The Summer of Sir Lancelot

for twenty years — ‘
    ‘But this has nothing whatever to do with the case!‘ cried Mr Evans, fluttering his handkerchief
    ‘How the devil can you — Evans, I do wish you‘d take something for that blasted cold - how the devil can you bring yourself to work for that blood-blister Chadwick?‘
    ‘Very simple reason, sir. Twice the wages.‘
    Sir Lancelot banged the desk, shaking the lion and unicorn overhead. ‘Have you no speck of loyalty, man?‘ he roared.
    ‘No, sir. Not after the miserable pay you‘ve been getting away with all these years. Half a mind to report it to the TUC, I have.‘
    ‘Really, really!‘ complained Mr Evans, glancing nervously not only at heaven but the reporter from the Brecknock Bugle as well.
    ‘Ye gods, what is the world coming to?‘ concluded Sir Lancelot, thumping the desk again and rattling the glass on the water jug, the windows, and Miss Morgan-Griffiths‘ teeth.
    ‘Next case, next case,‘ demanded Mr Evans hurriedly. ‘Twenty pounds, six months‘ disqualification.‘
    ‘Timothy Aldous Tolly,‘ announced the Clerk.
    Sir Lancelot paused. He looked up. He stroked his beard. His expression changed.
    ‘Well, well,‘ he said.
    His tone would have gone unnoticed only in Robespierre at his nastiest.
    ‘Well, well,‘ he repeated. ‘Timothy Aldous Tolly, eh?‘ He adjusted his glasses and Millichap was blotted from his mind by even blacker fogs of infamy. He squared his shoulders like a man settling down to a good dinner. ‘Proceed,‘ he directed.
    Tim stood in the dock feeling as confused as Alice during similar proceedings in Wonderland. This fellow Spratt, like the eye of God, seemed to be everywhere. While driving at twenty-eight mph to court his head had buzzed with ideas to ingratiate himself with the old man, from setting fire to his house and dragging him out of the flames — after, of course, rescuing Euphemia first - to writing respectfully for reprints of his latest papers in Gut. Now, he reflected, as Police Constable Howells recited the familiar story of wickedness, there would be rather more leeway to make up.
    ‘Disgusting,‘ pronounced Sir Lancelot. ‘Here are you, a registered medical practitioner, into whose hands unmerciful Providence has delivered the lives of this community, and you go hurtling about the countryside as though there were gross unemployment among coroners.‘
    ‘I think I can explain, sir — Your Worship.‘
    ‘Please do,‘ invited Sir Lancelot promptly.
    ‘I was on my way to a maternity case.‘
    ‘That does put rather a different light on it,‘ conceded Miss Morgan-Griffiths.
    ‘Rubbish. The good doctor sees he‘s given plenty of warning. Damn it, madam, the thing doesn‘t come out like a Polaris missile. Five pounds, licence endorsed,‘ Sir Lancelot ended briskly, ‘and I sincerely trust, young man, I shall not be seeing you here again. Next case.‘
    Timothy Aldous Tolly,‘ sang up the Clerk‘s voice.
    ‘No, we‘ve just had him.‘
    ‘Timothy Aldous Tolly,‘ repeated the Clerk.
    ‘Good grief,‘ muttered Sir Lancelot, ‘the man‘s a confirmed criminal.‘ It w as Police Constable Rees who took up the tale of lawlessness.
    ‘I do wish people would realize that parking their cars for hall an hour in the middle of the High Street on a busy Saturday morning is just as antisocial as laying sleepers across railway lines, and on occasion equally dangerous,‘ pronounced Sir Lancelot. ‘The country is paved with official car parks, but the younger generation seems totally incapable of walking more than twenty yards at a stretch. No wonder everyone‘s arteries resemble the stems of clay pipes.‘
    ‘I think I can explain, Your Worship,‘ Tim tried again.
    ‘Please do.‘
    ‘I had my bag with me. I was calling on a bed-ridden patient to administer an injection of intravenous iron.‘
    ‘Ah, an errand of mercy,‘ observed Mr Evans, with another glance in the direction of the Recording Angel.
    ‘Nonsense. If you take half an hour to get a needle into a vein, young man, you ought to be struck from the medical Register. As it is, I shall merely fine you forty shillings. Next case.‘
    ‘Timothy Aldous Tolly,‘ continued the Clerk.
    Trespassing, I see,‘ murmured Mr Evans, eyeing his list.
    ‘Had‘ Sir Lancelot rubbed his hands. ‘Now we‘re getting somewhere!‘ The case was in fact viewed by Sir Lancelot with strict impartiality, the prosecutor being a bad-tempered local farmer whom he disliked