by Henry Cecil
‘At first he didn’t take much notice. Then he became interested and asked if I knew the man’s name. I said it was Morris. Then he became very interested indeed.’
‘And that’s how you came into it?’ I asked.
‘Yes, your honour,’ said Mr Carr, ‘and I wish I’d kept my ruddy mouth shut.’
Mr Carr was then cross-examined by Mr Meldrum, who asked him as his first question: ‘Mr Carr, are you telling his honour that by pure chance Mr Riley learned of your story about the watch yesterday?’
‘I am.’
‘Had Mr Riley told you that he was being sued by Mr Morris?’
‘Not till after I’d told him about the watch.’
‘You’ve been in court while all the evidence has been given in this case.’
‘Yes, worse luck,’ said Mr Carr.
‘How many coincidences were there if your story is true?’
‘I haven’t counted.’
‘But a lot?’
‘It seems so.’
‘And none the less you say you’re telling the truth?’ said Mr Meldrum.
‘I wish I hadn’t,’ said Mr Carr.
‘How d’you mean?’
‘I wish I’d never said a word about it, then I shouldn’t be here.’
‘I suggest,’ said Mr Meldrum, ‘that you’re simply pretending not to want to be here, and that you conspired with Mr Riley and Mr Briggs to try to discredit my client.’
‘Why should I?’ said Mr Carr. ‘They’re both customers, I don’t care who wins.’
‘I suggest to you,’ said Mr Meldrum, ‘that Mr Riley is a friend of yours, that he must have told you he had a claim for assault against him, which he was bound to lose, and that he wanted to find some easy way of reducing the damage.’
‘You can suggest what you like,’ said Mr Carr.
‘Isn’t Mr Riley a friend of yours?’ asked Mr Meldrum.
‘He’s a customer.’
‘Some of your customers are friends as well, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mr Carr, ‘but Mr Riley isn’t particularly.’
‘Particularly?’ queried Mr Meldrum. ‘What does that mean?’
‘He’s no more a friend than Mr Morris.’
That was all Mr Faulkner wished to ask, and then I recalled Mr Morris back into the witness box. I reminded him that he was still on oath. ‘How long d’you say you’ve had this watch?’ I asked.
‘Some years, your honour.’
‘Did you buy it, or was it a present?’
‘My wife gave it to me.’
‘Where did she buy it?’
‘In Harrogate.’
‘Would she know the place where she bought it?’
‘I expect so, your honour.’
‘Have you had it repaired since she gave it to you?’
‘Yes, your honour.’
‘Where?’
‘In London.’
‘D’you know the name and address of the jeweller?’
‘I could find it again, your honour.’
‘Well, Mr Faulkner and Mr Meldrum,’ I said, again addressing counsel, ‘hadn’t this case better be adjourned for enquiries to be made from both jewellers? Are you agreeable?’
Both counsel agreed. And the case was adjourned for one of them to call the jeweller or jewellers. I made the suggestion because it seemed to me that this would be a way of proving the case conclusively in favour of Mr Morris, or against him. But, of course, both jewellers might have gone out of business, or they might have lost their records. Or they mightn’t have kept sufficient records. If that turned out to be the case, what would my decision be? I asked myself. It was most unlikely that the plaintiff would invent the destruction of a watch. He’d behaved very well about his own driving, admitting quite frankly that he was at fault. On the other hand, although the defendant must have been a bad-tempered man, it was equally unlikely that for the sake of reducing the damages, he would take part in what was a conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice. That is what it would have come to. He would have had to be in league with the landlord and the log and dog man. Yet, if this were not the case, there must have been a very odd series of coincidences. Had the log and dog man really met a man who volunteered that he had a gold watch for sale just at the moment when the log and dog man was looking for one? I was concerned, not simply for my own decision, but because this was surely a case where a prosecution for perjury ought to take place if one could be sure who the guilty party was.
Well, the day for the adjourned hearing arrived, and my clerk, Mr Simpson, came in to see me.
‘Well, Mr Simpson,’ I said, ‘what’s your bet?’
‘I know the answer, your honour,’ he said, ‘so I can’t bet.’
‘You know the answer?’ I said. ‘You should be a judge then instead of me, because I don’t.’
‘I don’t mean that, your honour,’ said Mr Simpson. ‘They’ve settled it.’
‘They’ve settled it, have they,’ I said. ‘That means that one side has given in for fear of a prosecution for perjury. Well, I’m not going to allow that. Ask the local police inspector to come and see me. But first of all, who gave in?’
The clerk told me, and in consequence of that, a visit was paid by Inspector Hughes, not long after, to one of the parties.
From what I subsequently learned, I imagine the conversation between them went something like this. The Inspector introduced himself and asked if he could see Mr George Morris.
‘That’s me,’ said Mr Morris.
‘May I come in?’ said the Inspector.
Mr Morris invited him in and he sat down.
‘Now, Mr Morris,’ said the Inspector, ‘I’m making enquiries about a claim you brought against Mr Riley for assault.’
‘We settled it.’
‘Yes, I know. On the terms that you withdrew the action and paid the defendant’s costs. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Morris, ‘that’s true.’
‘But he struck you in the face.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Mr Morris.
‘And you were bound to get damages for that assault, weren’t you?’
‘I certainly should have.’
‘Then why did you withdraw the case? For that’s what your settlement comes to.’
‘I know it must seem funny,’ said Mr Morris.
‘It isn’t funny, but it’s certainly strange,’ said the Inspector, ‘that a man, who’s been knocked about and brought the matter to court, should suddenly give it up and pay the other man’s costs.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Morris, ‘it must seem odd to you.’
‘Would you care to explain?’
‘Oh well,’ said Mr Morris, ‘I suppose I’d better. It’s been on my mind.’
‘I think I should warn you,’ said the Inspector, ‘that anything you do say may be given in evidence if you are prosecuted for perjury.’
‘Will I be prosecuted?’ asked Mr Morris.
‘That’s not for me to say,’ said the Inspector. ‘Now tell me. Why did you invent the story of a damaged watch?’
‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact,’ said Mr Morris.
‘Oh really,’ said the Inspector, ‘I’ve read all the evidence. You bought that watch from Mr Carr. And you were frightened that the jeweller’s records would give you away.’
‘How could they have given me away if I never had a watch?’ asked Mr Morris. ‘It was a cash transaction.’
‘Well, you tell me,’ said the Inspector.
‘All right, I will. That blighter struck me in the face, and he broke a gold watch which my wife had given me.’
‘Oh really,’ said the Inspector, ‘don’t waste my time, Mr Morris.’
‘I’m not,’ said Mr Morris, ‘it’s absolutely true. It’s because my wife had given me a watch that the jewellers might have given me away. D’you know what happened? A few days before the trial, I lost the beastly thing. Must have dropped it on a bus or something.
I enquired everywhere for it, but it was no good. It seemed too bad that this bloody man should get away with it just because I’d lost it. So I decided to get another instead. It wasn’t cheating him. He had broken my watch.’
‘What an ass you were,’ said the Inspector.
‘I dare say,’ said Mr Morris, ‘but, as I’d lost the watch anyway, I couldn’t claim damages from the defendant for its being damaged. At least I thought I couldn’t, and I just couldn’t bear to let him get away with it.’
‘It seems to me,’ said the Inspector, ‘that that’s just what you have done.’
It was indeed. And the unfortunate Mr Morris who’d been assaulted, not only lost his case, but he was prosecuted for perjury. He pleaded guilty and was fined £100. That certainly was a lesson to him to drive more carefully, if not to tell the truth.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chef’s Special
This story is about food and hotels, and, if you are prepared to accept anything which is put before you in the way of food, or bedroom, or service, you will presumably not be very interested in it. I do not intend this remark as a slight upon those who do not much mind what they eat or drink, or how it is served, or how they sleep, for these are matters of individual taste. It would be just as impertinent to criticise a person for not liking music or not liking to look at pictures, or not liking to watch cricket. Conversely, there is no need for people who are interested in food or drink to apologise for being so interested, any more than the music-lover or picture-lover has to apologise. Music tickles the ear, pictures tickle the eye, and food and drink tickle the palate.
At the moment some attempt is perhaps being made to improve the standard of food in English restaurants and hotels and possibly, but less certainly, to improve the service in those places. But, as so many people are content to take what is flung at them, and, as most restaurants and hotels are crowded, there is little incentive to the proprietors and managers of those places to do better than they are doing at present. After all, if without complaint they can serve and be paid for a badly cooked steak with frozen vegetables (through the medium of a waiter, who is not in the least put out if he spills the gravy on the cloth, or even down your back if it gets in the way) why should they try and improve their standard?
But undoubtedly more people are taking an interest in these matters. One has only to look at the large number of food guides and articles in newspapers and magazines on the subject to realise that the gastronomic interest of the public has increased in the last years.
One of the reasons for the low standard of some establishments is because of the very few complaints which people care to make. Most people hate a fuss. And, if complaints are rare, claims for damages for breach of contract brought by a customer against a restaurant or hotel proprietor are even rarer still. But this story is about such a claim, which came in front of me. The plaintiff was a Mr Blandish and he said that he was a journalist and that for the purpose of some of his articles he visited hotels and restaurants and wrote about what he found there without fear, and certainly without favour. According to him, the treatment he received at one particular hotel was at such variance with its prices and its literature that he sued the proprietors for damages for breach of contract. I was intrigued by the case because I admit that I am one of those who take an interest in food. Moreover, it was the only case of its kind which I had ever tried, and I thought it unlikely that I would ever have the opportunity of trying another.
The title of the case was Blandish against the Excelsior Hotel Company Limited. Both sides were represented by counsel, Mr Blandish by the able Mr Benton and the hotel company by an inexperienced young man called Carstairs.
Mr Benton, in opening the case for Mr Blandish, told me that Mr Blandish had no knowledge of this particular hotel before he went there. It was his practice before going to hotels on what might be termed professional visits, to enter into a little correspondence with the hotel to see how they described themselves, and to ascertain the delights which they were offering to prospective visitors. In the course of his opening, Mr Benton produced one of the letters from the Hotel Excelsior which ran as follows: ‘This is par excellence the hotel de luxe in the south of England. Here is combined superb food with gracious living in the old style. Our terms are not low, but every farthing is returned with interest in the happiness which we take pleasure in providing for you. The hotel is equivalent to an AA five star hotel in service, comfort and food.’
‘The defendants,’ said Mr Benton, ‘did not explain how every farthing could be returned and the resident proprietors still survive, let alone how they could afford to pay interest as well. But I should make it plain to your honour that this case is not based upon exaggerations of that kind. If the food, or service, or accommodation had been within measurable distance of what it was held out to be, your honour would not now be troubled with the case. My client replied to the defendant’s letter as follows: “If your hotel is really substantially in accordance with what you represent it to be, I should like a room with a private bathroom. I need good food, quiet and comfort and am prepared to pay for it.”
‘The defendants replied that they would be delighted to accommodate my client at the inclusive charge of sixty guineas a week.
‘It so happened that my client did want a holiday, and so he booked a room for one week. As your honour will hear, he only stayed for one day, and it is interesting to observe that the defendants are not counterclaiming any damages on the ground that my client booked the room for a week, and only stayed a day. But, whether that is a sign of a guilty conscience, or simply because the defendants find that they can let their rooms so easily, is a matter which your honour will have to judge when you’ve heard the evidence.’
The plaintiff, Mr Blandish, was then called to give evidence, and the effect of his evidence was this. He said that he arrived at the hotel with two heavy suitcases which he left in his car outside. There was no porter about, so he went up to the reception desk. There he found a young lady painting her nails, and, sitting on a chair not far behind her, a man who was doing a crossword puzzle. Mr Blandish said that first of all he coughed, but, as this produced no effect on the young lady, he said: ‘Excuse me.’
‘Yes?’ said the girl.
‘I’ve just arrived.’
‘Have you booked?’
‘Yes, the name is Blandish.’
‘Sign the register, please. Here’s the key. Room thirty-two.’
‘What about my baggage?’
‘Can’t you manage it?’
‘No.’
‘Is there much?’
‘I thought this was a hotel de luxe.’
‘Come again,’ said the girl. ‘If you’ve any complaints, there’s the manager.’
‘I only want my luggage taken up,’ said Blandish.
‘Well, the porter’s down the garden.’
‘Have you only one porter?’
‘The other one’s off.’
‘On what floor is my room?’
‘The third.’
‘Perhaps I can go up, and the luggage can follow.’
‘The staircase is over there.’
‘What about a lift?’
‘The lift’s out of order.’
‘How long will it be out of order?’
‘How can I say? I’m not an engineer.’
‘Well,’ said Blandish, ‘can someone come and take my luggage out of the car?’
‘Perhaps you’d like me to do it,’ said the girl.
‘No, it’s too heavy for a girl.’
‘Well, that’s the answer to that, then.’
‘Can I see the manager, please?’
‘I told you, he’s over there.’
The plaintiff went on to explain that, after he had said ‘Excuse me’ twice, in a slightly louder tone on the second occasion, the manager came to life and said: ‘Attend to this gentleman, Judy.’
‘He’s not satisfied,’ said the girl.
‘Not sat
isfied with what?’ said the manager.
‘I simply want my luggage brought in,’ said Blandish.
‘Can’t you manage it?’
‘You wrote to me,’ said Mr Blandish, ‘that this was a hotel de luxe, and your charges certainly justify that expression. I should have thought that someone could have taken in my luggage.’
‘If you wait a moment,’ said the manager, ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t want a hand,’ said Blandish. ‘I want someone to take in my luggage.’
‘Well,’ said the manager, ‘you must wait for the porter. He’s down the garden. You heard the young lady say so.’
‘Well, my car’s outside in the street,’ said Blandish. ‘Can I leave it there?’
‘Of course you can,’ said the manager, ‘if you want to be summoned for obstruction. It’s a very narrow street, anyone can see that.’
‘Well, why can’t you come and help take the luggage out now?’
‘I’ve said I would come in a moment,’ said the manager, ‘if the porter doesn’t arrive.’
‘Why can’t you do it at once?’
‘Because I’m busy.’
‘Was it you who wrote to me that the hotel was equivalent to an AA five star hotel in service, comfort and food?’
‘If I signed it, I wrote it,’ said the manager. ‘Ah, there’s the porter. Ernie, give the gentleman a hand with his luggage, please.’
‘I can’t,’ said the porter, ‘I’m busy.’
‘When will you be free?’ said the manager.
‘In half an hour,’ said the porter. ‘I go off then.’
Mr Blandish explained to me that at that moment a policeman came in and requested him to move his car, and he had to do so. As a result he had to carry his own suitcases several hundred yards back to the hotel.
Eventually he went to his room, which was about twelve feet by ten. It had originally been a little larger, but carved out of it was just enough space for a bath and a lavatory. Eventually he walked downstairs and went into the bar for a drink before dinner. The same young lady who had been in the reception desk was behind the bar, still painting her fingernails and smoking a cigarette.
‘Could I have a dry Martini, please?’ said Blandish.