“Will you tell the gentlemen of the jury,” he said with deadly politeness, “Why she left you?”

“She died.”

A lesser man might have been embarrassed, but Rupert’s iron nerve did not fail him.

“Exactly!” he said.  “And was that or was that not on the night when you were turned out of the Hampstead Parliament for intoxication?”

“I never was.”

“Indeed?  Will you cast your mind back to the night of April 24th, 1897?  What were you doing on that night?”

“I have no idea,” said Jobson, after casting his mind back and waiting in vain for some result.

“In that case you cannot swear that you were not being turned out of the Hampstead Parliament—­”

“But I never belonged to it.”

Rupert leaped at the damaging admission.

“What?  You told the Court that you lived at Hampstead, and yet you say that you never belonged to the Hampstead Parliament?  Is that your idea of patriotism?”

“I said I lived at Hackney.”

“To the Hackney Parliament, I should say.  I am suggesting that you were turned out of the Hackney Parliament for—­”

“I don’t belong to that either.”

“Exactly!” said Rupert triumphantly.  “Having been turned out for intoxication?”

“And never did belong.”

“Indeed?  May I take it then that you prefer to spend your evenings in the public-house?”

“If you want to know,” said Jobson angrily, “I belong to the Hackney Chess Circle, and that takes up most of my evenings.”

Rupert gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned to the jury.

“At last, gentlemen, we have got it.  I thought we should arrive at the truth in the end, in spite of Mr Jobson’s prevarications.”  He turned to the witness.  “Now, sir,” he said sternly, “you have already told the Court that you have no idea what you were doing on the night of April 24th, 1897.  I put it to you once more that this blankness of memory is due to the fact that you were in a state of intoxication on the premises of the Hackney Chess Circle.  Can you swear on your oath that this is not so?”

A murmur of admiration for the relentless way in which the truth had been tracked down ran through the court.  Rupert drew himself up and put on both pairs of pince-nez at once.

“Come, sir!” he said, “the jury is waiting.”  But it was not Albert Jobson who answered.  It was the counsel for the prosecution.  “My lord,” he said, getting up slowly, “this has come as a complete surprise to me.  In the circumstances, I must advise my clients to withdraw from the case.”

“A very proper decision,” said his lordship.  “The prisoner is discharged without a stain on her character.”