Michael Gilbert

SYNOPSIS BY nine o'clock the queue was long enough to engage the attention of two policemen. At ten it contained enough people to fill the Central Criminal Court three times over. Two more policemen arrived and latecomers, who had now no choice of a seat, were directed to the front of the building where they might have the pleasure of watching the legal celebrities as they arrived. "There's something about a woman, I mean—a murderess," said Baby Masterton to Avis—they were lying about tenth hi the queue. "You know what I mean. Just to see her standing all alone in the dock.' "I know what you mean," said Avis. "It's such a long time since we've had a real woman —not awful old bags like Mrs. Wilbraham or that Carter creature who chopped up her grandson—but a girl. French too." " I didn't think she was particularly pretty, dear." " Not pretty, no. But smart. French girls know about clothes." "Yes." "Then, you know, if she did do it—I mean, pretty cold-blooded. Even if they don't hang her they'll sentence her to death. There's something about a girl being sentenced to death. You know what I mean."

Michael Gilbert