“The results of my observation do not end there. We are told that the collision occurred at ten-twenty-five. As luck will have it, I saw the defendant leave. I did not notice the time, for there was, of course, no reason at all why I should: but, recalling my own movements, I am satisfied that he finally left that restaurant not earlier than ten-fifteen. He was then unquestionably sober. “The opinion I have formed is that in no circumstances is it possible for a man who is sober at ten-fifteen, who for the last two hours has touched no alcohol, to be drunk at ten-twenty-five.” That upon the evening in question the learned Magistrate’s watch was ten minutes fast was not his fault. The man was scrupulous. The case for the prosecution died there and then. The prosecution was withdrawn, apologies were offered, the defendant left the dock, applause was suppressed. Mr. Quaritch knew his job. He rose to his feet. “If, sir, I may complete the solution of this matter by disclosing what happened in the ten minutes of time during which my client was under observation neither by the judiciary nor the executive, I must confess that he seized the opportunity to consume a small glass of beer.” The Court roared its merriment. “Possibly, the discovery of a small bottle of Bass—grim relic of some picnic—was responsible for his lapse from grace. Upon that point I have no instructions. It follows that at the time of the collision he indubitably smelt of liquor, and, while personally I should become uneasy if to smell of liquor were to be regarded as the peculiar privilege of drunkards, it was presumably his indignant recognition of that mocking perfume which provoked the constable, whose name, I observe, is Worthington, to . . .” The rest of the sentence was lost in an explosion of delight—which the defendant missed. In a retired waiting-room, cheek against cheek, Pembury and Lady Elizabeth let the world slip. . . . And, as I have said, certain sections of the Press were perfectly satisfied. Could they have perused one document, reposing in Counsel’s Brief, I imagine their satisfaction would have melted like snow upon the hearth. The very first words would have fused it—_THE LADY ELIZABETH CRECY will say_. . . . As it was, they were perfectly satisfied. And, when they were able to announce the lady’s engagement to _the hero of a recent cause célèbre_, they could have thrown up their hats. It was generally admitted that Lady Elizabeth was to marry by far the best man. Harry Fairie, of Castle Charing, put it much more strongly. JO JO I January 7th, 1926