George sensed that Mr Meek did not agree; but he was impressed by Mr Vachell, whether the barrister was being altogether sincere or not.

'Gentlemen, I do have one request.' Mr Meek and Mr Vachell briefly caught one another's eye. 'It is about my name. It is Aydlji. Aydlji. Mr Meek pronounces it more or less correctly, but I should have mentioned the matter earlier to you, Mr Vachell. The police, it seems to me, have always gone out of their way to ignore any correction I have offered them. Might I suggest that Mr Vachell makes an announcement at the beginning of the case as to how to pronounce my name. To tell that court that it is not Ee-dal-jee but Aydlji.'

The barrister gave the solicitor an instructing nod, and Mr Meek replied.

'George, how can I best put this? Of course it's your name, and of course Mr Vachell and I shall endeavour to pronounce it correctly. When we are here with you. But in court… in court… I think the argument would be: when in Rome. We would get off on the wrong foot with Sir Reginald Hardy if we made such an announcement. We are unlikely to succeed in giving pronunciation lessons to the police. And as for Mr Disturnal, I suspect he would greatly enjoy the confusion.'

George looked at the two men. 'I am not sure I follow you.'

'What I'm saying, George, is that we should acknowledge the court's right to decide a prisoner's name. It's not written down anywhere, but that's more or less the fact of the matter. What you call mispronouncing, I would call… making you more English.'

George took a breath. 'And less Oriental?'

'Less Oriental, yes, George.'

'Then I would ask you both kindly to mispronounce my name on all occasions, so that I may get used to it.'

The trial was set to begin on October 20th. On the 19th, four young boys playing near the Sidmouth plantation in Richmond Park came upon a body in an advanced state of decomposition. It proved to be that of Miss Sophie Frances Hickman, the lady doctor from the Royal Free Hospital. Like George, she had been in her late twenties. And, he reflected, she was only one column away.

On the morning of October 20th, 1903, George was brought from Stafford Gaol to Shire Hall. He was taken to the basement and shown the holding cell where prisoners were usually placed. As a privilege, he would be allowed to occupy a large, low-ceilinged room with a deal table and a fireplace; here, under the eye of Constable Dubbs, he would be able to confer with Mr Meek. He sat at the table for twenty minutes while Dubbs, a muscular officer with a chin-strap beard and a gloomy air, firmly avoided his eye. Then, at a signal, George was led through dim, winding passages and past inadequate gas lamps to a door giving on to the foot of a narrow staircase. Dubbs gave him a gentle shove, and he climbed up towards light and noise. As he emerged into the view of Court B, noise became silence. George stood self-consciously in the dock, an actor propelled unwillingly on stage through a trapdoor.

Then, before the Assistant Chairman Sir Reginald Hardy, two flanking magistrates, Captain Anson, the properly sworn members of an English jury, representatives of the Press, representatives of the public, and three members of his family, the indictment was read. George Ernest Thompson Edalji was charged with wounding a horse, the property of the Great Wyrley Colliery Company, on the 17th or 18th September; also with sending a letter, on or about 11th July, to Sergeant Robinson at Cannock, threatening to kill him.

Mr Disturnal was a tall, sleek figure, with a swift manner to him. After a brief opening speech, he called Inspector Campbell, and the whole story began again: the discovery of the mutilated pony, the search of the Vicarage, the bloodstained clothing, the hairs on the coat, the anonymous letters, the prisoner's arrest and subsequent statements. It was just a story, George knew, something made up from scraps and coincidences and hypotheses; he knew too that he was innocent; but something about the repetition of the story by an authority in wig and gown made it take on extra plausibility.

George thought Campbell's evidence was finished, when Mr Disturnal produced his first surprise.

'Inspector Campbell, before we conclude, there is a matter of great public anxiety, about which you are, I think, able to enlighten us. On September 21st, I understand, a horse was found maimed at the farm of a Mr Green.'

'That is correct, sir.'

'Mr Green's farm is very close to the Vicarage of Great Wyrley?'

'It is.'

'And the police have conducted an investigation into this outrage?'

'Indeed. As a matter of urgency and priority.'

'And has this investigation been successful?'

'Yes it has, sir.'

Mr Disturnal hardly needed the elaborate pause he now threw in; the whole courtroom was waiting like an open-mouthed child.

'And will you tell the court the result of your investigation?'

'John Harry Green, who is the son of the farmer on whose land the outrage took place, and who is a Yeomanry trooper of the age of nineteen, has admitted committing the action against his own horse. He has signed a confession to this effect.'

'He admitted full and sole responsibility?'

'He did.'

'And you questioned him about any possible connection between this outrage and previous ones in the district?'

'Yes, we did. Extensively, sir.'

'And what did he state?'

'That this was an isolated occurrence.'

'And did your investigations confirm that the outrage at Green's farm had absolutely nothing to do with any other outrage in the vicinity?'

'They did.'

'No connection at all?'

'No connection at all, sir.'

'And is John Harry Green in court today?'

'Yes, he is, sir.'

George, like everyone else in the crowded court, started looking around for a nineteen-year-old trooper who admitted mutilating his own horse without apparently supplying the police with any good reason for having done so. But at that moment, Sir Reginald Hardy decided that it was time for his luncheon.

Mr Meek's first duties were with Mr Vachell; only then did he come to the room where George was held during adjournments. His demeanour was lugubrious.

'Mr Meek, you did warn us about Disturnal. We knew to expect something. And at least we shall be able to have a go at Green this afternoon.'

The solicitor shook his head grimly. 'Not a chance of it.'

'Why not?'

'Because he's their witness. If they don't put him up, we can't cross-examine him. And we can't take the risk of calling him blind as we don't know what he might say. It could be devastating. Yet they produce him in court so it looks as if they're being open with everyone. It's clever. It's typical Disturnal. I should have thought of it, but I didn't know anything about this confession. It's bad.'

George felt it only his duty to cheer his solicitor up. 'I can see it's frustrating, Mr Meek, but is there any real harm? Green said – and the police said – it had nothing to do with any other outrage.'

'That's just the point. It's not what they say – it's how it looks. Why should a man disembowel a horse – his own horse – for no apparent reason? Answer: to help out a friend and neighbour charged with a similar offence.'

'But he's not my friend. I doubt I would even recognize him.'

'Yes, I know. And when we take the considerable risk of putting you in the box, you will tell Mr Vachell that. But it's bound to look as if you're denying an allegation that hasn't in fact been made. It's clever. Mr Vachell will assail the Inspector this afternoon, but I don't think we should be optimistic.'

'Mr Meek, I could not help noticing that in Campbell's evidence he said that the clothing of mine he found – the coat I hadn't worn for weeks – was wet. He said wet twice. At Cannock he merely called it damp.'