The Summer of Sir Lancelot

almost as much as he did Dr Tolly. He listened to the evidence in silence, but the black thoughts which had retired to the edge of his mind came scudding back thickly across his consciousness.
    ‘One moment — ‘ Sir Lancelot held up a hand. ‘Let us recapitulate. It appears, Tolly, you were encountered by the landowner on four separate occasions beside, if you please, a board announcing “Trespassers Will be Prosecuted”. You were making your way across his fields at quarter to seven in the morning?‘
    ‘Yes, Your Worship,‘ agreed Tim meekly.
    ‘An hour, Tolly, when you might consider yourself unlucky to meet anyone?‘
    ‘I - I suppose so, Your Worship.‘
    ‘Do you know where that path leads to, Tolly? To one spot, Witches‘ Pool. It brings me to suspect you were about to embark on the very much more serious crime of poaching.‘
    ‘Of course I wasn‘t.‘ Tim bit his lip. ‘I didn‘t even have a fishing-rod, did I?‘
    ‘Naturally,‘ rounded Sir Lancelot, like one of those tedious lawyers who always win on the telly, ‘you hid it under the hawthorn bush, as have several generations of local poachers.‘
    ‘But I don‘t even own a rod!‘ Tim burst out. ‘And as a matter of fact I think fishing is a pretty stupid pastime altogether, Your Worship.‘
    ‘Oh?‘ Sir Lancelot‘s beard jutted at him like the firing squad getting down to business. ‘Then what were you doing by Witches‘ Pool at that early hour?‘
    ‘I — I had an appointment.‘
    ‘Indeed?‘ scoffed Sir Lancelot. ‘May I ask with whom?‘
    ‘I‘m afraid I have no intention of telling you,‘ returned Tim calmly.
    ‘A likely tale! An appointment, begad! At seven o‘clock in the morning? I‘m not at all certain I shouldn‘t consider your committal for perjury.‘
    ‘Very well,‘ Tim countered briskly, ‘it was your niece, Your Worship.‘
    ‘My niece?‘
    ‘Yes, Euphemia.‘
    ‘There! I told you the feller was lying!‘ exclaimed Sir Lancelot in triumph. ‘He doesn‘t even know her.‘
    ‘On the contrary.‘ Nothing is quite so savage as the bite of a turned worm. ‘I‘ve met her before breakfast at Witches‘ Pool every morning for three weeks, Your Worship.‘
    Sir Lancelot stared. The penny dropped, like the blade of the guillotine.
    ‘Moreover,‘ continued Tim, discovering, doubtless like St George and the Dragon, it wasn‘t half as hard as it looked once you got started, ‘I want to marry her.‘
    ‘Marry her?‘ Sir Lancelot looked blank.
    ‘I fear we are getting rather away from the facts-‘ cut in Mr Evans.
    ‘Marry her?‘ repeated Sir Lancelot. ‘Do I hear aright? Look here, you direct descendant of Sweeney Todd - ‘
    ‘Sir Lancelot! This will never do!‘ Miss Morgan-Griffiths‘ trifle bobbed excitedly. ‘You must remember you are on the Bench — ‘
    ‘You‘ve as much chance of marrying that girl as marrying Cleopatra, and she‘s been dead two thousand years.‘
    ‘Oh, the Press, the Press!‘ cried Mr Evans, blowing a despairing note on his nose.
    ‘Evans, you must get an antrostomy done on that beastly sinus,‘ snapped Sir Lancelot. ‘Listen to me, you young rake — ‘
    ‘Save us!‘ added Mr Evans looking heavenwards, this time for the dividend.
    ‘You can think yourself damn lucky the old-fashioned practice of horsewhipping,‘ Sir Lancelot continued, straining across the desk, ‘which I regard as a perfectly healthy corrective for under-ripe Bluebeards like yourself, has unfortunately dropped from the — Ahhhhhhhh!‘
    Heaven obliged its faithful servant. The senior magistrate‘s back had gone again.
    I can briefly describe the exits of our principals in this courtroom drama. Constable Rees and the Clerk bore Sir Lancelot to the retiring-room. Miss Morgan-Griffiths dabbed his forehead with her eau-de-Cologne. Mr Evans adjourned the case sine die. The reporter from the Brecknock Bugle started writing MEDICAL MAGISTRATE HAS SEIZURE ON BENCH. Constables Howells and Jenkins drove the invalid home in his Rolls.
    ‘Ye gods,‘ was all he could manage to utter on the way, ‘what is the world coining to?‘
    He screwed down the window as the car halted in his front drive.
    ‘Euphemia,‘ Sir Lancelot invited, ‘I should like a little word with you.
     

4
     
    ‘Nurse Spratt,‘ announced the Sister in Virtue Ward, ‘Matron wants you immediately.‘
    ‘Yes, Sister,‘ said Euphemia.
    I fear we should hardly recognize the girl sporting gaily by the river bank and