'No. After supper I went to bed.'

'And then got up later and went out?'

'No, I have told you when I went out.'

'What were you wearing?'

'What was I wearing? Boots, trousers, jacket, overcoat.'

'What sort of coat?'

'Blue serge.'

'The one that hangs by the kitchen door where you leave your boots?'

George frowned. 'No, that's an old house-coat. I wore one I keep on the hall stand.'

'Then why was your coat by the back door damp?'

'I have no idea. I haven't touched that coat for weeks, if not months.'

'You wore it last night. We can prove it.'

'Then this is clearly a matter for the court.'

'The clothes you were wearing last night had animal hairs on them.'

'That's not possible.'

'Are you calling your mother a liar?'

Silence.

'We asked your mother to show us the clothes you were wearing last night. She did so. Some of them had animal hairs on them. How do you explain that?'

'Well, I do live in the country, Inspector. For my sins.'

'For your sins? But you don't milk cows and shoe horses, do you?'

'That is self-evident. Perhaps I leaned on a gate into a field which had cows in it.'

'It rained last night and your boots were wet this morning.'

Silence.

'That is a question, Mr Edalji.'

'No, Inspector, that is a tendentious statement. You have examined my boots. If they were wet, it does not surprise me. The lanes are wet at this time of year.'

'But the fields are wetter, and it rained last night.'

Silence.

'So you are denying that you left the Vicarage between the hours of 9.30 p.m. and daybreak?'

'Later than daybreak. I leave the house at 7.20.'

'But you cannot possibly prove that.'

'On the contrary. My father and I sleep in the same room. Each night he locks the door.'

The Inspector stopped in his tracks. He looked across at Parsons, who was still writing the last words down. He'd heard some jerry-built alibis in his time, but really… 'I'm sorry, but could you repeat what you just said?'

'My father and I sleep in the same room. Each night he locks the door.'

'How long has this… arrangement been going on?'

'Since I was ten.'

'And you are now?'

'Twenty-seven.'

'I see.' Campbell doesn't see at all. 'And your father – when he locks the door – you know where he puts the key?'

'He doesn't put it anywhere. He leaves it in the lock.'

'So it is perfectly easy for you to leave the room?'

'I have no need to leave the room.'

'Call of nature?'

'There is a pot beneath my bed. But I never use it.'

'Never?'

'Never.'

'Very well. The key is always in the lock. So you would not have to go hunting for it?'

'My father is a very light sleeper, and is currently suffering from lumbago. He wakes very easily. The key makes a very loud squeak when it turns.'

It was all Campbell could do not to laugh in the man's face. Who did he take them for?

'That all seems remarkably convenient, if you don't mind my saying, sir. Have you never thought of oiling the lock?'

Silence.

'How many razors do you own?'

'How many razors? I don't own a razor.'

'But you do shave, I presume?'

'I shave with one of my father's.'

'Why are you not trusted with your own razor?'

Silence.

'How old are you, Mr Edalji?'

'I have already answered that question three times today. I suggest you consult your notes.'

'A twenty-seven-year-old man who is not allowed a razor and is locked in his bedroom every night by his father who is a light sleeper. You realize what an exceptionally rare individual you are?'

Silence.

'Exceptionally rare, I'd say. And… tell me about animals.'

'That's not a question, that's a fishing expedition.' George realized the incongruity of his reply, and couldn't help smiling.

'My apologies.' The Inspector was becoming increasingly riled. He'd gone easy on the man so far. Well, it wouldn't take much to turn a conceited lawyer into a snivelling schoolboy. 'Here is a question, then. What do you think about animals? Do you like them?'

'What do I think about animals? Do I like them? No, generally, I do not like them.'

'I might have guessed that.'

'No, Inspector, let me explain.' George had sensed a hardening in Campbell 's attitude, and thought it good tactics to relax his rules of engagement. 'When I was four, I was taken to see a cow. It soiled itself. That is almost my first memory.'

'Of a cow soiling itself?'

'Yes. I think from that day I have distrusted animals.'

'Distrusted?'

'Yes. What they might do. They are unreliable.'

'I see. And that is your first memory, you say?'

'Yes.'

'And since then you have distrusted animals. All animals.'

'Well, not the cat we have at home. Or Aunt Stoneham's dog. I am very fond of them.'

'I see. But large animals. Like cows.'

'Yes.'

'Horses?'

'Horses are unreliable, yes.'

'Sheep?'

'Sheep are just stupid.'

'Blackbirds?' asks Sergeant Parsons. It is the first word he has spoken.

'Blackbirds are not animals.'

'Monkeys?'

'There are no monkeys in Staffordshire.'

'Quite sure of that, are we?'

George feels his anger rising. He deliberately waits before replying. 'Inspector, may I say that your Sergeant's tactics are quite misconceived.'

'Oh, I don't think that was tactics, Mr Edalji. Sergeant Parsons is a good friend of Sergeant Robinson at Hednesford. Someone has threatened to shoot Sergeant Robinson in the head.'

Silence.

'Someone has also threatened to slice up twenty wenches in the village where you live.'

Silence.

'Well, he doesn't seem shocked by either of those statements, Sergeant. They can't have come as much of a surprise, then.'

Silence. George thought: it was a mistake to give him anything. Anything that isn't a straight answer to a straight question is giving him something. So don't.

The Inspector consulted a notebook in front of him. 'When we arrested you, you said, "I am not surprised at this. I have been expecting it for some time." What did you mean by that?'

'I meant what I said.'

'Well, let me tell you what I understood by what you said, and what the Sergeant understood by what you said, and what the man on the Clapham Omnibus would understand by it. That at last you have been caught, and that you are rather relieved to be caught.'

Silence.

'So why do you think you are here?'

Silence.

'Perhaps you think it's because your father is a Hindoo.'

'My father is actually a Parsee.'

'Your boots have mud on them.'

Silence.

'Your razor has blood on it.'

Silence.

'Your coat has horse hairs on it.'

Silence.

'You were not surprised to be arrested.'

Silence.

'I don't think any of that has anything to do with whether your father is a Hindoo or a Parsee or a Hottentot.'

Silence.

'Well, he seems to have run out of words, Sergeant. He must be saving them for the Cannock magistrates.'

George was taken back to his cell where a plate of cold mess awaited him. He ignored it. Every twenty minutes, he heard the scrape of the spy hole; every hour – or so he guessed – the door was unlocked and a constable inspected him.

On his second visit, the policeman, evidently speaking to a script, said, 'Well, Mr Edalji, I'm sorry to see you here, but how did you manage to slip by all our chaps? What time did you put the horse through it?'

George had never met the constable before, so the expression of sympathy made little impact, and did not draw any reply.

An hour later, the policeman said, 'My advice, sir, frankly, is to give the show away. Because if you don't, someone else is bound to.'

On the fourth visit, George asked if these constant checks would continue through the night.