As for the case for the Crown, he said, it was fortunate they had come to an end of it at last--but fortunate in this sense only, that from beginning to end it had been a sheer wasting of the time of the Court, and specially of the valuable time of the twelve intelligent gentlemen before him. That being so, he proposed, himself, to be as brief as possible. His defence would be very short, so short indeed as at first blush to appear inadequate. But what could be more inadequate than the case for the prosecution! He would simply remind the jury of two things. One was that his unfortunate client, actuated by the most considerate of motives--the delicacy of character of a true gentleman-- had chosen rather to impair his defence than to drag into this Court friends or relatives to whom such an attendance must necessarily be most painful. The other was that the whole case turned simply upon a question of identity. He would hardly so much as mention such trumpery points, which were not even circumstantial, though they might seem to be. What are they? A matchbox, a time-table, and a bit of paper. However, to put such trivialities out of the account, we have left only this question of identity, and that I shall have no difficulty in disposing of, entirely to your satisfaction. I shall call-- "Joseph Grainger." The public, unaccustomed to the persuasive powers and self-confidence of forensic eloquence, began to think at the conclusion of Mr Windgate's speech that the result of the trial was not such a foregone thing after all, and there was yet more exciting uncertainty in store for it. It, therefore, prepared itself to listen eagerly. "You are head waiter at `The Silver Fleece Inn,' at Battisford?" "Yes, sir." "How long have you held that position?" "Nigh upon seven year, sir." "Look at the prisoner. Do you know him?" "Yes, sir. It's Squire Dorrien." "When did you first see him?" "Well, sir, I can't exactly remember that. It was shortly after the General's death. Lawyer Barnes, he comes to our place, and he says to my guv'nor, says he--" "Tut-tut-tut. Not so fast, my good friend," interrupted Mr Windgate smilingly, while a ripple of mirth ran through the public. "Never mind about Lawyer Barnes, but just tell us when you first saw Mr Dorrien?" "Well, sir, as far as I can remember, it was soon after he was married-- just about Christmas-time." "Ah!" said, Mr Windgate triumphantly, making a rapid note. "And you never saw him before he was married?" "No, sir." "Will you swear to that?" "To the best of my belief, sir." "Very good. And have you seen him often since?" "Not very often, sir. You see, he don't come much over to Battisford, and I don't go much over to Cranston--" "Quite so. Now, do you remember a Mr Robert Durnford coming to stay at `The Silver Fleece'?" "Yes, sir--well." "When did he come?"