The Best British Short Stories of 1922 | Page 4

to run across the site of what
is now the Gaiety Theatre?"
Mr. Lowes-Parlby smiled in his most charming manner.
"Yes, my lord, I believe the witness refers to the same street you
mention, though, if I may be allowed to qualify your lordship's
description of the locality, may I suggest that it was a little further
east--at the side of the old Globe Theatre, which was adjacent to St.
Martin's in the Strand? That is the street you were all arguing about,
isn't it, Mrs. Dawes?"
"Well, sir, my aunt who died from eating tinned lobster used to work at
a corset-shop. I ought to know."
His lordship ignored the witness. He turned to the counsel rather
peevishly.
"Mr. Lowes-Parlby, when I was your age I used to pass through Wych
Street every day of my life. I did so for nearly twelve years. I think it
hardly necessary for you to contradict me."
The counsel bowed. It was not his place to dispute with a chief justice,
although that chief justice be a hopeless old fool; but another eminent
K.C., an elderly man with a tawny beard, rose in the body of the court,
and said:
"If I may be allowed to interpose, your lordship, I also spent a great
deal of my youth passing through Wych Street. I have gone into the
matter, comparing past and present ordnance survey maps. If I am not
mistaken, the street the witness was referring to began near the

hoarding at the entrance to Kingsway and ended at the back of what is
now the Aldwych Theatre." "Oh, no, Mr. Backer!" exclaimed
Lowes-Parlby. His lordship removed his glasses and snapped out: "The
matter is entirely irrelevant to the case." It certainly was, but the brief
passage-of-arms left an unpleasant tang of bitterness behind. It was
observed that Mr. Lowes-Parlby never again quite got the prehensile
grip upon his cross-examination that he had shown in his treatment of
the earlier witnesses. The coloured man, Harry Jones, had died in
hospital, but Mr. Booth, the proprietor of the Wagtail, Baldwin
Meadows, Mr. Dawes, and the man who was stabbed in the wrist, all
gave evidence of a rather nugatory character. Lowes-Parlby could do
nothing with it. The findings of this Special Inquiry do not concern us.
It is sufficient to say that the witnesses already mentioned all returned
to Wapping. The man who had received the thrust of a hatpin through
his wrist did not think it advisable to take any action against Mrs.
Dawes. He was pleasantly relieved to find that he was only required as
a witness of an abortive discussion.
In a few weeks' time the great Aztec Street siege remained only a
romantic memory to the majority of Londoners. To Lowes-Parlby the
little dispute with Chief Justice Pengammon rankled unreasonably. It is
annoying to be publicly snubbed for making a statement which you
know to be absolutely true, and which you have even taken pains to
verify. And Lowes-Parlby was a young man accustomed to score. He
made a point of looking everything up, of being prepared for an
adversary thoroughly. He liked to give the appearance of knowing
everything. The brilliant career just ahead of him at times dazzled him.
He was one of the darlings of the gods. Everything came to
Lowes-Parlby. His father had distinguished himself at the bar before
him, and had amassed a modest fortune. He was an only son. At Oxford
he had carried off every possible degree. He was already being spoken
of for very high political honours. But the most sparkling jewel in the
crown of his successes was Lady Adela Charters, the daughter of Lord
Vermeer, the Minister for Foreign Affairs. She was his fiancée, and it
was considered the most brilliant match of the season. She was young
and almost pretty, and Lord Vermeer was immensely wealthy and one
of the most influential men in Great Britain. Such a combination was

irresistible. There seemed to be nothing missing in the life of Francis
Lowes-Parlby, K.C.
One of the most regular and absorbed spectators at the Aztec Street
inquiry was old Stephen Garrit. Stephen Garrit held a unique but quite
inconspicuous position in the legal world at that time. He was a friend
of judges, a specialist at various abstruse legal rulings, a man of
remarkable memory, and yet--an amateur. He had never taken sick,
never eaten the requisite dinners, never passed an examination in his
life; but the law of evidence was meat and drink to him. He passed his
life in the Temple, where he had chambers. Some of the most eminent
counsel in the world would take his opinion, or come to him for advice.
He was very old, very silent, and very absorbed. He attended every
meeting of