'Not at all.' Mr. Probus sat down. Mr. Caterham called again, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Carstairs. 'My Lud,' he began, 'I must ask that none of the witnesses in this case be allowed to leave the court without your Ludship's permission.' The Bishop entered the box, but with much less assurance than he had previously assumed. And the cross-examination began. I then understood what Jenny meant when she talked of making the case complete. He swore again that his name was Carstairs: that he had held preferment in the county of Dublin: he named, in fact, three places: he had never used any other name: he was not once called Onslow, at another time Osborne: at another Oxborough: he knew nothing about these names: he had never been tried at York for fraud: or at Winchester for embezzlement: he had never been whipped at the cart-tail at Portsmouth. As these lies ran out glibly I began to take heart. I looked at Probus: he was sitting on the bench, his fingers interlaced, cold drops of dew rising upon his forehead and nose. But the Bishop held out bravely, that is, with a brazen impudence. 'You know, Doctor, I believe, the Black Jack?' 'A tavern, is it? No, sir, I do not. One of my profession should not be seen in taverns.' 'Yet surely you know the Black Jack, close to St. Giles's Church?' 'No, sir, I am a stranger in London.' 'Do you know the nickname of the "Bishop"?' 'No.' 'Oh! you never were called the "Bishop"?' 'No.' 'Do you know the gallant gentleman who rescued you?' 'No, I do not.' 'You do not know him? Never met him, I suppose, at the Black Jack?' 'Never.' 'Never? Do you know the other witness, Mr. Merridew?' 'No, I do not.' 'Where were you staying for the night when this romantic incident happened?' For the first time the Bishop hesitated. 'I--I--forget,' he said. 'Come, come, you cannot forget so simple a thing, you know. Where were you staying?' 'It was in a street off the Strand--I forget its name--I am a stranger to this city.' 'Well--where did you stay last night?' 'In the same street--I forget its name.' 'Not at the Black Jack, St. Giles's?' He was pressed upon this point, but nothing could be got out of him. He stuck to the point--he had forgotten the name of the street, and he knew nothing of the Black Jack.