“‘Perhaps I’d betther sing it,’ says th’ gin’ral.

“‘I’ll play an accompanymint f’r ye on th’ flute,’ says th’ prisident iv th’ coort.  ‘While Gin’ral Merceer is proceedin’ with his remarks, call Colonel Pat th’ Clam, who is sick an’ can’t come.  Swear Gin’ral Billot, Gin’ral Boisdeffer, Gin’ral Chammy, an’ th’ former mimbers iv th’ governmint.’

“‘I object to thim bein’ sworn,’ says Matther Blamange.

“‘They must be sworn,’ says th’ prisident.  ‘How th’ divvle can they perjure thimsilves if they ain’t sworn?  An’ who ar-re ye, annyhow?’

“‘I’m th’ counsel f’r th’ pris’ner,’ says Matther Blamange.  ’Get out ye’ersilf,’ says Matther Blamange.  ’I’m as good a man as ye ar-re.  I will ask that gintleman who jest wint out the dure, Does it pay to keep up appearances?’ [Groans.]

“‘Gin’ral Billot,’ says th’ prisident, ’what d’ye know about this infernal case which is broodin’ like a nightmare over our belovid counthry, an’ gettin’ us up ivry mornin’ befure milkin’ time?’

“‘Nawthin’ at all,’ says Gin’ral Billot.

“‘Nayther do I,’ says th’ prisident.  ‘But I think th’ Cap’s guilty.’

“‘I’m glad to hear ye say that,’ says th’ gin’ral, ’If ye didn’t, I’d rayjooce ye to th’ r-ranks to-morrah.  I niver see th’ man befure; an’, be hivins, I don’t want to see him again.  But I have a letter here fr’m him, askin’ me if he cud knock off wurruk at four o’clock to go to his aunt’s fun’ral.’

“‘Cap,’ says th’ prisident, ’what ye got to say to this?  Did ye write th’ letter?’

“‘I did,’ says th’ Cap.

“‘Throw it out thin,’ says th’ prisident.  ‘We must be guided be th’ laws iv ividence.  Th’ witness will confine himself to forgeries.  Have ye e’er a forgery about ye’er clothes, mon gin’ral?’

“‘I wish to confront th’ witness,’ says Matther Blamange.

“‘Sit down,’” says th’ prisident.

“‘D’ye raymimber meetin’ me at dinner at Moosoo de Bozoo’s.  It was years ago, durin’ th’ time iv Napolyeon, befure th’ big fire?  If I raymimber right, we had peas.  Wasn’t it a lovely night?  Oh dear, oh dear, gintlemen iv th’ press an’ mon prisident, ye ought to have been there.  Well, I says to Gin’ral Billot, I says, “Gin’ral,” I says, “how ar-re ye, annyhow.”  An’ the gin’ral replies, “F’r an ol’ man, well.”  I made up me mind thin that th’ Cap was innocent, an’ this was before he was born.

“‘Me distinguished colleague in th’ thrile iv this case, th’ editor iv wan iv th’ Paris papers,’ says th’ prisident, ’has received a letter fr’m th’ military attachay or spy iv th’ Impror iv Austhrich, sayin’ that he did not write th’ letter referred to be Prisident Kruger, an’, if he did, it’s a forgery.  But what cud ye ixpict?  I will throw both letters into the secret dossier.’

“‘What’s that?’ says Matther Blamange.

“‘It’s a collection iv pomes wrote to th’ Paris papers be spies,’ says th’ prisident.  ‘Call Colonel Peekhart, if th’ others ar-re not through.  What, you again, Peekhart?  Set down, sir.’