"Mortimer, John - Rumpole A La Carte" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

'They said as they got lent the chara for a free holiday by the firm concerned. And you'll notice the grey-haired old party with his arm round Peanuts' Aunty Dolly.' 'My God, I notice him!' It was none other than the honest witness in person. Whoever is in charge of the universe clearly felt that it was time to do old Rumpole a favour.

'Gerry Jebb,' Fred confirmed it. 'What used to drive getaways for Peanuts' father. Know what I mean?' 'Fred, you're a treasure. Please. Stay for supper.' 'I don't think so, Mr R.' Fred glanced at the chops on offer.

'Look, why don't we attack a Chink?' He stood, ready to be off.

'What are you talking about?' 'Go for a Chinese.' It was simple and offensive, like all the Timsons' Jokes.

'You want a radical Chambers, Mizz Liz? Only way we'll get it is to persuade Claude Erskine-Brown to stop trying to be a whizz kid and go back to the old ways. Then Equity Court'11 be a place fit for freelancers to live in again. We can ride forth like the knights of old and rescue the brothers in distress.' I was walking with Mizz Liz down to the Old Bailey the next morning and putting into operation stage one of my 62 fc: master plan to prevent Chambers slipping off into the twentyfirst century.

'Who's going to persuade Claude?' Liz asked reasonably.

'The person who has the greatest influence on him. The Member of the Bar he'd do anything to impress.' 'You mean, you?' 'No, you! Tell him you liked him better when he was an oldfashioned sort of barrister, keeping up the best traditions of the Bar and taking snuff. Tell him he was much sexier like that. It'd sound better, coming from you.' 'Rumpole!' Mizz Probert was shocked. 'Are you suggesting I exploit my femininity?' 'In a good cause, old thing! And can you think of a better?

Also you might put up with a little Wagner, in the interests of justice.' So we proceeded on towards the workplace. And that was not the only useful conversation I had that morning, for when I had got robed and come downstairs I found Wilfred, Guthrie's old clerk, hovering about the door of the Court. I asked him if the Judge was honouring us with his presence, after having taken yesterday afternoon off. 'Bless you, yes, Mr Rumpole.' Wilfred looked at me with sleepy, crocodile eyes.

'We're not going on strike yet.' 'On strike?' I pricked up my ears.

'We think it might come to it,' Wilfred told me. 'That's what our judge was saying. If the Lord Chancellor wants to put up solicitors over our heads. We may have to take action, Mr Rumpole.' 'Quite right, Wilfred, I'm sure.' I sounded deeply understanding.

'So yesterday afternoon...?' 'Just a taster, Mr Rumpole. Just to show the public we're not to be pushed around. Of course, there was a meeting.' 'A union meeting?' 'A meeting of judges, Mr Rumpole. Some very senior men was there,' Wilfred couldn't help boasting, 'including us.' 'Of course! The brothers. Have you ever thought of that, Wilfred? Judges and trades unionists always call themselves brothers". It doesn't mean they like each other any more.' 63 'I must be off, Mr Rumpole.' Wilfred clearly didn't care for this line of thought. 'I must go and get us on the Bench.' 'Must be quite a heave for you. Some mornings.' 'And, Mr Rumpole. You will try not to twist us round your little finger, won't you? Because we're determined to pot you on this one. I thought we ought to warn you.' 'Very charming of you, Wilfred,' I said as the man went about his business. 'Very charming indeed!' In Court that day we were treated to an entertainment. The place was plunged into darkness and television sets were placed among us on which Ernie Elver's home video played. We saw the pickets shouting at the gates, as the coach driven by the working driver approached them. I sat watching with the photograph Fred Timson had given me in my hand, and, at a vital moment, I reared to my hind legs and called 'Stop!' An officer in charge of the telly pressed a button and the picture froze.

'My Lord. I call on my learned friend, Mr Bollard...' 'Ballard!' Soapy Sam was not in the best of tempers that morning.

'Makes no difference. I call on him to make the following admission. That the young dark-haired man wearing the red jacket on that picket line is otherwise known as Peter "Peanuts" Molloy.' 'I don't suppose your learned friend has any idea.' Guthrie was unhelpful.

'Then let him ask the Detective Inspector in charge of the case. He'll very soon find out.' Ballard had a whispered conversation with D. I. Walcroft and then emerged and admitted grudgingly, 'That would seem to be correct, my Lord.' It was a good moment for the Basher, but as he sat frowning in the dock it seemed that, like most clients, he had very little idea of what was going on.

After his movie show, Ernie Elver was called to give evidence, ( and, as a hard-pressed boss more sinned against than sinning, he clearly had the sympathy of his Lordship. As we got towards the end of his questioning, Ballard asked, 'Mr Elver. Through out this industrial dispute was there any doubt in your mind who the leader was?' 'The man in the dock, my Lord.' Ernie had no doubt.

'Baker?' 'Yes, my Lord.' 'Did he say anything you remember during the negotiations?' 'Yes, my Lord. He said someone was going to get killed if it wasn't settled.' 'Someone was going to get killed.' Guthrie was taking another note with great satisfaction.

'Mr Elver. What was the man Baker's reputation, in industrial disputes?' Ballard's question caused me to rise with the outrage turned up to full volume. 'This is monstrous! If my learned friend's going to practise at the Bar, he ought to do a bit of practising at home. He can't ask questions about reputation!' 'I think we might leave it there, Mr Ballard.' His Lordship poured a little oil on troubled Rumpole. 'After all, the Jury have heard this man's nickname.' Ballard sat down looking displeased and I rose to smile charmingly at the witness I hoped to devour.

'Mr Elver. This dispute at your charabanc garage was about your employing non-union untrained drivers?' 'That's what they said it was.' The big man in the shiny suit grinned at the Jury as though to say. Pull the other one, it's got bells on it.

'And my client took the view, rightly or wrongly, that if you employed these cowboys there might be an accident. Someone might get killed?' 'I wanted to offer the public a wider choice.' Ernie Elver sounded like a party political broadcast and old Claude chimed in with a penetrating whisper, 'Consumer choice. That's the name of the game nowadays.' 'Oh, mind your own business, Mr Erskine-Brown!' I gave him a sharp whisper back. Then I turned to the witness with 'So you wanted to offer the public a choice between good drivers and bad ones who might not know the routes.' 'If you want to put it that way.' Ernie clearly didn't.

'Oh, I do,' I assured him. 'And I suggest that even the most gentle, mild-mannered man might take industrial action in that situation. Take his Lordship...' 'Mr Rumpole?' Guthrie woke up with a start the moment his name was mentioned.

'As you probably know,' I confided in Mr Ernie Elver, 'the powers that be have suggested that solicitors can get jobs as High Court judges. Appeal judges! Lords of Appeal!' 'Mr Rumpole!' His Lordship was about to draw the line.

'These questions are quite irrelevant!' 'Is your Lordship stopping my cross-examination?' Then I said to Mizz Liz in a deafening mutter, 'It's not a particularly long walk to the Court of Appeal.' At the mention of these dreaded words, his Lordship could be heard going into reverse. 'No. No, of course, I'm not stopping you,' he said hurriedly.

'But I fail to understand...' 'Then might I suggest you sit quietly, my Lord. All will become clear.' I was beginning to lose patience with his Lordship, and he came back with a rather sour 'Mr Rumpole. Don't get the idea that you can twist this Court round your little finger!' 'My little finger, my Lord?' I played the retort courteous.

'What an idea!' Then I resumed my conversation with Ernie.

'Solicitors who haven't spent a lifetime arguing in Courts might not be up to the job. That's the suggestion,' I told him.