John Mortimer - Rumpole 1 - Rumpole of The Bailey

by Rumpole of The Bailey(lit)

  'Did you?' I looked at him. 'I'm sure you did. Well, point two, the perjury was forging a passport application. I've already checked it. And point three.' 'Point three, Mr Rumpole. You're sacked.' Leslie's voice was high with anger. I felt grateful we weren't in a turning off Stepney High Street on a dark night.

  'May I ask why?' 'You got that judge's back up proper. He'll do for Petey. Good afternoon, Mr Rumpole. I'm taking you off the case.' ' I don't think you can do that.' He'd started to walk away, but now turned back with a look of extreme hostility.

  'Oh don't you?' 'The only person who can take me off this case is my client, Mr Peter Delgardo. Come along Nooks, we'd better go down to the cells.' * 'Your brother wants to sack me.' Petey looked at me with his usual lack of understanding. Nooks acted as a smooth interpreter.

  'The position is, Mr Leslie Delgardo is a little perturbed at the course this case is taking.' 'Mr Leslie Delgardo isn't my client,' I reminded Peter.

  ' He thinks we've got on the wrong side of the judge.' I was growing impatient. 'Would he like to point out to me, strictly for my information, the right side of Mr Justice Prest-cold? What does that judge imagine he is? Court correspondent for The Tailor and Cutter?' I stamped out my small cigar.' Look, Peter, dear old sweetheart. I've abandoned the judge. He'll sum up dead against you. That's obvious. So let the jury think he's nothing but a personal anti-pollution programme who shoves air-wick up his nostrils every time he so much as smells a human being and we might have got somewhere.' 'Mr Leslie Delgardo is definitely dissatisfied. This puts me in a very embarrassing position.' Nooks looked suitably embarrassed.

  'Cheer up, Nooks!' I smiled at him. 'Your position's nothing like so embarrassing as Peter's.' Then I concentrated on my client.' Well. What's it going to be ? Do I go or stay?' Peter began to stammer an answer. It took a long time to come but, when it did, it meant that just one week later, on the day of the Scales of Justice ball, I was making a final speech to the jury in the case of the Queen against Delgardo. I may say that I never saw Leslie, or Basil, or their dear old Mum again.

  'Members of the jury, may I call your attention to a man we haven't seen. He isn't in the dock. He has never gone into that witness box. I don't know where he is now. Perhaps he's tasting the delights of the Costa Brava. Perhaps he's very near this Court waiting for news. I'll call him Mi X. Did Mr X employ that "good man" Tosher MacBride to collect money in one of his protection rackets? Had Tosher MacBride betrayed his trust and was he to die for it? So that rainy night, outside the Old Justice pub in Stepney, Mr X waited for Tosher, waited with this knife and, when he saw his unfaithful servant come out of the shadows, he stabbed. Not once. Not twice. But you have heard the evidence. Three times in the neck.' The jury was listening enrapt to my final speech; I was stabbing violently downwards with my prop when'Prestcold cleared his throat and pointed to his own collar meaningfully. No doubt my stud was winking at him malevolently, so he said, 'Hm!... Mr Rumpole."

  I ignored this, no judge alive was going to spoil the climax of my speech, and I could tell that the jury were flattered, not to say delighted, to hear me tell them, ' Of course you are the only judges of fact in this case. But if you find Peter Delgardo guilty, then Mr X will smile, and order up champagne. Because, wherever he is, he will know... he's safe at last!' Frank Prestcold summed up, as I knew he would, dead against Petey. He called the prosecution evidence 'overwhelming' and the jury listened politely. They went out just after lunch, and were still out at 6.30 when I telephoned Hilda and told her that I'd change in Chambers, and meet her at the Savoy, and I wanted it clearly understood that I wasn't dancing. I was just saying this when the usher came out and told me that the jury were back with a verdict.

  * After it was all over, I looked round in vain for Nooks. He had apparently gone to join the rest of the Delgardos in the great unknown. So I went down to say ' good-bye' to Peter in the cells. He was sitting inert, and staring into the middle distance.

  'Cheer up, Peter.' I sat down beside him. 'Don't look so bloody miserable. My God. I don't know how you'd take it if you'd lost.' Peter shook his head, and then said something I didn't wholly understand.' I was... meant to 1... 1... lose.' 'Who meant you to? The prosecution? Of course. Air Justice Prestcold? Undoubtedly, Fate. Destiny. The Spirit of the Universe? Not as it turned out. It was written in the stars. "Not Guilty of Murder. And is that the verdict of you all? ".' ' That's why they ch... chose you. I was meant to lose.' What the man said puzzled me. I admit it I found enigmatic. I said,'I don't follow.' ' Bloke in the cell while I was w... w... waiting. Used to be a mate of Bernie "Four-Eyes". He told me why me brothers chose you to defend me.' Well I thought I knew why I had been chosen for this important case. I stood up and paced the room.

  'No doubt I have a certain reputation around the Temple, although my crown may be a little tarnished; done rather too much indecent assault lately.' ' He heard them round theP... P... Paradise Rooms. Talking about this old feller Rumpole.' Peter seemed to be pursuing another line of thought.

  'The "Penge Bungalow Murder" is in Notable British Trials. I may have become a bit of a household name, at least in criminal circles.' 'They was 1... looking for a barrister who'd be sure to lose.' 'After this, I suppose, I may get back to better quality crime." The full force of what Peter had said struck me. I looked at him and checked carefully.' What did you say?' ' They wanted me defended by someone they could c... count on for a guilty verdict. That's why they p... p... picked you for it.' It was, appallingly, what I thought he'd said.

  'They wanted to fit me up with doing Tosher,' Peter Delgardo went on remorsetessly.

  'Let me get this clear. Your brothers selected me to nobble your defence?' 'That's it! You w... was to be the jockey Eke.' That pulled me back.

  'How did they light on me exactly? Me... Rumpole of the Bailey?' My entire life, Sherlock Holmes stories, Law degree, knockabout apprenticeship at Bow Street and Hackney, days of triumph in murder and forgery, down to that day's swayed jury and notable victory, seemed to be blown away like autumn leaves by what he said. Then, the words came quickly now, tumbling out of him, 'They heard of an old bloke. Got p... past it. Down to little bits of cases... round the M... M... Magistrates Courts. Bit of a muddler, they heard. With a funny old bioken-down hat on him.' ' The hat! Again.' At least I had bought a bowler.

  ' So they r... reckoned. You was just the bloke to lose this murder, like.' 'And dear old Nooks. "Shady" Nooks. Did he help them to choose me?' I suspected it.

  'Id... don't know. I'm n... n... not saying he didn't.' ' So that's my reputation!' I tried to take stock of the situation, and failed abysmally.

  'I shouldn't've told you.' He sounded genuinely apologetic.

  'Get Rumpole for the defence, and be sure of a conviction.' 'Perhaps it's all lies.' Was he trying to cheer me up? He went on. ' You hear lots of s... s... stories. In the cells under the Bailey.' 'And in the Bar Mess too. They rubbish your reputation. Small cigar?' I found a packet and offered him one.

  'All right.' We lit up. After all, one had to think of the future.

  ' So where does this leave you, Peter ?' I asked him.

  'I'd say, Mr Rumpole, none too s... safe. What about you?' I blew out smoke, wondering exactly what I had left.

  ' Perhaps not all that safe either.' I had brought my old dinner jacket up to Chambers and I changed into it there. I had a bottle of rum in the cupboard, and I gave myself a strong drink out of a dusty glass. As I shut the cupboard door, I noticed my old hat, it was on a shelf, gathering dust and seemed to have about it a look of mild reproach. I put it on, and noticed how comfortably it fitted. I dropped the new, hard bowler into the wastepaper basket and went on to the Savoy.

  'You look charming, my dear.' Hilda, resplendent in a long dress, her shoulders dusted with powder, smiled delightedly at Mrs Marigold Featherstone, who was nibbling delicately at an after-dinner mint.

  'Really, Rumpole.' Hilda looked at me, gently rebuking.

  "She!"

  'She
?' Marigold was mystified, but anxious to join in any joke that might be going.

  'Oh "She",' I said casually. 'A woman of fabulous beauty. Written up by H. Rider Haggard.' A waiter passed and I created a diversion by calling his attention to the fact that the tide had gone out in my glass. Around us prominent members of the legal profession pushed their bulky wives about the parquet like a number of fresh-faced gardeners executing elaborate manoeuvres with wheelbarrows. There were some young persons among them, and I noticed Erskine-Brown, jigging about in solitary rapture somewhere in the vicinity of Miss Phyllida Trant. She saw me and gave a quick smile and then she was off circling Erskine-Brown like an obedient planet, which I didn't consider a fitting occupation for any girl of Miss Trant's undoubted abilities.

  'Your husband's had a good win.' Guthrie Featherstone was charting to Hilda.

  ' He hasn't had a "good win ", Guthrie.' She put the man right. ' He's had a triumph!' 'Entirely thanks... to my old hat." I raised my glass. 'Here's to it!' 'What?' Little of what Rumpole said made much sense to Marigold.

  'My triumph, indeed, my great opportunity, is to be attributed solely to my hat!' I explained to her, but She couldn't agree.

  'Nonsense!"

  'What?' 'You're talking nonsense,' She explained to our hosts. 'He does, you know, from time to time. Rumpole won because he knows so much about blood.' 'Really?' Featherstone looked at the dancers, no doubt wondering how soon he could steer his beautiful wife off into the throng. But Hilda fixed him with her glittering eye, and went on, much like the ancient mariner.

  'You remember Daddy, of course. He used to be your Head of Chambers. Daddy told me. "Rumpole", Daddy told me. In fact, he told me that on the occasion of the Inns of Court summer ball, which is practically the last dance we went to.' ' Hilda!' I tried, unsuccessfully, to stem the flow.

  'No. I'm going to say this, Horace. Don't interrupt! "Horace Rumpole", Daddy told me, "knows more about bloodstains than anyone we've got in Chambers."' I noticed that Marigold had gone a little pale.

  'Do stop it, Hilda. You're putting Marigold off.' 'Don't you find it,' Marigold turned to me, 'well, sordid sometimes?' 'What?' ' Crime. Don't you find it terribly sordid?' There was a silence. The music had stopped, and the legal fraternity on the floor clapped sporadically. I saw Erskine-Brown take Miss Tram's hand.

  ' Oh, do be careful, Marigold!' I said.' Don't knock it.' 'I think it must be sordid.' Marigold patted her lips with her table napkin, removing the last possible trace of after-dinner mint.

  'Abolish crime,' I warned her, 'and you abolish the very basis of our existence!' 'Oh, come now, Horace!' Featherstone was smiling at me tolerantly.

  'He's right,' Hilda told him. 'Rumpole knows about bloodstains.' 'Abolish crime and we should all vanish.' I felt a rush of words to the head. 'All the barristers and solicitors and dock officers and the dear old matron down the Old Bailey who gives aspirins away with sentences of life imprisonment. There'd be no judges, no Lord Chancellor. The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police would have to go out selling encyclopaedias.' I leant back, grabbed the wine from the bucket, and started to refill all our glasses. 'Why are we here? Why've we got prawn cocktail and duck & I'orange and selections from dear old Oklahoma} All because a few villains down the East End are kind enough to keep us in a regular supply of crime.' A slightly hurt waiter took the bottle from me and continued my work.

  ' Don't you help them ?' Marigold looked at me, doubtfully.

  'Don't I what?' 'Help them. Doing all these crimes. After all. You get them off.' 'Today,' I said, not without a certain pride. 'Today, let me tell you, Marigold, I was no help to them at all. I showed them...no gratitude!' 'You got him off!' 'What?' ' You got Peter Delgardo off.' 'Just for one reason."

  'What was that?' ' He happened to be innocent.' 'Come on, Horace. How can you be sure of that?' Feather-stone was smiling tolerantly but I leant forward and gave him the truth of the matter.

  'You know, it's a terrifying thing, my learned friend. We go through all that mumbo jumbo. We put on our wigs and gowns and mutter the ritual prayers. "My Lord, I humbly submit." "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have listened with admirable patience..." Abracadabra. Fee Fo Fi Bloody Fum. And just when everyone thinks you're going to produce the most ludicrously faked bit of cheese-cloth ectoplasm, or a phoney rap on the table, it comes. Clear as a bell. Quite unexpected. The voice of truth!' I was vaguely aware of a worried figure in a dinner jacket coming towards us across the floor.

  'Have you ever found that, Featherstone? Bloody scaring sometimes. All the trouble we take to cloud the issues and divert the attention. Suddenly we've done it. There it is! Naked and embarrassing. The truth!' I looked up as the figure joined us. It was my late instructing solicitor.

  ' Nooks. "Shady " Nooks!' I greeted him, but he seemed in no mood to notice me. He pulled up a chair and sat down beside Featherstone.

  'Apparently it was on the nine o'clock news. They've just arrested Leslie Delgardo. Charged him with the murder of Tosher MacBride. I'll want a con with you in the morning.' I was left out of this conversation, but I didn't mind. Music started again, playing a tune which I found vaguely familiar. Nooks was muttering on; it seemed that the police now knew Tosher worked for Leslie, and that some member of the rival Watson family may have spotted him at the scene of the crime. An extraordinary sensation overcame me, something I hadn't felt for a long time, which could only be described as happiness.

  'I don't know whether you'll want to brief me for Leslie, Nooks,' I raised a glass to old 'Shady'. 'Or would that be rather over-egging the pudding?' And then an even more extraordinary sensation, a totally irrational impulse for which I can find no logical explanation, overcame me. I put out a hand and touched She Who Must Be Obeyed on the powdered shoulder.

  'Hilda.' 'Oh yes, Rumpole?' It seemed I was interrupting some confidential chat with Marigold.' What do you want now?' 'I honestly think.' I could find no coherent explanation. 'I think I want to dance with you.' I suppose it was a waltz. As I steered Hilda out onto the great open spaces it seemed quite easy to go round and round, vaguely in time to the music. I heard a strange sound, as if from a long way off.

  'I'll have the last waltz with you, Two sleepy people together...' Or words to that effect. I was in fact singing. Singing and dancing to celebrate a great victory in a case I was never meant to win.

  The End