There would be no opening speeches. Straight to the evidence. The Advocate Depute and his assistant appeared for the Crown, Mr Muirhead with his junior for the defence. Junior counsel were not mentioned by name, and solicitors, being in his Lordship’s opinion a lower form of life, were ignored totally.

Witnesses would be called, examination, cross-examination, reexamination. End of Crown case. Defence case. No obligation on the accused to give evidence or prove anything. Onus of proof on the Crown throughout. Speeches. Charge to set out the legal framework.

Muirhead picked up the occasional word. No need to pay close attention. He had heard it before – many times.

He was concentrating on his opponent. Matthews as ever was sitting exuding an air of supreme confidence.

You arrogant bugger, thought Muirhead. But you’re nervous, you devious sod. He had noticed that the Advocate Depute was fiddling with a piece of tape which had been used to bind some of his papers. He was tying it into a series of knots while plainly lost in thought.

Muirhead gave his attention to the jury. There was not much you could tell at this stage. Mostly, the jurors looked bemused. Two did catch his eye. One man was leaning forward listening intently to every word said to him. He nodded occasionally as if he understood and then actually began to take notes. A foreman in the making if there ever was one.

Another man was lounging back in his seat staring round the court, clearly paying no attention to anything said to him. A know-all. A troublemaker. There’s always one.

Muirhead glanced up to the public gallery. He noticed only that it was packed. A rare event these days. Had he paid more attention, he might have observed a bearded figure with eyes focused intently on one of the leading actors rather than the play which was about to unfold before him. As he turned his gaze back to the jury, Muirhead shivered.

‘It’s cold in here.’

Anderson was busy organising his papers.

‘Is it? Hadn’t noticed.’

‘Well, I think it’s cold.’

‘Eh? OK it’s cold – if you say so.’

‘It is cold.’

‘Look, if you’re trying to tell me you’re coming down with something, you’re not on. Too late to get out of this one now. We’re in this together – up to our necks.’

Muirhead smiled thinly.

‘Take more than feeling the cold to get me out of this case, I fear.’

‘Death wouldn’t get you out of this case, James.’

Both men smiled. Anderson meant it. Muirhead didn’t – the notion was not even vaguely amusing. He turned his mind to the matters in hand.