"_The accused, No. , Sergeant John Stokes, 2nd Battalion
Downshire Regiment, is charged with Misbehaving before the enemy in
such a manner as to show cowardice, in that he at , on
October 3rd, 1914, when on patrol, and when under the enemy's fire,
did run away._"


All this time the prisoner had been studying the wall, his eyes
travelling from the right to the left of the frieze, and then from the
left to the right again. It was noticeable that his lips moved slightly
at each stage of this laborious visual journey. "Forty-seven."
"Forty-nine." "Forty-eight." Stokes was immensely interested in that
compelling frieze. He counted and recounted the number of figures in the
Greek fret with painful iteration. Apparently he was satisfied at last,
and then his eyes began to study the inkstand in front of the President.
The President seemed an enormous distance away, but the inkstand very
near and very large, and he found himself wondering why it was round,
why it wasn't square, or hexagonal, or elliptic. Then he speculated
whether the ink was blue or black, or red, and why people never used
green or yellow. His brain had gone through all the colours of the
spectrum when a pull at his sleeve by the escort attracted his
attention. Apparently the Colonel was saying something to him.

"Do you plead guilty or not guilty?"

The prisoner stared, but said nothing. The escort again pulled his
sleeve as the Colonel repeated the question.