“I have already told you what I observed,” he said to Rathbone, looking down at him over the top of his gold-rimmed eyeglasses.

“Indeed,” Rathbone agreed. “But I wish to reestablish it in the minds of the jury, with rather a different emphasis. You are an exact and acute observer, Mr. Garstang, that is why I chose you to speak yet again. I apologize for the inconvenience no doubt it causes you.”

Garstang grunted, but a look of satisfaction smoothed out his features a little. He did not consider himself susceptible to flattery, in which he was profoundly mistaken.

“I shall do my best,” Garstang said, straightening his lapels a trifle and assuming an expression of readiness.

Rathbone hid a smile, but he was tense. Even his movements lacked their usual grace. “Thank you. Mr. Garstang, you were at your window on the night of Miss Harcus’s death. Would you please remind us of the reason for this?”

“Certainly.” Garstang nodded. “My sitting room is opposite her rooms, and very slightly below, the stories of the house in which my apartment is situated being a foot or two less in height. I heard a noise, as if someone were crying out. In case that were so, and they were in need of assistance, I went to the window and drew the curtains so that I might see.”

“Just so,” Rathbone cut across him. “Now, would you tell us exactly what you did see, as precisely as if you were painting a picture? Please do not tell us what you believed or have since heard that it was. I realize that this is difficult, and takes a very exact and literal mind.”

“Oh . . . really . . .” Fowler groaned.

Garstang shot a look of acute dislike at him. He felt insulted, cut short and dismissed before he had even begun.

“Please, Mr. Garstang,” Rathbone encouraged. “It is of the utmost importance. Indeed, someone’s life is at stake.”

Garstang assumed an attitude of intense concentration and held it until the court was silent, then he cleared his throat and began.

“I saw a dark shape on the balcony opposite. It seemed to heave and change outline violently, and to move from the open doorway across towards the edge. It surged back and forth for several moments, I cannot tell how long because I was horrified by the prospect of the tragedy about to happen.”

“Why was that?” Rathbone said.

“You asked me to be literal,” Garstang said crossly. “I described to you exactly what I saw, but it was perfectly obvious to me that it was two people struggling with each other, one intent upon hurling the other off the balcony onto the stones beneath.”

“But you did not see two separate figures?” Rathbone asked.