He has been in lock-up ever since."
"Then why the devil couldn't they have sent round and fished up one
of us--or a couple--to deal with the case out of hand?"
"Damned shame, the way the police nurse this business!" murmured Lord
Rattley, our somewhat disreputable local peer. "They're wanted at
Tregarrick to-day, and, what's more, they want the fun of the Show.
So they take excellent care to keep the charge-list light. But since
Petty Sessions must be held, whether or no, they pounce on some poor
devil of a tramp to put a face on the business."
"H'm, h'm." The Admiral, friend of law and order, dreaded Lord
Rattley's tongue, which was irresponsible and incisive. "Well, if
this is our only business, gentlemen--"
"There _is_ another case, sir," put in Mr. Batty. "Wife--Trudgian by
name--wants separation order. Application reached me too late to be
included in the list."
"Trudgian?" queried Parson Voisey. "Not Selina Magor, I hope, that
married young Trudgian a year or so back? Husband a clay-labourer,
living somewhere outside Tregarrick."
"That's the woman. Young married couple--first quarrel. The wife,
on her own admission, had used her tongue pretty sharply, and, I
don't doubt, drove the man off to the public-house, where he sat
until sulky-drunk.
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