“Not without evidence. We should not keep our jobs a day if we did.”
“But is not such a ready belief a necessary part of the gossip columnist’s equipment, so that the equivalent of an anonymous letter may be circulated every Sunday by the blessings of modern science to three million readers?”
“Certainly not.”
“I don’t think I want to sit this out,” whispered Marion.
“They finish at four,” said her father. “I’d prefer not to go yet.”
But Mr Doutelle had by no means finished. What other evidence, as distinct from rumour, was there that Sir John had been unofficially compelled to retire? Mr Malcolm Sunway.
“Ah, Mr Sunway. He should be an expert on disciplinary action. Did you know that three years ago he was disbarred, for accepting a bribe in a commercial case?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you know that Sir John Marlowe was a member of the Professional Conduct Committee that investigated his case?”
“I’m not sure if I did at the time. Does it matter?”
“I should have thought that from your experience of the odiousness of human nature you would have supposed it did.”
“I sincerely believe Mr Sunway to be speaking the truth—from inside knowledge and without malice.”
His Lordship lifted himself up and his position. “ To hear the truth about a man, Mr Shorn, do you always go to his enemies?”
“No, my Lord. But the law.…” Roger stopped.
“Go on,” said the judge.
Roger said, picking his words now: “All professional bodies, especially the law with its great reputation for probity, are anxious to avoid publicity over minor scandals in their own ranks. It seemed to me that in a case such as this we were likely to hear more of the truth from outside the profession, or from one who had lately become an outsider.”
Mr Justice Alston frowned thoughtfully at his pen. “The law, Mr Shorn, does not welcome the inquiring journalist, but that is because the inquiring journalist usually gets his facts wrong. You would be mistaken in supposing that the law attempts to cover up in its own interests any scandal which may affect itself. Adequate publicity is always given to disciplinary action taken by the Bar.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Roger knew he was on delicate ground here.
Mr Justice Alston looked at the clock. “ Go on, Mr Doutelle.”
Mr Doutelle said: “ Now this information that Sir John Marlowe stopped a case and discharged the prisoner because the prisoner, a notorious swindler, was his friend—what evidence have you of this statement?”
“ Evidence that the case was stopped. Look up the records. If you examine them you will see that there was an absolutely fool-proof case against Salem. Why else was it stopped? The one local journalist who was covering the case was astonished that it should be. Evidence of Stanley Salem’s own statement to me that it was stopped by Sir John because Sir John was a friend of his and because he, Salem, had influence over Sir John’s girl friend, meaning Mrs Delaney.”
“Do you know that Stanley Salem has claimed at one time or another to be on terms of close friendship with the Duke of Kent, with Onassis, with Queen Juliana, among other? None of them in fact had ever met him.”
“Salem was Robert Delaney’s closest friend, that’s indisputable. Obviously Salem must have met John Marlowe many times. It was an irregularity of the most flagrant kind and contrary to his oaths of office that Marlowe should have presided over the case at all.”
The barrister had a word with his solicitor. “There’s another matter I hope you’ll be able to help me over. Mr Shorn. Today you have put in as evidence these letters, private letters, property belonging to Sir John Marlowe. Could you tell the court how these letters came into your possession?”
“Does that matter?”
His Lordship said: “ You know, Mr Doutelle, I’m inclined to agree with the witness there.”
“If your Lordship pleases, I submit that the manner by which the witness obtained these letters may be very relevant to justification as it is pleaded here.”
The judge looked down at his notes for a moment. “Well, Mr Shorn?”
“I prefer not to say, my Lord.”
Doutelle said: “Did you buy them?”
The judge looked at Mr Lytton, who a moment ago had half risen from his seat in protest. “I think, Mr Doutelle, if you want to persist with that question I shall first have to rule on its admissibility.”
“Well, will he tell us why he prefers not to say?”
Roger straightened up. “ Because it could involve someone else.”
“Do you mean the letters were given you?”
“Not exactly, my Lord.”
“Well,” said the judge, “ there you are. You must make the best of it, Mr Doutelle.”
“I am quite content to leave it there, my Lord. I think that the jury will know what to assume.”
“I’m sure I should not.”
“I mean, my Lord, that they will safely assume that the letters came into Mr Shorn’s possession in a way which reflects discredit upon him.”
“Not even necessarily that. It might only reflect discredit on the person Mr Shorn prefers not to tell us about.”
“As your Lordship pleases.”
Mr Justice Alston again looked at the clock. “Are you nearly finished, Mr Doutelle?”
“No, I shall be some time yet, my Lord.”
“Then I think this would be an appropriate moment to rise. Members of the jury, you will please remember not to discuss the case or any of the evidence with anyone during the adjournment, or let anyone speak to you about it.”
They all got up, Marion rather unsteadily, as the judge walked out. Roger flexed his hands where they had been gripping the edge of the box. Then he came down too.
The first day was over.
Chapter Thirty
Before they left, Don had a word with Whitehouse. “Not bad,” said the solicitor; “ but Shorn is first-rate in the box. That impression of sincerity and integrity. I think, in spite of all we now know, that a lot will turn on the sort of showing Mrs Delaney makes.”
“What do you think the judge feels about it so far?”
“Well, one would expect him to be a little on our side; but I’m a trifle uncertain of Alston. It’s still possible that when he sums up he’ll bend over backwards just to show he has no prejudice against Shorn.”
“Do you want me any more?”
“No, I think not. I’ll ring you in case of need.”
When they had separated Don said to Bennie; “Come back and have tea with us.”
“Thank you, but I’ve my week-end shopping to do. Can I come on Sunday?”
“Can she come on Sunday?” Don said to Joanna.
“All day if she likes,” said Joanna. “We shall all be on edge, and it helps if we can be edgy together.”
“I’m on duty part of Sunday, but I’d love to come to tea.”
Bennie watched them get into their car and drive off. She stood a moment uncertain on the pavement. She had not heard a word from Michael since last Sunday, not even a postcard, and she was feeling worried. Her refusal to go home tea with Don had been more on this account than any other.
She turned back into the Law Courts and found an unoccupied telephone booth. She rang Barlett and Leak. “ Could you tell me if Mr Michael Shorn is there?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Shorn is away ill at the moment. Can I help you?”
“Ill? Er—no, thank you, it’s just a personal matter. When did he come back from Liverpool?”
“Liverpool? I didn’t know he’d been.”
“Yes, but surely you sent him there to attend a Book Week?”
“Not us, madam. He fell and sprained his back last weekend. We understand he’ll be in the office again early next week.”
“Oh—er, thank you. I … must have misunderstood what he said.”
She came out and stood by the box. People were streaming down from the L
aw Courts, among them a few barristers still in their wigs and gowns. Two men went past in black suits and black trilby hats. One said: “But it’s perfectly plain under the Forfeiture Act of 1870, section four. A sum not exceeding £100 by way of satisfaction.”
She went out of the courts and walked to the Temple Underground. She caught a tube for South Kensington. She got out and walked to Roland Gardens. She went up the steps and pressed his bell.
No reply.
After trying three or four times and then turning the handle to see if the door was locked she stood on the stone balustrade of the steps to peer into the living-room. Nothing stirred. She climbed down and tried to see into his bedroom. No one.
She walked back down the street. As she did so a tall man in a mackintosh came from behind a car at the end of the street and walked towards her on the other side. He didn’t look at her and they both went straight on, but she had the impression that he had been watching her.
She found another telephone box and rang Roger.
He answered almost at once. Briefly and irritably: “Yes?”
She imagined him just coming in from that day in the witness-box, still with his coat on, the telephone ringing. “Is Mr Michael Shorn there, please?”
“No, he’s not. Who wants him?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I——”
“You’ll find him at 191 Roland Gardens.”
“Thank you very much.” She rang off.
She walked back to her own flat. Pat was in and ironing a frock. She wanted to know all about the day in court and rather absently Bennie told her. Pat said: “Oh, there is a letter for you. I put it on your bed.”
Bennie went in and, seeing Michael’s writing, fumblingly tore the envelope.
Darling Bennie,
I don’t know how to start this letter or what to say to you. I can only begin by putting it baldly—that I have done something pretty silly and am now in a spot of trouble with the police. I can’t bear to think what you will feel when I tell you this. I can only try to explain by saying that my idea was to have money for when we got married. As you know, I have always kicked bitterly against the idea that I should not be able to give you some of the smaller luxuries of life. I thought that by taking one risk, if I had luck, I might be able to do many of the things I dreamed of doing for you. Well, the luck ran out on me.
Darling, darling Bennie. I suppose, feeling the way you do about right and wrong, this may be more or less the write-off for me. I try to tell myself that it isn’t, that you will find it in your heart to excuse and forgive. Then—perhaps—in a few weeks or months we shall be together again, and—somehow—this will all be forgotten like a particularly nasty dream. Don’t worry about me I’m very safe at the moment where I am, and I’ll let you know about once a week how it goes. Later, when things have cooled off, I’ll send you my address—or even come and see you. I’m not so very far away.
Don’t tell Dad you’ve had this letter. I expect the police will have been round to see him by now, and the less he knows the less he’ll have to hide. If they come to see you, as they well may, please tell them nothing.
I can’t tell you how mad I am with myself that I have got in this mess—and should even be dragging you into it in this way. Really Bennie, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to upset you. I can’t begin to tell you. I could jump under any one of the trains I see from my window. I would if it were not for loving you. That’s the one thing I cling to. I hope you find it in your forgiving heart to love me too.
Devotedly, dejectedly,
Your Michael
“What is it?” said Pat. “Bad news?”
“No, not really, I.…”
“Sit down, you look like a sheet. I’ll get you something to drink.”
“No, it’s all right.”
She held on to the end of the table and lowered herself into a chair while Pat went hurriedly to the cupboard.
“We’ve no brandy, only gin. Was it something in the letter to upset you?”
“I think it’s the stuffy court. No air all day—packed like sardines.”
“Were there so many? Here, try this.”
She drank the gin, choked, coughed. What had she done with the letter? Was it still on the bed? Ah, in her pocket.
“Was the letter from Michael?” said Pat.
She’d seen the writing on the envelope. “ Yes.”
“Don’t tell me he has let you down. After all his persistence when you did not want him.”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” She could see Pat was only half convinced but she let it go.
After a few minutes the blood began to come back to her face. Pat, seeing she wanted to be left alone, went on with her ironing. Bennie went back into her bedroom. She took down some nylon stockings she had washed that morning, put them into a drawer. The sick feeling kept coming over her. She dusted a freckle of powder off the dressing-table, unfastened a small parcel of laundry, put the things away. A shirt blouse had lost a button and she sewed one on. When she put that away she saw in the bottom of the drawer the bathing costume she had last worn at the pool in Surrey.
After a while she came out and went through into the tiny kitchenette, began rummaging about. “ What is it you want, dear?” Pat said.
“I was looking for last Monday’s Evening News.”
“Monday’s? That is a long time. Oh, is this it?”
“Thank you.” Bennie took it back into her bedroom.
She fumbled about with the pages, dropped a sheet and had to pick it up. “ Sloane Street Robbery.” There it was. “Thieves in their twenties. One, a very tall young man, with a public school accent, was surprised.… The other was wounded in the leg by Captain Gilbert’s automatic … trail of blood … made off in car or van parked in vacant lot nearby.”.… “Darling, old Bartlett wants me to go to Liverpool for a Book Week. I hope to be home about Thursday.” “Not us, madam. He fell and sprained his back.”
She took out her letter and read it again. The postmark was London, W.10.
The next morning, after a sleepless night, she went as usual to the hostel.
Sister Frey was concerned as soon as she saw her. “ Bennie, what’s the matter with you? You look ill.”
“Do I? Does it show that much? No, I’m not ill.”
“Then what is it?”
“I just happen to be desperately worried.” Bennie began to sort out into three piles the magazines she had brought. She blinked away tears that had got into her eyes. “ I really am. It’s just one of those things.”
“Can’t you tell me about it?”
Bennie shook her head. “Sooner you than anyone, but.…”
“Don’t stop on if you’d rather not.”
“I’d rather. It helps to occupy me.”
“What time are you off today?”
“Three twenty-five. For Stockholm.”
“It’s a strange life.”
Bennie half smiled. “So’s yours.”
Sister Frey said: “There’s a lot about the libel action in the papers this morning. There seems to be a good leaven of malice in it all.”
“Mary, have you a map of the London postal districts? I want to know where W. 10 is.”
“Yes, I expect so. We seem to have most things. I know we’re W.2.” Mary Frey went to a drawer and took out a small map. They looked at it together. “W.10. Oh, that’s not far away. North Kensington.”
“What’s this?” Bennie asked, suddenly pointing.
“It’s a railway line. It’ll be the main line from Paddington to the west.”
“Mary, have you got a bigger scale map?”
“On the wall behind you, dear. It’s useful, we find, when people here don’t know their way about.…”
Bennie had turned round and was staring at it. With the help of the postal map she was able to isolate a small area where the line ran through the corner of the W.10 district. “Do you know anything about this part?”
Sister Frey looked a
t Bennie’s finger. “ How do you mean, know anything about it?”
“Well, is it a good district, for instance?”
“One of the shadiest, I should think. Notting Dale and the top of Ladbroke Grove. The County Council have been trying to clean it up for years but it’s still pretty grim.”
“The sort of place anyone might hide if they were wanted by the police?”
“I should trunk just that. Bennie, what is it? Do you know someone who’s in trouble?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to find them? Are they somewhere in that district?”
“I think so.”
Mary Frey picked up a pile of sheets. “We’ve four or five women working round there. Why don’t you ask them?”
Bennie stared. “ What, d’you mean they might know—about people corning and going?”
“Yes. It’s just a chance. It might come off.”
“Oh, but surely not. I don’t know what scale this map is but.… There must be thousands of people.”
“Well, I gather you think he’s somewhere near the railway line. That makes it a pretty small area. And there’s a sort of bush telegraph. Of course it was only a suggestion.”
“What do these women do? Which are they?”
“Oh, the usual odd jobs. There’s—let me see—there’s Mrs Carpenter, and Mrs Dean, and Sarah Porteous, and.… Anyway, if you think any more of it call round tomorrow evening when you get back and ask them. They’ll all be here then.”
“All right,” said Bennie after a moment. “ It’ll do no harm. I will.”
They had a tail wind on the homeward flight and touched down half an hour ahead of schedule. The TV Personality had been very difficult. He had complained about the gin, and had had to be shown the bottle to prove it was the brand he asked for, he had refused to eat the lunch and had said it was a disgrace no alternatives were provided; he had bought too many cigarettes and disagreed about the rate they gave him for his kroner. When the flight was over he apologised most charmingly for being such a nuisance. Bennie smiled and said nothing, although her head was cracking. People, she found, often went on like that when they were terrified.
Before leaving the airport she asked for special leave for the Wednesday and Thursday in addition to her usual Tuesday, giving the libel action as her reason. She was at the hostel by four.
The Tumbled House Page 31