Brief Tales From The Bench

by Henry Cecil

‘And that this was the watch?’

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  ‘No doubt about it?’

  ‘None at all, your honour.’

  ‘Very well then, pray continue, Mr Faulkner.’

  ‘I suggest to you, Mr Morris,’ went on Mr Faulkner, ‘that you are deliberately telling a lie.’

  ‘Can you tell a lie by mistake, Mr Faulkner?’ I asked. ‘You can tell an untruth by accident, but a lie is surely a deliberate untruth, isn’t it?’

  ‘I plead guilty to a pleonasm,’ said Mr Faulkner. ‘Now, Mr Morris, when you say that this is the watch which was damaged by my client, you’re telling a lie, aren’t you?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘I suggest to you, Mr Morris, that you acquired this watch three days ago, from the landlord of the Barclay Arms, Trenton.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Mr Morris.

  ‘Let Mr Carr stand up, please,’ said Mr Faulkner, and a man stood up in the back of the court. ‘D’you see that gentleman?’ went on Mr Faulkner.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Have you seen him before?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘He’s the landlord of the Barclay Arms, isn’t he?’

  ‘I know. I often have a drink there.’

  At that stage, Mr Carr spoke up from the back of the court:

  ‘Look,’ he shouted, ‘I don’t want to get involved in this. I–’

  But the usher broke in with: ‘Silence in court.’

  ‘Mr Faulkner,’ I asked, ‘are you calling that gentleman as a witness?’

  ‘I am, your honour.’

  ‘Well, would you please tell him to keep quiet until his turn comes.’

  ‘I don’t want my turn to come,’ shouted Mr Carr.

  ‘Silence in court,’ said the usher.

  ‘Keep quiet, sir,’ I said.

  ‘Why should I be mixed up in their affairs?’ shouted Mr Carr.

  I asked Mr Carr to come forward, and he did so.

  ‘Now, Mr Carr, you are the landlord of the Barclay Arms?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘I am, and I want to get back there.’

  ‘I dare say you do, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘but, if you’re a witness, I’m afraid you’ll have to remain.’

  ‘It isn’t fair,’ said Mr Carr. ‘There’s a lot to do to get ready for opening, and I’ve only got a young boy who knows nothing about it to help me.’

  ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Some people think pubs run themselves,’ went on Mr Carr. ‘Well, they don’t. There’s a hell of a lot of work to do, or we’d go bust in no time.’

  ‘You’re not in your public house now, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘and you’re not to talk like that. I know it’s inconvenient for people sometimes, but the courts couldn’t be carried on unless witnesses could be compelled to attend.’

  ‘I quite understand that, your honour,’ said Mr Carr, ‘in a case of importance. Murder or something. But this petty squabble shouldn’t involve other people. If they were sensible, it could be settled over a pint.’

  ‘That could well be, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t discuss the matter any more. Kindly sit down and keep quiet.’

  So the disgruntled Mr Carr went back to his seat in the court, and Mr Faulkner continued to question Mr Morris.

  ‘Mr Morris,’ he asked, ‘did you not buy this watch from Mr Carr for £4 three nights ago?’

  ‘Nonsense, why should I?’

  ‘You’re not supposed to ask me questions,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘but I don’t mind answering that one. If my client didn’t damage any watch of yours, you might want to increase the damages by pretending that he did. I suggest that’s what you’ve done.’

  ‘If I never speak another word,’ said Mr Morris loudly, ‘I tell you that he broke my watch when he lashed out at me. It’s absolutely true, your honour.’

  He said it very convincingly. I said as much, and added: ‘I take it you want to pursue this point, Mr Faulkner, and to continue to keep Mr Carr from his public house?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, your honour,’ said Mr Faulkner.

  ‘Now, Mr Morris,’ he went on, ‘will you kindly look at someone else. Will Mr Briggs stand up, please. D’you know him by sight?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘He also goes to the Barclay Arms.’

  ‘I don’t know everyone who goes there.’

  ‘I don’t suggest you do, but he remembers you.’

  ‘What am I supposed to say to that?’

  ‘He’s going to say that he provided the watch which the landlord sold to you, and that this is the watch.’

  ‘I’m on oath,’ said Mr Morris.

  ‘I know you are,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘and so will he be. Do you still deny it?’

  ‘Of course I do. It’s all a put-up job to get out of paying for what was quite a valuable watch.’

  Eventually Mr Morris’ cross-examination was concluded, and in due course Mr Carr and Mr Briggs gave evidence. Mr Carr did so most unwillingly, but, if ever there was a voluntary witness, it was Mr Briggs. He obviously enjoyed himself from beginning to end.

  ‘You are Edward Briggs,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘and you live at seven, Maryland Buildings, E6?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you, Mr Briggs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What d’you mean by “yes”?’

  ‘I was told I had to say “yes” or “no”, and “yes” sounded more like.’

  ‘Well,’ I put in, ‘you don’t have just to say “yes” or “no”, Mr Briggs, answer the questions as you like.’

  ‘Oh, that’s different,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘So long as you tell the truth,’ I added.

  ‘The truth, eh, my lord? That’s asking a bit.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but you must do your best.’

  ‘OK my lord, what’s the question?

  ‘What do you do for a living?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

  ‘Sell fings.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What d’you sell?’

  ‘What do I sell? Logs and dogs.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Granted.’

  ‘What do you sell?’

  ‘Told yer. Logs and dogs.’

  ‘Logs and dogs?’

  ‘Logs and dogs.’

  ‘That’s an odd combination,’ said Mr Faulkner.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘Logs and dogs.’

  ‘Logs and dogs,’ repeated Mr Briggs.

  ‘What’s wrong with selling logs and dogs, Mr Faulkner?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh nothing, your honour,’ he said, ‘except they don’t seem to go together.’

  ‘Look,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘I sell logs, see. And sometimes I pick up a dog or two cheap, see. So I sell ’em. That’s logs and dogs, ain’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘it’s logs and dogs.’

  ‘Well that’s me then,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘Logs and dogs.’

  ‘Have you seen Mr Morris before?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the boozer.’

  ‘You mean the Barclay Arms?’ I put in.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you last see him before today?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

  ‘In the boozer?’

  ‘All right, Mr Briggs,’ I said, ‘in the boozer.’

  ‘Didn’t see you there, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t have,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps it’s the wig?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not the wig.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong in going to a boozer, is there?’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ I said.

  ‘Then why don’t you go, my lord?’ asked Mr Briggs.

  ‘Mr Faulkner,’ I said, ‘shall we get on with the case?’

  ‘Mr Briggs,’ sai
d Mr Faulkner, ‘when did you last see Mr Morris in the Barclay Arms?’

  ‘A couple of nights ago,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘Call me a liar, it was three, or I’m a Dutchman. Cor, I am a Dutchman, it was four.’

  ‘Well, whenever it was,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘what happened?’

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘I was downing my pint quiet like, when I heard him say something funny to Mr Carr.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he wanted to buy a gold watch.’

  ‘What was funny about that?’

  ‘He said he wanted one that didn’t go,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘He wanted to buy a gold watch that didn’t go?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s right, my lord.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

  ‘I listened,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘I thought I might do a bit of business.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, ‘Had you a gold watch that didn’t go?’

  ‘Oh, no, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘I’ve nothing gold about me. But I thought I might pick one up.’

  ‘How,’ I asked, ‘pick one up? Among the logs and dogs?’

  ‘That’s right, my lord.’

  ‘You mean,’ I asked, ‘that you thought you might find a watch among the logs and dogs?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, yes, my lord.’

  ‘Explain, please,’ I said.

  ‘Well, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘it’s like this. I sell logs and dogs. Now ’ow can I do that if I don’t buy them? I can’t, see. So I buy logs and dogs.’

  ‘We all know that by now,’ I said, ‘but where does the watch come in?’

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘blokes what sell dogs may sell other things too.’

  ‘Such as?’ said Mr Faulkner.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘What other things?’ said Mr Faulkner.

  ‘All sorts. Stands to reason. If you can pick up a dog, you can pick up a lot of other things.’

  ‘Such as a watch?’ I asked.

  ‘You’ve got it, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

  ‘After this bloke had gone, I told Mr Carr I might be able to oblige him.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I went to the club. There’s all sorts there.’

  ‘And what happened when you went to the club?’

  ‘I found a man with a gold watch, and I bought it for two nicker. Then I sold it to Mr Carr for three.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mr Faulkner, and sat down.

  Mr Briggs was then cross-examined by Mr Morris’ counsel, whose name was Meldrum.

  ‘Mr Briggs, have you told his honour the truth?’ was his first question.

  ‘Near enough.’

  ‘How d’you mean, near enough?’

  ‘What I say, near enough.’

  ‘Most of what you say has been lies, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Me tell lies?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Wouldn’t do such a thing.’

  ‘Have you never told a lie?’

  ‘Only to the missus,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘But we all do that, don’t we, my lord?’

  ‘Go on, please, Mr Meldrum,’ I said.

  ‘I suggest that your story is a lie from beginning to end,’ said Mr Meldrum. ‘You never heard my client ask to buy a watch which didn’t go. You never bought a watch in your club. You never sold it to Mr Carr. And Mr Carr never sold it to Mr Morris.’

  ‘I never said he did,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘I thought the whole case was,’ said Mr Meldrum, ‘that Mr Carr sold this watch to Mr Morris.’

  ‘So it is,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘but Mr Briggs didn’t see that part of the transaction.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Meldrum. ‘Very well then, Mr Briggs, you only heard Mr Morris ask to buy it. You never saw him get it from Mr Carr?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But, when you heard the conversation in which Mr Morris said he wanted a watch which didn’t go, you thought there might have been a bit of business in it for you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So off you go to the club, and lo and behold! there’s a man with a gold watch ready to sell it to you for two pounds.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Was it by chance a watch which didn’t go?’

  ‘Not when I bought it,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘but I put that right before I sold it to Mr Carr.’

  ‘A bit of luck for you that on the very day you want a watch, you find one,’ said Mr Meldrum.

  ‘That’s life,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘What was the name of the man who sold you the watch?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Did you ever know it?’

  ‘Can’t say that I did.’

  ‘Had you ever seen him before?’

  ‘Can’t say that I had?’

  ‘Have you ever seen him since?’

  ‘Can’t say that I have.’

  ‘Would you recognise him again?’

  ‘I might. And then again I might not.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to know his address?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘Did you ask him?’

  ‘Why should I? He said to me “D’you know anyone who wants a gold watch?” and I said–’

  ‘You mean,’ interrupted Mr Meldrum, ‘that a strange man came up to you in the club and asked you if you wanted to buy a gold watch on the very day you’d gone there to buy one?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘a bit of luck, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Isn’t it the most astonishing bit of luck that’s ever happened to you?’ asked Mr Meldrum.

  ‘Look, mate, I only made one nicker out of it.’

  ‘You mustn’t call counsel “mate”,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry, guv, no offence.’

  ‘Call him Mr Meldrum,’ I said.

  ‘That’s his name, is it?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

  ‘Mr Meldrum. Funny, that. My missus’ name was Meldrum.’

  ‘Before you married her, I suppose?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

  ‘No, after.’

  ‘After?’

  ‘Yes, she went off with someone else.’

  ‘Do let’s get on, Mr Meldrum,’ I said.

  ‘Now, Mr Briggs,’ Mr Meldrum went on, ‘let’s get this quite clear. Your story is that, having heard my client say he wants to buy a watch that won’t go, you go to your club, and a man you don’t know, and whom you’ve never seen before or since, walks up to you, and without a word spoken by you, asks if you want to buy a gold watch. All that’s true, is it?’

  ‘That’s for ’im to say,’ said Mr Briggs, nodding at me.

  ‘No, Mr Briggs,’ I said, ‘at the moment it’s for you to say. Do you say it’s true?’

  ‘Oh, I say it’s true, of course,’ said Mr Briggs.

  ‘There’s no “of course” about it,’ said Mr Meldrum. ‘If it isn’t true, you should say so.’

  ‘What,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘and be called a liar by both of you?’

  ‘Mr Briggs,’ I said, ‘this is a much more serious matter than you appear to realise. Sometimes the truth has a nasty way of coming out. Either you or Mr Morris is committing perjury, and one of you ought to be prosecuted for perjury.’

  ‘Ah, but which, my lord?’ asked Mr Briggs, ‘that’s the question, ain’t it?’

  ‘This is not a laughing matter, Mr Briggs,’ I said, ‘as you may very well find out if it transpires that it’s you who are telling lies.’

  ‘What should I want to tell lies for?’ asked Mr Briggs.

  ‘Perhaps I can answer for you, Mr Briggs,’ said Mr Meldrum. ‘Would you tell a lie for £50?’

  ‘Less than that,’ conceded Mr Briggs.

  ‘So you admit you’d commit perjury for money?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘not perjury. You said would I tell a lie for £50. Well I’
ve often told them for nothing. But not ’ere, not in court, that’s different. May my grandmother’s soul rot in hell if I tell a lie ’ere.’

  ‘Mr Morris put it a little less dramatically,’ I said. ‘He said, “if I never speak another word, what I now say is true.” Which of you am I to believe?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘that’s what you’re there for, my lord.’

  ‘Mr Faulkner and Mr Meldrum,’ I said, addressing counsel, ‘what might have been what Mr Carr called a petty squabble has turned out to be something much more serious. I want to assure both of your clients that I shall not hesitate to send the papers to the Director of Public Prosecutions if I think perjury can be proved against one of them.’

  And I meant it. Either the plaintiff had invented the watch in order to get more damages from the defendant, or the defendant had persuaded these two witnesses, Briggs and Carr, to tell lies to discredit the plaintiff. Both alternatives were most unlikely. Yet one of them in the end must turn out to be a fact. But which? After Briggs had finished his evidence, I recalled Mr Carr to the witness box.

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘but there’s a question I’d like to ask you. You’ve come here to give evidence because the defendant, Mr Riley, asked you to?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t had a summons,’ said Mr Carr.

  ‘Quite so,’ I said. ‘But what I want to know is how Mr Riley knew you could give this evidence. Has either counsel any objection to my asking this question?’ I asked.

  Both counsel agreed.

  ‘Then tell me, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘why did Mr Riley think you could help him about the case?’

  ‘Because I told him,’ said Mr Carr.

  ‘Told him what?’

  ‘About the watch.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday!’ I said.

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the street.’

  ‘D’you know Mr Riley then?’

  ‘By sight. He comes to my pub sometimes.’

  ‘Go on, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘what happened?’

  ‘Well, I saw him in the street and we stopped to have a chat.’

  ‘How did the watch come up?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s a customer, and you want to be pleasant to them. I didn’t really want to stop. I had to think of something to say. Then I thought about the watch. So I told him.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That a man told me he wanted to buy a watch which didn’t go.’

  ‘What did he say?’