Brief Tales From The Bench

by Henry Cecil

  ‘Isn’t the reason,’ said counsel, ‘that there was no real gambling by my client, and you were just keeping the money out of the sight of my client’s wife, and his legal advisers?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Sandy, ‘and I’ve witnesses to prove it.’

  And Sandy called his witnesses, eight of them altogether, including his partner Mac, the barman, the doorman, and several members of the club. The number of the witnesses was impressive, but the quality of the evidence was less so. When all the evidence was over, I said to counsel for the plaintiff: ‘Mr Grove, in one of your questions to Mr Morton, you asked him if the whole object of the exercise wasn’t to keep the money out of the sight of Mrs Hull and her legal advisers. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  ‘You might have added to Mrs Hull and her legal advisers, the Divorce Court, mightn’t you?’

  ‘What does your honour mean?’ asked counsel.

  ‘The object of the exercise,’ I said, ‘if your client was right, was to keep this £500 from the sights of the Divorce Court, so that any order for alimony or maintenance that might be made would not take into account this £500. Your client wanted that Court to believe that he no longer had the £500.’

  ‘I suppose that’s right, your honour,’ said counsel.

  ‘In other words,’ I said, ‘he wanted to deceive the Divorce Court into thinking he had £500 less than in fact he had.’

  ‘Deceive is rather a strong word, your honour,’ said counsel.

  ‘You tell me a more appropriate one,’ I said. But counsel did not reply.

  ‘Well,’ I went on, ‘what would you suggest I substitute for “deceive”? This is the truth, isn’t it? Your client wanted not only to deceive his wife, but the court to which his wife went as well.’

  ‘I can’t really dispute that, your honour.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if it’s right, how can your client recover money which he handed to the defendant in pursuance of a conspiracy to deceive the Divorce Court?’

  ‘It would be outrageous,’ said counsel, ‘if the defendant were allowed to keep the money, if my client’s story is right.’

  ‘I rather agree,’ I said, ‘but will this court help your client to recover money which he deposited for the express purpose of deceiving another court? Surely it would be against public policy.’

  ‘But will it not be equally against public policy,’ argued counsel, ‘for the defendant, who is just as much to blame, to keep this money? It’s barefaced robbery.’

  ‘I can’t pretend,’ I said, ‘that, if what your client says is true, I have any sympathy with the defendant. But you know the maxim in pari delicto. Where the parties are equally at fault, the defendant wins.’

  ‘Your honour, the defendant hasn’t taken this point,’ said counsel.

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but I have a duty to take it. If you want time to consider the matter, I’ll grant you an adjournment.’

  So I granted an adjournment, but before I did so, I said: ‘I should like to make it plain to the parties that subject to anything they may say, if I decide this case against the plaintiff on the ground I’ve mentioned, I shall make no order for costs. If the plaintiff’s story is the true one, he certainly doesn’t deserve to win his case. The man who goes in for trickery of that kind doesn’t deserve to receive any help from any court. But, although for that reason the defendant may win, he also deserves to receive no assistance from the court, and he won’t get his costs of defending the case.’

  So the case was adjourned. It never came back to me to finish. The plaintiff withdrew his claim and each side paid its own costs. I must say that I should have liked to have been able to order that the money should be forfeited to the state. But that was not possible.

  I can’t pretend that I liked the idea of the defendant being allowed to keep the money, but I had no sympathy for the plaintiff, who no doubt learned that who sups with the devil must have a long spoon, and that his wasn’t long enough.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Truth

  Although in most cases the truth does emerge, however difficult it may at one time seem to arrive at it, there are some cases where it is practically impossible to be certain that one has arrived at it. In the case which forms the subject matter of this story, it appeared at one time that each party, telling an absolutely contradictory account of what had happened, must be telling the truth. And yet one was not. But which?

  Mrs Laverton sued Mr Buckland for £300. And this is what she swore had happened. She said that she was sitting in a public house when a man got into conversation with her. She chatted to him for some little time about nothing in particular, and then he asked her why she’d been looking at the advertisements in the paper.

  ‘Are you looking for a job?’

  ‘No. As a matter of fact I’m looking for a house.’

  The man, who turned out to be Mr Buckland, the defendant, then said that it was a great piece of luck they had met.

  ‘Are you an estate agent?’ asked Mrs Laverton. ‘I suppose you are, and that’s why you’re not easily snubbed.’

  But Mr Buckland said that he was not an estate agent, and he added that he was not easily snubbed either.

  ‘I’m in pepper, as a matter of fact,’ he said.

  ‘Pepper!’ exclaimed Mrs Laverton.

  ‘Now don’t say I don’t look like a pepper merchant,’ said Mr Buckland. ‘You’ve never seen one before.’

  ‘How can a pepper merchant help me with a house?’

  Mr Buckland said that that was a very fair question and that the reason he could help was because he’d got a friend who was an estate agent. He then asked her what sort of a house she was looking for. She explained that she was looking for a rooming house as an investment. Mr Buckland asked her how much capital she had, and she explained that she only had £300.

  ‘£300,’ repeated Mr Buckland. ‘That isn’t much, but let me think. If we could find something for about £5,000. Let me see. Eight letting rooms should bring in thirty-five quid a week. Deposit £500, £4,500 on mortgage. Repayment over fifteen years. Say £50 a month. Dead easy. You find £300, I find £200.’

  Mrs Laverton said she was a little taken aback at the speed shown by Mr Buckland.

  ‘You’re going a bit fast,’ she said. ‘Who said you were in it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t mind as a sideline,’ said Mr Buckland, ‘but not if you can manage by yourself.’

  ‘Are those figures you mentioned right?’ asked Mrs Laverton.

  ‘More or less,’ said Mr Buckland.

  Mrs Laverton thought for a bit. She knew that £300 was very little. And, if the man would genuinely bring in another £200, it might make it much easier for her to find her investment. Rather hesitantly she agreed to go into the matter further. She said that she gave Mr Buckland her telephone number, and it was arranged that he should ring her when he’d spoken to his friend the estate agent. A few days later he did ring and said that the estate agent had got a house for them, and he suggested that they should see it at once. Mrs Laverton went to meet them, and was introduced by Mr Buckland to the estate agent, Mr Winchcombe.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Mr Winchcombe. ‘I’m afraid I shan’t be able to come with you to the house. I’m wanted at the office. But I’ve given the key to Mr Buckland. It’s only a few minutes’ walk.’

  ‘Do you think it’s what I want?’ asked Mrs Laverton.

  ‘Quite honestly, madam,’ said Mr Winchcombe, ‘and to be perfectly frank about it, I think you will be quite delighted. And it’s dirt cheap.’

  ‘You’ve seen it yourself, then?’ asked Mrs Laverton.

  ‘I won’t make any false pretences, madam,’ said Mr Winchcombe. ‘No, I haven’t. But quite frankly and honestly, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. It was a nursing home you wanted it for?’

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Laverton, ‘it wasn’t, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Oh no, of course,’ said Mr Win
chcombe, ‘that was Mrs Laverton.’

  ‘I am Mrs Laverton.’

  ‘Stupid of me, I know,’ said Mr Winchcombe. ‘Six children and a lot of dogs.’

  ‘No children or dogs,’ said Mrs Laverton.

  ‘Dear me,’ said Mr Winchcombe, ‘I must be slipping. Now you tell me, Mrs Laverton.’

  ‘I want it for a rooming house,’ said Mrs Laverton.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Winchcombe. ‘Well, quite frankly and honestly when I saw this house I said to myself–’

  But Mrs Laverton interrupted.

  ‘You haven’t seen it,’ she said.

  Mr Winchcombe corrected himself: ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘when my principal told me about it, I said to myself, I said “this is the place for Mrs Leonard”.’

  ‘Laverton,’ said Mrs Laverton.

  ‘There I go again,’ said Mr Winchcombe. ‘Now I mustn’t stand gossiping any more, or my principal will think I’m not earning my keep. Go and see it and let us know. Goodbye, Tony boy. Goodbye, Mrs er, Mrs er.’ And Mr Winchcombe left, still repeating ‘Mrs er.’

  Mrs Laverton said that she and Mr Buckland then went to Golders Green to see the house. When they arrived, Mr Buckland said that they were asking £6,500 but he felt sure that they would come down. Mrs Laverton said that she told Mr Buckland that it would fall down before they came down if immediate repairs weren’t done to it.

  ‘It is a bit on the dilapidated side,’ conceded Mr Buckland.

  ‘A bit,’ said Mrs Laverton. ‘It would want thousands of pounds spending on it. I’m not even going in.’

  Mrs Laverton said that Mr Buckland agreed and invited her out to lunch. A few days later he rang her again, and said on this occasion that he really did think they’d got the house they wanted.

  ‘They want £6,000,’ he said, ‘and I don’t think they’ll come down. But if I supply the other hundred, that gives us £600 deposit, and I’m sure we’ll get the £5,400 mortgage easily.’

  ‘What about the repayments?’ asked Mrs Laverton.

  ‘Easy,’ said Mr Buckland. ‘Look, £5,400 for fifteen years will work out about £70 a month. Rates another £15. That’s £85. Nine letting rooms at £4 a time. That’s £36 a week. Simple.’

  Mrs Laverton said that they then went to see the house, that she liked it, and it was left that Mr Buckland should try and arrange the financial side of the transaction.

  She said that a little later he telephoned and said that everything was arranged, and asked if he could come round and collect.

  ‘Collect?’

  ‘Your £300,’ said Mr Buckland. ‘You’ve got it, I suppose?’

  ‘Of course I’ve got it,’ said Mrs Laverton. ‘But why this time of night?’

  ‘I want it first thing in the morning,’ said Mr Buckland.

  ‘Couldn’t I give it to you then?’

  ‘You could,’ said Mr Buckland, ‘but it would be better tonight. I don’t want there to be a slip-up.’

  Mrs Laverton explained that, although she felt a little suspicious about the matter, she was very keen on the transaction, and in view of the fact that she’d seen the house, she didn’t quite see how anything could go wrong. So she told Mr Buckland that he could come round that evening to collect the money. But she added that he must be quiet when he arrived because she had rather a difficult landlord, who didn’t like late visitors.

  ‘I suggest that you whistle “Annie Laurie” when you come to the house, and I’ll come down and let you in.’

  So in due course Mr Buckland arrived, said Mrs Laverton, and she let him in. Unfortunately they made rather a noise going up the stairs, as Mr Buckland stumbled. Mrs Laverton said that she took him into her room and gave him her £300. He counted it out and then gave her a very strange receipt. According to Mrs Laverton, this is what it said: ‘I hereby declare that I, Anthony Buckland, a married man, have this day received from Mrs Laverton the sum of £300 towards the joint purchase of a house. Signed, Anthony Buckland.’

  Mrs Laverton said she asked Mr Buckland why he put in about being a married man, to which Mr Buckland replied that, as he was a married man, there seemed no objection to his saying so.

  Mrs Laverton said that shortly afterwards her landlord arrived and asked to speak to her. She went and spoke to him for a few minutes, and then came back to her room. A minute or two later, she said, Mr Buckland left. After he’d left, she looked for the receipt which had been left on the table under a book, and could find it nowhere.

  The first thing next morning she telephoned to Mr Buckland, but could not get in touch with him. She continued to do this for some days, and eventually called at his house. There she met Mrs Buckland, who showed her the door pretty quickly. She was now, she said, getting very anxious indeed. She had neither her £300, nor the receipt. She wrote to Mr Buckland about it, but received no reply. After this had gone on for a week, she went to the Citizens’ Advice Bureau, who suggested that she should go to a solicitor, and this she did.

  The solicitor immediately took up the matter with Mr Buckland by writing to him, and asking for the £300 back, and an explanation of his behaviour. After about a week he received a reply saying that Mr Buckland denied the whole transaction. He said that he did not owe Mrs Laverton a penny, that he’d never had £300 from her, and he’d never given her a receipt for it, and that he didn’t understand what she was talking about. In consequence of this, the solicitor issued a summons, and this was duly served upon Mr Buckland,

  But, although Mr Buckland had denied owing the money, he did not put in a defence to the summons within the time limited by the rules, and in due course Mrs Laverton’s solicitor obtained judgment against him for £300 and costs. But, as the money wasn’t paid, Mrs Laverton’s solicitor put in execution on Mr Buckland’s goods, at the house where he lived. There was an immediate reaction from Mr Buckland. He applied to have the judgment set aside on the ground that he had gone abroad and forgotten about it, and that in fact he didn’t owe the money.

  The application came in front of me, and I asked Mr Buckland’s solicitor whether, in order to demonstrate his good faith in the matter, Mr Buckland was prepared to bring the whole of the £300 into court to abide the result of the trial. Mr Buckland, through his solicitor, unhesitatingly agreed. Accordingly, as soon as the £300 had been paid into court, I set aside the judgment, and ordered that the action should be tried. I had already ordered Mr Buckland to pay any costs that had been thrown away by his failure to put in a defence in time, and it was obviously just that, if he brought the money into court, he should have an opportunity of putting forward his defence in full.

  So eventually the case came on before me for trial. And Mrs Laverton told to me the story which I have already related. But, before I tell you what Mr Buckland said, I ought to tell you something which happened before he gave his evidence.

  When the case was called on, counsel for the defendant, Mr Buckland, got up and made an application to me.

  ‘Your honour,’ he said, ‘when I came into court this morning, I noticed my friend was looking at some documents. I asked him if they were anything to do with the case, and he said that they were. I then asked him if they were privileged from production, and he said that they weren’t. So I asked if I could see them. To my surprise he said I couldn’t. I asked why not. He said because he wouldn’t show them to me. I said I should apply to your honour. He said that was up to me. So here I am applying to your honour to order my friend to show me the documents.’

  ‘Has there been discovery in the case?’ I asked.

  Perhaps I should explain that ‘discovery’ is a technical legal term, and is the means by which each party, if ordered to do so, has to show the other side all the documents in his possession which are not privileged from production and are material to the case. In the county court there is often no formal order for discovery, and the parties just show each other the documents which they are relying upon.

  ‘No, your honour,’ said counsel. ‘There’s be
en no order for discovery, but the parties have written to each other disclosing various documents, but plainly not those which my friend was looking at.’

  So I asked counsel for the plaintiff why he wouldn’t show the documents.

  ‘Because,’ he said, ‘in my opinion it would not be in the interests of justice to do so.’

  Now I knew that this was one of those cases where there were very good reasons for believing both parties, and yet one was lying. And knowing the difficulty of arriving at the truth in such cases, I must admit that I was ready to welcome anything which would show where the truth lay. The plaintiff’s counsel said that it was not in the interests of justice to show the documents at that stage. And I decided to leave things as they were.

  ‘As there’s been no actual order for discovery,’ I said, ‘and there is no application for an adjournment in order to obtain one, I shall say nothing further in the matter. Let the case proceed.’

  Before Mr Buckland gave his evidence, Mrs Laverton was of course cross-examined by Mr Buckland’s counsel about her story. Among other things she was asked these questions: ‘Mrs Laverton,’ asked counsel, ‘you say that this £300 was the whole of your savings.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Out of what had you saved them?’

  ‘Out of my earnings. I worked in a shop for three years.’

  ‘And where did you keep them?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Rather dangerous, wasn’t it,’ asked counsel, ‘to keep such a large sum at home?’

  ‘I suppose so, but I liked the idea of having it by me when the time came.’

  ‘Have you never heard of the Post Office Savings Bank?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why not put the money into that? It’s much safer, and you’d get a little interest.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Had you, by any chance, a Post Office Savings account, Mrs Laverton?’ asked counsel.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I had,’ said Mrs Laverton. ‘I have the book here.’

  The book showed that she’d never had more than £50 in the account.