The stalwart policeman lessened a fraction of his weight against the door, and the imprisoned junior was allowed to scrape himself out as gradually as his peculiar position would admit. The one person who considered the presence of the Lion in Court to be the most natural thing in the world was Ridgwell, who, standing beside the Writer, peeped through the little glass panel let into the door leading from a passage to one of the witnesses waiting-rooms. "Is the Round Game going to commence?" Ridgwell asked the Writer innocently. The Writer admitted gravely that the Round Game was going to commence with a vengeance. "The ones who lose have to pay the forfeits, haven't they?" persisted Ridgwell. "Yes," agreed the Writer. "Exactly--ahem!--heavy forfeits." "I hope Sir Simon wins then," observed Ridgwell. "You see that man across there, Ridgwell," remarked the Writer, "big fierce-looking man making ineffectual efforts to adjust his wig becomingly over a pair of very big red ears, with two very big red hands?" "Yes," agreed Ridgwell. "With the sort of expression upon his face that the first of the Three Bears must have worn when he entered Silverlocks' kitchen and found the bread-and-milk to be missing?" "Yes," laughed Ridgwell, "I remember, 'Who stole my bread-and-milk?'" "Well, that is the man who is going to try to make you and I and Sir Simon pay the forfeits." "How?" inquired Ridgwell. "Well," suggested the Writer, "you know he will roar and shout and bang the table with those red hands of his, and try to frighten everybody, but the one thing to do is not to take the slightest notice of him. If he annoys you, just smile; if he continues to annoy you, just glance towards the Judge." At this moment the voices of the ushers were heard shouting for silence and order, and a profound stillness reigned inside the Court, for his Lordship the Judge had entered through the doors leading to his room and had taken his seat.