'And how did you react to that?'

'I thought he did not have the slightest idea what being a solicitor consisted of, and what the responsibilities of the profession are. It is not like being a publican and taking the day off and getting someone else to draw the beer.'

'Indeed not. And at this point did a man come up to you with the news that another horse had been ripped in the district?'

'What man?'

'I refer to Mr Markew's evidence, in which he said that a man came up to the two of you and reported that a horse had been ripped.'

'That is quite untrue. No man came up to us.'

'And then you took your train?'

'There was no reason supplied why I should not.'

'So there is no question of your smiling at the news that an animal had been mutilated?'

'No question at all. No man came up to us. And I would hardly smile at such a matter. The only time I might have smiled was when Markew suggested I take a holiday. He is well known in the village as a layabout, so the suggestion fitted easily in his mouth.'

'I see. Now, moving on to a little later in the morning, when Inspector Campbell and Sergeant Parsons came to your office and arrested you. On the way to the lock-up, they allege that you said, "I am not surprised at this. I have been expecting it for some time." Did you say those words?'

'Yes, I did.'

'Will you explain what you meant by them?'

'Certainly. There had been a campaign of rumour against me for some time. I had received anonymous letters, which I had shown to the police. It was quite evident that they were following my movements and watching the Vicarage. Comments made to me by a policeman indicated that they had an animus against me. And there had even been a rumour a week or two earlier that I had been arrested. The police seemed determined to prove something against me. So, no, I was not surprised.'

Mr Vachell next put to him the supposed remark about the mysterious Mr Loxton; George denied both making the statement, and ever having known anyone called Loxton.

'Let us turn to another statement you are alleged to have made. At the Cannock magistrates' court, you were offered bail, which you refused. Will you tell the court why?'

'Certainly. The terms were extremely onerous, not just on myself but on my family. Besides, I was in the prison hospital at the time, and being comfortably treated. I was content to remain there until my trial.'

'I see. Police Constable Meredith has given evidence that while you were in custody, you said to him, "I won't have bail, and when the next horse is ripped it will not be by me." Did you say those words?'

'Yes.'

'And what did you mean by them?'

'Merely what I said. There had been attacks on animals for weeks and months before my arrest, and because they had nothing to do with me, I expected them to continue. And if they did, that would prove the matter.'

'You see, Mr Edalji, it has been suggested, and will doubtless be suggested again, that there was a sinister reason why you refused bail. The supposition is that the Great Wyrley Gang, whose existence is constantly alluded to but entirely unproven, was to come to your rescue by deliberately mutilating another animal to demonstrate your innocence.'

'All I can say in reply is that if I had been clever enough to think up such a cunning plan, then I would also have been clever enough not to confess it in advance to a police constable.'

'Indeed, Mr Edalji, indeed.'

Mr Disturnal, as George had expected, was sarcastic and disrespectful in cross-examination. He asked George to explain many things he had already explained, solely in order to exhibit a theatrical disbelief. His strategy was designed to show that the prisoner was extremely cunning and devious, yet constantly incriminating himself. George knew that he must leave Mr Vachell to point this out. He must not allow himself to be provoked; he must take his time in answering; he must be stolid.

Of course Mr Disturnal did not fail to bring up the fact that George had walked as far as Mr Green's farm on the evening of the 17th, and allowed himself to wonder why this might have slipped George's mind while giving evidence. The prosecuting counsel also showed himself ruthless when it came, as it inevitably did, to the matter of the hairs on George's clothing.

'Mr Edalji, you said in sworn evidence that the hairs on your clothing were acquired by leaning against a gate into a field where cows were paddocked.'

'I said that is possibly how they got there.'

'Yet Dr Butter picked twenty-nine hairs from your clothing, which he then examined under a microscope and found to be identical in length, colour and structure to the hairs of the coat cut from the dead pony.'

'He did not say identical. He said similar.'

'Did he?' Mr Disturnal was briefly disconcerted, and pretended to consult his papers. 'Indeed. "Similar in length, colour and structure." How do you explain this similarity, Mr Edalji?'

'I am unable to. I am not an expert in animal hairs. I am only able to suggest how such hairs might have appeared on my clothing.'

'Length, colour and structure, Mr Edalji. Are you seriously asking the court to believe that the hairs on your coat came from a cow in a paddock, when they had the length, colour and structure belonging to the pony ripped scarcely a mile from your house on the night of the 17th?'

George had no reply to make.

Mr Vachell called Mr Lewis back to the witness box. The police veterinary surgeon repeated his statement that the pony could not, in his view, have been injured before 2.30 a.m. He was then asked what kind of instrument might have inflicted the damage. A curved weapon with concave sides. Did Mr Lewis think the wound could have been made with a domestic razor? No, Mr Lewis did not think the wound could have been made with a razor.

Mr Vachell then called Shapurji Edalji, clerk in holy orders, who repeated his evidence about sleeping arrangements, the door, the key, his lumbago and his time of awakening. George thought his father, for the first time, was beginning to look like an old man. His voice seemed less compelling, his certainties less obviously irrefutable.

George became anxious as Mr Disturnal rose to cross-examine the Vicar of Great Wyrley. The prosecution counsel exuded courtesy, assuring the witness he would not detain him long. This, however, turned out to be a grossly false promise. Mr Disturnal took every tiny detail of George's alibi and held it up before the jury, as if trying to assess for the first time its exact weight and value.

'You lock the bedroom door at night?'

George's father looked surprised to be asked again a question he had already answered. He paused for longer than seemed natural. Then he said, 'I do.'

'And unlock it in the morning?'

Again, an unnatural pause. 'I do.'

'And where do you put the key?'

'The key remains in the lock.'

'You do not hide it?'

The Vicar looked at Mr Disturnal as if at some impertinent schoolboy. 'Why on earth should I hide it?'

'You never hide it? You have never hidden it?'

George's father looked quite puzzled. 'I do not understand why you are asking me that question.'

'I am merely trying to establish if the key is always in the lock.'

'But that is what I said.'

'Always in full view? Never hidden?'

'But that is what I said.'

When George's father had given evidence at Cannock, the questions had been straightforward, and the witness box might as well have been a pulpit, with the Vicar bearing witness to God's very existence. Now, under Mr Disturnal's interrogation, he – and the world with him – was beginning to appear more fallible.

'You have said that the key squeaks as it turns in the lock.'

'Yes.'

'Is this a recent development?'