sparrer, nodded their heads violently, confirming his outburst. Other members of the public gallery now shouted in agreement, so that the court was filled with their protestations.
The judge banged his gavel. 'Silence! I will have silence in my court!' he demanded. 'You will remove that small personage please, constable!' He pointed to the policeman nearest Sparrer Fart.
Sparrer was led out of the gallery, where the police constable cuffed him behind the ear before roughly throwing him out onto the street on his arse, though the other members of the Methodist Academy of Light Fingers were permitted to remain.
Sparrer had barely landed when he felt a strong hand grab him by the collar and lift him to his feet. All he could see was the man's waistcoat and fob chain as he frantically struggled to free himself.
'Steady on, lad, I mean you no harm,' a calm voice directly above him announced.
'Lemme go!' Sparrer yelled.
To his surprise the hand holding him released its grip. 'That was a brave thing you did in there,' the voice added.
Sparrer was about to run but then recognised the man as someone who had been seated near him in court. Sparrer dusted his coat and the seat of his pants. 'Stupid, more like!'
'What's your name, boy?' the man asked.
'I ain't done nuffink, mister,' Sparrer whined.
'On the contrary, you may have saved a man from the gallows.'
'You a detective then?' Sparrer asked, still suspicious of the stranger.
'No, no, a reporter.' He stuck out his hand. 'Charles Dickens. I thought I might do a small piece on you in the paper.'
'Blimey! In a newspaper?' Sparrer wiped his hand on his greasy lapel before taking the reporter's hand. 'Pleased to meetcha, Mr Dickens.'
'Well yes, likewise lad. What you did took real gumption. Would you like to be in the newspaper?'
'No thanks. Ikey says incognito be best, you don't want no name in the papers.'
'Incognito eh, that's a big word. Do you know Ikey Solomon?'
Sparrer squinted up at the reporter. 'Maybe I does and maybe I doesn't.' His confidence restored, he now stood with one foot placed on the boot cap of the other and with both his hands jammed into the pockets of his coat.
Charles Dickens took out his purse and offered a shilling to Sparrer.
Sparrer sniffed. 'Bloody 'ell, fer a shillin' I never seen 'im afore in me life, mister!'
Charles Dickens smiled and dropped the shilling back in his purse.
'Fer a shillin' ya gets me name,' Sparrer added quickly, realising he'd overplayed his hand.
'Your name? Is that all?' Charles Dickens laughed.
'For the newspaper! Ya can put me name in yer newspaper.'
The reporter took the shilling out of his purse again and handed it to Sparrer Fart. 'What's your name then, lad?'
Sparrer thought desperately. When he performed well at the Academy of Light Fingers Ikey would turn to the other lads and say, 'Look at Sparrer, a veritable dodger, nimble as a ferret!' Then he would pat him on the head and say, 'Well done, dodger, a most artful dodgin' performance, my dear!'
'They calls me the Artful Dodger,' Sparrer replied.
'And you know Ikey Solomon, Mr Artful Dodger?'
'That's fer me to know and you to find out,' Sparrer said cheekily, the shilling now safely deposited in his pocket.
Charles Dickens sighed. 'And how much will it take to find out?'
'It be a long and fascinatin' story what can't be told straight orf, it'll cost ya a daffy and a sov.'
'I'm not sure I have a sovereign on me.' Dickens reached again into his coat for his purse.
'What's the time then?' Sparrer said, pointing to the reporter's waistcoat.
With his free hand the reporter reached down to his fob chain and then more frenetically patted the lower part of his waistcoat.
'This yers then, mister?' Sparrer asked. The hint of a smile played on his pinched little face as he held up a gold hunter by its chain. 'Worth a lot more than a gold sov, now, don't ya think?'
'How the devil!' Dickens expostulated.
'Gotta be careful who ya picks up when they's fallen down on the pavement, mister. Grab a boy by 'is collar and 'e's got both 'ands free, ain't 'e now?'
Charles Dickens grinned sheepishly as Sparrer returned his watch to him. 'A daffy and a sovereign it is then. I do hope it's a good story, Mr Artful Dodger.'
'Best ya ever 'eard, mister,' Sparrer Fart shot back as he dodged into the oncoming traffic in Newgate Street to cross to a tavern on the far side.
Meanwhile in the New Court of the Old Bailey, Mr Phillips addressed the judge on the matter of Sergeant George Smith's missing fingernail.
'Your Honour, I request that the witness box be searched for a fingernail belonging to the witness.'
There was much laughter from the gallery at this notion, for most of the public had not understood the meaning of Sparrer's shouted accusation.
Sir Reginald rose quickly to his feet. 'With the greatest respect, your honour, the defence is both confused and confusing?' He glared at Mr Phillips. 'My learned colleague had first requested that the witness accept a new name, that of 'The Reamer' and then asks that Mr Smith thrust his forefinger in the air. A most curious request to say the least! But then, when he perceives it to be a perfectly normal finger with a perfectly normal fingernail upon it, he demands that we all go on our hands and knees and look for a missing and imaginary finger part!'
There was a roar of laughter from the court and this time the judge threatened to remove all from the public gallery if the misbehaviour continued. Then he looked impatiently at Mr Phillips.
'Is that not substantially correct, Mr Phillips? Or do you have some motive which is beyond us in this court? Already you try my patience to a most precipitous point.'
'Your honour, it will take but a moment. I crave your indulgence. What I hope to find is of the greatest significance to this case. It is my intention to show that the word of Senior Constable George Smith is not to be relied upon.'
The judge looked stern. 'I have already cautioned you against this sort of imputation and warn you that you will be charged before the bench with misconduct if you do not satisfactorily resolve the accusation you are making against Mr Smith. You may search the witness box with an officer of this court in attendance.'
Ikey's barrister leaned over and spoke quietly to his instructing solicitor who, accompanied by a constable, entered the witness box. It took only a moment for the police officer to find the torn part of a fingernail which had fallen to the floor at the feet of George Smith. The piece of nail was filed to a point and appeared to be almost an inch and a half long. He handed it to the solicitor, who then took it across to the clerk of the court.
'Your honour, I suggest that the portion of fingernail which I now submit as evidence can be shown to have been formerly attached to the forefinger of the witness. I have several witnesses, including my client, who are willing to testify that the offending forefinger, with nail attached, was used for the purposes of searching the back passage of prisoners for contraband. It was intended that this action of reaming would render grievous bodily harm to the victims of this odious search. It is for this reason that the witness has been christened 'The
