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The criminal proceedings for libel which Oscar Fingall O'Flahertie Wilde has set in motion against John Sholto Douglas, Marquis of Queensberry, commenced on Wednesday at the Old Bailey. Public interest in the case is enormous. Long before the hour appointed for the opening of the court doors their vicinity is thick with humanity, and five minutes after they have been thrown open the court is crammed to suffocation. So it was on Wednesday and Thursday. When the court opened on Wednesday the marquis lost no time in stepping into the dock. The indictment was gabbled over to him and he pleaded "Not guilty," that the libel was true, and that it was for the public benefit that it was printed. Sir Edward Clark opened the case. He told how the marquis had left a card with the hall porter of the Albemarle Club addressed "To Oscar Wilde;" whereon were words gross and libellous. The accusation against Mr. Wilde was one of the gravest that could be made, but the plea put before the court raised a much graver issue. There was no accusation in the plea that Mr. Wilde had been guilty of a criminal offence, but there were given a number of names of persons whom he was accused of inciting to commit such offences, and with whom he was charged with improper conduct. Having said so much, Sir Edward sketched Oscar's career for the benefit of those who knew not Oscar prior to the æsthetic craze period. And then he came to speak of the circumstances under which the various parties in the present action became acquainted, and dwelt upon transactions connected with certain letters and other incidents about which Mr. Wilde spoke freely in his examination later on. One of these letters addressed by Oscar to young Douglas was read by Sir Edward. It ran thus: —

My own dear boy — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for music of song than for madness of kissing. Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place. It only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, yours, OSCAR.

A review of the meetings between the marquis and Oscar concluded a long and able opening.

After the Albemarle porter had proved the marquis's call, &, came the real beginning of the case. Oscar, cool as a cucumber, and fatter than ever, glided gracefully into the box. Sir Edward Clarke having examined him as to his relations with the Douglas family, and as to the attempts of Woods and others to blackmail him on the strength of certain letters found in the pockets of Lord Alfred Douglas's cast-off clothing, and having obtained his denial to the insinuation of the marquis that he was kicked out of the Savoy Hotel on account of disgusting conduct, gave Oscar up to the tender mercies of Carson, Q.C. The learned counsel commenced to cross-examine Oscar somewhat minutely as to his literary output, but more especially in regard to certain poetic contributions to a fin de siècle magazine called The Chameleon. Carson, Q.C., suggested that these contributions would convey improper suggestions, but Oscar said "No." He considered them exceedingly beautiful poems. Regarding a very warm story entitled "The Priest and the Acolyte," which most people attributed to Oscar, the æsthete denied the authorship. He thought it was badly written, but would not call it immoral or blasphemous. As Oscar had already stated that in his opinion there is no such thing as an immoral book, the point of Carson's examination at this juncture was not apparent. But he kept to Oscar's literature, and presently "Dorian Grey" was dragged in. Oscar repudiated the suggestion that Dorian's sin was "unnatural vice," and remarked that the book could only be called vicious when misinterpreted by the vulgar and the illiterate. Oscar said he did not write for the "ordinary individual," which brought from Carson, Q.C., the remark that the novelist did not mind the ordinary individual buying his books. "I have never discouraged him," quoth Oscar loftily. Asked if he had ever experienced the sentiments of the painter Basil, and whether he thought them natural, Oscar made answer, "I should think it perfectly natural to intensely adore and love a younger man. It is an incident in the life of almost every artist." Carson, Q.C., wanted to know if Oscar had himself adored madly a man twenty years his junior? He said he had loved one - not madly, but just loved one. Adoration was a thing he reserved to himself. He had, however, never been jealous; jealousy was, he thought, an intense nuisance. Then Mr. Carson came to the novelist's letter to young Douglas. The one quoted, Mr. Carson suggested, was an improper letter to write to a young man, but Oscar could not see eye to eye with his tormentor. The letter was a "prose-poem," "beautiful," "unique," but not as the Q.C. read it. "You read it very badly, Mr. Carson," said Oscar blandly; "you are not an artist." "I do not profess to be an artist, Mr. Wilde, and sometimes when I hear your evidence I am glad I am not one," responded the lawyer gravely. He then read another of Oscar's "prose-poems," which ran thus: —

Dearest of all boys, your letter was delightful. Red and yellow wine to me. But I am out of sorts. You must not make scenes with me. They kill me. They wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you so Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing. I want a thing of grace and genius, but I do not know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties; my bill here (at Goring) is £49 for the week. I have got a new sitting-room, over the Thames. But, you, why are you not here, my dear, my beautiful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit, and a heart of lead. -Ever your own, OSCAR.

"An extraordinary letter," commented Oscar softly. "Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary." Mr. Carson then reverted to the episode of the letters upon which a man named Cleburn attempted to blackmail Mr. Wilde, and touched upon the plaintiff's relations with two young men, named Wood and Taylor. Oscar denied improper conduct with these men, but admitted having "dined and wined" them in private rooms at the Café Florence, and to having given Wood various sums of money amounting to over £30 "out of pure kindness." He admitted also that, though believing Wood to be levying blackmail, he privileged him to use his Christian name. But he explained that everybody called him "Oscar." Passing on to another case Mr. Carson questioned the plaintiff as to his friendship for Edward Shelley, sometime an assistant in Messrs. Elkin Lane's office. Oscar repudiated all sinister suggestions in connection with this youth. Shelley had an intellectual face and literary ambitions, so Oscar dined him at the Albemarle Hotel in a private room, and gave him autograph copies of "Dorian Gray" and other Wilde works. Then Oscar's intimacy with a youth named Alphonso Conway was enquired into. Alphonso was a "pleasant creature" whose "simple conversation" attracted Wilde so much that he gave him a silver cigarette case, an inscribed photograph, an autograph volume, a silver-mounted walking-cane, a blue serge suit, and a straw hat, and finally took him for a trip to Brighton. All this Oscar did out of kindness, and not with any idea of subverting the lad's morals.

On Thursday Mr. Carson continued his crusade, and Oscar was called upon to answer an exhaustive series of questions as to his "friendship" for other young men. He admitted that he took to Paris a boy named Atkins, and shared a suite of rooms, all communicating, with the lad. But he denied any impropriety, and waxed very indignant when Mr. Carson made the "monstrous suggestion" that he had "plied Atkins with wine." The case of Ernest Scarth was next on the board. Scarth was, said Oscar, "a pleasant, nice, good fellow," who had been kind to Lord Douglas of Hawick during a voyage from Australia, so he dined the young man. Oscar indignantly denied that he kissed Scarth or had acted improperly with the young fellow. Similarly he denied that he had committed any impropriety with one Sydney Maror, who stayed with him all night at the Albermarle, and to whom he gave a four-guinea cigarette case. He did these things simply for the sake of conversing with "a very charming, nice fellow." Now came a little scene. Oscar was questioned as to his relations with a lad named Granger, who was Lord Alfred Douglas's servant at Oxford. "Have you ever kissed this boy?" demanded Carson, Q.C., abruptly. Oscar replied airily, "Oh, no! certainly not. A peculiarly plain boy." The counsel pounced on this expression instantly, asked if it was only because the boy was ugly that he was not kissed. Oscar for the first time hesitated before answering, and then replied evasively, "No; because it seems such an intense insult on your part. It seems ridiculous to imagine that any such thing could have occurred." "Then why mention his ugliness?" demanded the Q.C. sternly. "I should not like to kiss a boy," replied Oscar, adding hotly, "Am I to be cross-examined as to the reasons I should not like to kiss a boy?" "Well, why mention his ugliness?" reiterated Carson, Q.C., blandly. "Because," exclaimed Oscar shrilly, "you sting me with insolent questions; you try to unnerve me in every way, and make me say things flippantly that I would not say seriously." Carson, Q.C., agreed to take the "ugliness" as a flippant answer, but smiled meaningly at the jury. At 12.30 the cross-examination concluded, and Sir Edward Clarke rose to re-examine. He read several pathetic letters from Lord Queensberry to young Douglas, which it is not necessary to dwell upon. Certainly they tended to show that the marquis deemed his son's close friendship with Wilde a horrible thing, which should be smashed no matter the cost. The re-examination proper enabled Oscar to deny the defendant's statement that Mrs. Wilde was seeking divorce, but Sir Edward did not take his client over the ground covered by Mr. Carson again. The jury having asked a few questions relative to the publication of the Chameleon the case for the prosecution was closed.

Mr. Carson then rose to address the jury on the more serious side of the justification of the alleged libel. He said that Lord Queensberry withdrew nothing that he had said or written, having done everything with premeditation and a determination at all risks and hazards to try and save his son. His conduct has been absolutely consistent throughout. From beginning to end Lord Queensberry had been influenced with regard to Mr. Oscar Wilde by the one hope alone of saving his son. What had been Mr. Wilde's own case? That up to a certain date he had met Lord Queensberry, who had been on terms of friendship with him. Lord Queensberry had heard of Mr. Wilde's character, and of these scandals at the Savoy Hotel, which would be proved before them. Mr. Wilde had been going about with young men who were not his equals either in position or education. He thought it would be proved that some of these men were known as some of the most immoral characters in London, and he specially referred to Taylor, who was the right man to assist Wilde in all these orgies. Had they been able to cross-examine Taylor they would have learned what went on. Taylor was the pivot of the case, for the simple reason that when they heard the witnesses examined — and he would be unfortunately compelled to examine them on the immoral practices of Mr. Oscar Wilde — it would be found that Taylor was the man who introduced them to Wilde. When Mr. Wilde wanted to show that someone was present he mentioned a gentleman who could not be called because he was out of the country; but Taylor was in the country and could have been called. They were told that the friendship of Wilde and Taylor had not been interrupted. With regard to the books, they were being continually told by Mr. Wilde that they were by an artist for artists, but there was the greatest contrast between his books, which were for the select and not for the ordinary individual, and the way he chose his friends. He took up with Charlie Parker, a gentleman's servant, whose brother is a gentleman's servant; with young Conway, whose brother sold papers on the pier at Worthing; and with Scarfe, also a gentleman's servant. Then his excuse was no longer that he was dwelling in regions of art, but that he had such a noble, such a democratic soul, that he drew no social distinctions, and that it was quite as much pleasure to have the sweeping boy from the streets to lunch or dine with him as the greatest literateur or artist. Mr. Carson considered the positions absolutely irreconcilable. He thought if they had rested the case alone upon Mr. Wilde's literature they would have been absolutely justified in the course which Lord Queensberry had taken. Lord Queensberry undertook to prove that Mr. Wilde was posing as guilty of certain vices. Mr. Wilde never complained of the immorality of the story of "The Priest and the Acolyte." He knew no distinction, in fact, between a moral and an immoral book. Nor did he care whether the article was in its very terms blasphemous. All that Mr. Wilde said was that he did not approve of the story from a literary point of view. What was that story? It was the story of the love of a priest for the acolyte who attended him at Mass. Exactly the same idea that ran through the two letters to Lord A. Douglas ran through that story and through "Dorian Gray." Unable to persuade the rector as Mr. Wilde had been unable to persuade the public of the beauty of this love the priest and the acolyte resolved to die together upon the altar. The priest administered poison and they died together on the altar in an embrace after the priest had used the sacred words and forms of the Christian faith. When asked if that was not blasphemy Mr. Wilde said that he did not think it was. The same idea ran through those two letters which Mr. Wilde called beautiful, but which he called disgusting. Moreover, there was in this same Chameleon a poem which showed some justification for the frightful anticipations which Lord Queensberry entertained for his son. The poem was written by Lord Alfred Douglas, and was seen by Mr. Wilde before its publication. Was it not a terrible thing that a young man on the threshold of life, who had been for several years dominated by Oscar Wilde, and who had been "adored and loved" by Oscar Wilde, as the two letters proved, should thus show the tendency of his mind upon this frightful subject? What would be the horror of any man whose son wrote such a poem?

This (Friday) morning the case came to an abrupt but perhaps not unexpected ending. Mr. Carson was continuing his rigorous denunciation of Wilde and his works (Oscar was not in court) when Sir Edward Clarke touched his arm and whispered in his ear. Mr. Carson sat down, and Sir Edward, rising, said he was prepared to accept a verdict of "not guilty" on behalf of his client. The judge put two things to the jury, viz., that the justification set up by the Marquis of Queensberry was true in substance and in fact, and that the Marquis's statement was published in such a manner as to be for the public benefit. Amid loud applause the jury intimated that they considered both these things to be fact, and a few minutes later the court was empty.

A larger crowd than usual waited outside the Old Bailey this morning to see Wilde drive up. He … into court soon after 10, accompanied by … Stewart Headlam. Wilde looked worn and … nervous perspiration on his face … bearing signs of sleeplessness. … erect, however, and bore his … silver-mounted cane with his ...

... crowded early, doubtless the … that Wilde would be put in the witness-box.

Before the opening of the proceedings Wilde … with Mr. Travis Humphreys, the … counsel for the defence, and afterwards with Sir Edward Clarke.

Lord Douglas of Hawick arrived about half-past ten, and joined company with his fellow- … and kept Wilde in animated conversation for a few minutes before Wilde was called into …

THE SHELLEY CASE.

Sir Frank Lockwood, immediately the Judge took his seat, spoke re the withdrawal of Shelley, and denoted decisions of judges as late … to show that the jury might be told the evidence of a witness who was an accomplice was a thing they should not accept unless corroborated, instead of the case being withdrawn altogether.

Mr. Justice Wills replied that he had made up his mind that it would be far better to withdraw a witness altogether than let his evidence go to the jury and the jury to be told to disregard it.

THE SPEECH FOR THE DEFENCE.

Sir Edward Clarke opened the defence by pointing out that the area of the case had become small, the witnesses upon whose evidence they would have to decide their verdict being few. Sir Edward alluded to what he called the "causual, unjustifiable way in which the case is being conducted on the part of the Crown." He realised, he said, the responsibility of his learned friend the Solicitor-General. He himself had had the honour of holding the office of Solicitor-General for six years, for a longer period than ever it was held by any other man in the last hundred years. He realised the responsibilities of a Crown official, but he would point out to his learned friend that he was there, not to try to get a verdict of guilty by any means—the Solicitor-General was there to lay the facts of the case before the jury for their safe judgment, and fair action to all concerned. For the third time, said Sir Edward, he would call Oscar Wilde, the defendant, into the witness-box, and for the third time Wilde would swear the charges made against him were wholly and completely untrue. Law officers of the Crown had, Sir Edward continued, a strange and invidious privilege—a privilege the existence of which he could not understand, a privilege he had never availed himself of, and never would avail himself of if he were again Solicitor-General—that was, the privilege of addressing the jury last. But the Crown had sent down a law official, and so he was forced, in order to reply to the Solicitor-General, to put Wilde into the box.

WILDE TO BE CALLED.

"Now, broken as he is," said SIr Edward in a most impressive voice, "and no one who saw him when he came into the court for the first time, and sees him now, can fail to see what has happened to the man—broken as he is by being kept in prison without bail, contrary to practice, and I believe contrary to law—broken as he is by the anxiety of these successive trials, I might have spared him the indignity of having again to go into the witness-box, to go through the ordeal of repeating his denial on oath."

Sir Edward then traced the history of the case from the action of the Marquis of Queensberry. He dwelt on the continued friendship of Wilde for the Douglases and their mother, the Marchioness of Queensberry. Wilde had heroically fought against the accusations made against him, accusations that had broken down piece by piece.

WILDE IN THE WITNESS-BOX.

Wilde, looking very haggard, was given a chair in the witness-box, and a glass of water placed at his elbow.

In the early part of the year 1894, did it come to your knowledge that the Marquis of Queensberry objected to your acquaintance with Lord Alfred Douglas?

Then followed answer and question detailing the facts of the card left at Wilde’s club, and his taking action against the Marquis of Queensberry. He had long been, and was still, a friend of the Queensberry family.

You made certain remarks upon the evidence of Charles Parker, when you were in the box before?—Yes.

Have you any qualification to make on those remarks?—No.

You have been living with your wife since you were married in 1894, at 16, Tite-street?—Yes.

While your family were away you stayed at the Savoy Hotel?—Yes.

You had rooms at St. James’s-place?—Yes, for writing. It was quiet. Most literary men like to work away from their own house. I was then writing "An Ideal Husband."

Is there any truth whatever in the accusations made against you?—None whatever.

CROSS-EXAMINED.

In cross-examination Sir Frank Lockwood asked:

Where is Lord Alfred Douglas now?—He is abroad.

Where?—Paris.

When did he go?—About three weeks ago.

Did he leave after the first trial?—No, he stayed awhile after the Queensberry trial.

Did he stay till your first trial as defendant?—No, he went away to France at my wish.

What did you do when you learned that the marquis objected to your friendship with his son? I said I was perfectly ready to cease the acquaintance, if it would make peace between him and his father, but he preferred to do otherwise.

So the intervention of the father had no effect?—None.

Then the Solicitor-General read the two famous letters from Wilde to Douglas.

"The letter from Torquay was intended to be a prose poem in answer to one he had written to me," repeated Wilde.

Are these two letters a sample of the letters you have written to Douglas?—No; I don’t think you can take them as a sample.

"My own boy," proceeded Sir Frank Lockwood, reading the letter. Is that the way you usually addressed him?—Oh yes, often. He was much younger than I was.

You adopted that phraseology on account of his being so much younger?—Yes.

"Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kissing."

May I ask you this, Mr. Wilde: Do you consider that was a decent way of addressing a youth?—It is a little like a sonnet of Shakespeare. I admit it was a fantastical and extravagant way of writing to a young man. The question whether the thing is proper or right is—

A QUESTION OF DECENCY.

The word I used, Mr. Wilde, was decent?—It was a beautiful way for an artist to write to a young man who had a love of art.

Do you consider that a decent mode of addressing a young man? (emphatically).—It was a literary way of addressing a prose poem to—

I ask you whether you know the meaning of the word decent?—Yes (quietly).

And do you consider that decent?—It was an attempt to write a prose poem in beautiful phraseology.

Did you consider it decent phraseology?—Oh yes, yes.

"Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days." You were speaking of love between?—What I meant by the phrase was that he was a poet and Hyacinthus was a poet, and—(then the voice became inaudible).

"Always with undying love," read on Sir Frank. It was not a sensual love, said Wilde.

Is that again poetic imagery or an expression of your feelings?—That is an expression of my feelings; with a smile and bow).

"Dearest of old boys," read on Sir Frank, "your letter was delightful red and yellow wine for me, but I am sad and out of sorts, Bosey. You must not make scenes with me. They wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips say hideous things to me. Don’t do it: you break my heart, and I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius. But I don’t know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties; my bill here is £49"—that I suppose is true? That is, not poetic?—Oh! no, no! (Laughter suppressed.)

"I have also got a new room over the Thames. But why are you not here, my dear boy. Ever your own Oscar." He came and stayed with you at the Savoy?—Yes, in the month of February.

You were alone, you two?—Oh, yes.

The approach to your room was through his?—Yes.

Were you then aware of his father objecting to your acquaintance?—No.

TAYLOR’S TEA PARTIES.

The words on the Queensberry card containing the alleged libel were then ascertained from Wilde, after which the examination turned in the direction of the meetings and tea parties at Taylor’s rooms.

The boys Wood, Mavor, and Parker, what was their occupation?—One doesn’t ask people such questions at a tea party.

You have heard Taylor’s rooms described; Were they always in darkness?—I was only there once in the daytime, and then saw nothing remarkable.

Did you know Taylor had friends staying there, who invariably slept in bed with him?—I didn’t know that.

You know now?—I have heard it here.

Does that alter you opinion of Taylor?—No.

Do you approve of his conduct?—I don’t think I am called upon to express approval or disapproval of any persons conduct.

I must press you—I don’t believe, replied Wilde, that anything improper took place between Taylor and these boys. If Taylor was poor and shared his bed with his friends, that may have been charity.

What pleasure could you find in the society of boys teach beneath you in social position?—I make no social distinctions.

What did you do with them?—I read to them. I read one of my plays to them.

From your literary position you would be able to exercise considerable influence over them?—Certainly, but not literary influence, I don’t think that would be possible.

I don’t mean literary influence?—I like to be liked, I liked their society simply because I like to be lionised.

What—by these boys?—Yes; I like praise.

HE IS FOND OF PRAISE.

You, a successful literary man, wished to obtain the praise of those boys?—Praise from anybody—praise from other literary people is usually tainted with criticism. I am enormously fond of praise, enormously fond of admiration, and, I admit, to be praised by my inferiors; I admit it pleased me very much.

Your social inferiors?—I have no sense at all of social differences.

Alluding to the brothers Parker Wilde admitted he preferred Charles to William because he was bright.

You preferred Charles?—I make no preferences.

You like bright boys?—I like bright boys. Charles Parker was bright. I liked him.

Do you think it would be of any service to youths in their position to be entertained to dinner in the manner they were by a man of your station?—Schoolboys enjoy a treat.

You looked upon them as schoolboys?—No, but if you ask people to come and dine with you, you must give them something they don’t have every day. I don’t think it would have interested them if I had asked them to dine on a pint of ale and a chop.

PLENTY OF WINE.

You didn’t stint them with wine?—Oh, no.

You would let them drink as much as they liked?—I should not limit their consumption, but I should consider it extremely vulgar for any one to take too much wine at table.

Let me ask you whether it didn’t occur to you that having obtained their admiration that it was then within your power to exercise an influence for good or for ill with these lads?—The only influence I could exercise with anybody would be a literary influence. Of course, in their case it was impossible. Literary influence I know I have had a great deal, but not influence of any other kind.

Was Taylor charming?—Charming is not the word I would apply. I found him bright and pleasant.

Intellectual?—Not intellectual. Clever, decidedly.

Artistic?—Yes.

Very good taste, with his accents and—?—I think it good taste to use perfumes. I thought his rooms were done up with considerable taste. I think he had a very pleasant taste. His rooms were cheerful.

Not a very cheerful street, Little College-street?—Few streets are cheerful.

Is it true that when you met Parker in Trafalgar-square you used the words, "You are looking as pretty as ever?"—No, I don’t think I used the words.

Would you consider such words right to use to a youth?—Oh, no. It would be frivolous.

You don’t object to being frivolous?—Oh, I—

Sir Edward Clarke objected to the Solicitor-General being frivolous. He leaped to his feet and protested against the cross-examination going away to subjects which had nothing to do with the charges. Mr. Justice Wills also objected to anybody being frivolous, and intimated as much to the Solicitor-General, whereupon SIr Edward Clarke sat down again.

WOOD AND THE £15.

The acquaintance with the boy Alphonse at Worthing, and Wilde taking him to Brighton, buying him new clothes, and presenting him with a cigarette case, was the subject of a brief part of the cross-examination. Wilde’s replies were that he met the boy, talked to him, found him interesting, and felt he would like to keep the boy. What he did was more kindness.

For a while the cross-examination fell to dulness. It assumed more seriousness and importance when the transaction of Alfred Wood being handed money to go to America came up. Wilde said he received an anonymous letter at the supper table one evening, and another the following day, signed by a person who called himself a private detective, and saying Wood had letters belonging to Lord Alfred Douglas, written by him, and meant to extort money for them. So he communicated with Sir George Lewis. Wood afterwards met him at Taylor’s He gave Wood £15 to enable him to go to London, but certainly did not give him the money for the letters.

Do you mean, on your oath, to say the payment had nothing to do with the delivery of the letters?—None whatever.

You got the letters?—Yes. They were of no importance whatever. I tore them up.

Coming to the Savoy Hotel incident, the Solicitor-General asked: When you stayed at the Savoy, had you young men there to see you?—The great majority of my friends were young. I was ill while at the Savoy.

You were attended by the masseur?—Yes.

You have heard what he says about a person being seen in your bed. Is that statement untrue?—Absolutely and entirely untrue.

There was no one there, man or woman?—No one.

You answer also that the chambermaid’s statement is untrue?—Absolutely.

Sir Edward Clarke summed up for the defence.