‘I thought judges was supposed to be fair. Some system of justice this. Yes, I’ve been in prison in England.’

‘And you’ve given evidence in court on other occasions, in England?’

‘In my own cases, yes. And I always told the truth. So there.’

‘Have you previously given evidence in cases involving other accused persons?’

Warwick was beginning to look a little less confident. He knew something was coming; he was just not sure what. Both judge and jury were clearly intrigued. Developments were awaited with undisguised interest.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know a man called Paul Tomzack?’

‘You are in trouble, pal. You’re scraping the barrel now. Yes, I know him – he’s a crook.’

‘Have you ever spoken with him?’

‘Once or twice.’

‘Four times, I think?’

‘OK. Four times. So what?’

‘So you met with this crook – four times?’

‘I just told you that.’

‘No, I told you that, but never mind. Why did you meet with this crook?’

‘He came to see me. I don’t know what he wanted.’

‘I see. On four occasions this crook came to see you, and at the end of these meetings you were none the wiser?’

‘Correct.’

‘You did not think to ask him what he wanted? Is this what the jury are to believe?’

‘The jury can believe what it likes.’

‘Quite. But the ladies and gentlemen should believe that you did not ask for any of these meetings?’

‘Correct. Arsehole!’

‘Mr Warwick, you will refrain from making derogatory remarks.’ Cowden exclaimed.

‘You’re letting him do what he likes. Old Scots fart.’

The Lord Cowden was not a man accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. Certainly not in his own court. His normally florid complexion turned a deep shade of purple and it looked as if he might have a seizure. Muirhead did not wish to lose his momentum because of a judicial outburst. He poured oil on the troubled waters.

‘Come now, Mr Warwick. I’m sure you did not mean to offend.’

Warwick opened his mouth to fire off another salvo but was immediately confronted by another question. This one took everyone by surprise. Especially the witness.

‘What is your name? I know the name you gave us, but that is not your real name, is it now?’

Before the witness could react, he was hit by a follow-up.

‘Your real name is Arthur John Beswick. Isn’t it?’

The last two words were uttered in a voice which now had a distinct edge to it.

‘I don’t use that name.’

‘Maybe not, but that is your given name, isn’t it?’

Warwick stared down at his feet. His grip on the witness box tightened. He was shaking – not with nerves – with rage.

‘Yes.’

‘And you have previously been in court under the name Arthur John Beswick?’

Warwick took several deep breaths, and fought for control.

‘I did silly things when I was a boy.’