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

* JJ So, much to his obvious irritation, a reluctant witness, looking, at that moment, like an extremely displeased frog, was called to the witness-box and I asked him, as soothingly as possible, whether he were Sir Dennis Tolson. j 'I am.' J This simple question an answer produced an outcry from the dock, where my client, foregoing his right to silence at last, began to utter fruitless cries of 'No! I forbid it!', 'I'm not having it!' and 'Stop it, Rumpole! What the hell do you think you're doing?' What I was hoping to do was to get the Professor off, despite all his efforts to land himself in the slammer for life. Fortunately Oilie Oliphant did something useful at last.

'Mr Rumpole,' he said, showing a rare grasp of the facts of the case, 'your client is creating a disturbance!' 'Is he really, my Lord?' I tried to keep calm in spite of the Professor. 'It's these literary chaps, you know. Very excitable natures.' 'Well, he's not getting excitable in my Court. Do you hear that, Clympton? Any more of this nonsense and you'll be taken down to the cells. Now', here the Judge smiled winsomely at the witness, 'did you say. Sir Dennis Tolson?' 'Yes, my Lord.' 'Some of us do our weekly shop at Tolson's Tasty Foods.

Don't we. Members of the Jury?' A few of the more sycophantic jury members nodded and Oilie started to exchange reminiscences with the fat little fellow in the witness-box. 'Sir Dennis, it may interest you to know, I come from your part of England.' 'Is that so, my Lord?' Tolson sounded as though he had received more fascinating information.

'I used to practise often at the old Gunster Assizes,' the Judge went on. 'Never dreamt I'd find myself sitting down here, at the Old Bailey.' I refrained from telling the old darling that it came as a bit of a shock to us too, and asked Sir Dennis J if he attended by summons.

" 'It was served on me last night,' he told us. 'It was most inconvenient.' 'I'm sorry, but it would be most inconvenient for my client 112 "',,.y'to have to go to prison for a crime he didn't commit. Are you an Ostler?' 'A what, Mr Rumpole?' Oilie was clearly having difficulty keeping up.

'A member of the Ancient Order of Ostlers,' I explained.

'An organization with considerable power and influence in the CityofGunster.' At which point the witness raised his arm in what looked like a mixture between a benediction and a Fascist salute and intoned, 'By the Great Blacksmith and Forger of the Universe ?

'That means you are?' I assumed.

'He doesn't permit me to answer that question.' Sir Dennis was also having a go at the right to silence.

'Don't bother about the Great Blacksmith for a moment,' I told him. 'His Lordship is in control here and he will direct you to answer my questions.' 'Provided they're relevant!' Oilie snapped like a terrier at my heels. 'What've you got to say, Mr Mordaunt Bissett?' 'I think the Defence should be allowed to put its case, my Lord.' The not very learned Prosecutor showed some unusual common sense. 'We have to consider the Court of Appeal.' Now, if there's anything which makes Oilie wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night it's the fear of being criticized by that august assembly. 'The Court of Appeal? Yes,' he agreed hastily. 'You're quite right. Get on with it then, Mr Rumpole.

The Jury don't want to be kept here all night, you know.' 'Are most of the important people in Gunster members of the Ostlers?' I asked the witness.

'We are sworn to secrecy.' 'Are they members?' I was prepared to go on asking the question all day if I didn't get an answer.

'Our Ostlers are men of talent and ambition. Yes.' I got a sort of an answer.

'And is membership a path to promotion in local government, for instance, and in the University?' 'An Ostler will do his best to help another Ostler, yes. All Aings being equal.' 113 'And all things being equal, an ambitious English Professor might do well to join you, if he had his eyes on becoming ViceChancellor.

In the fulness of time?' There was a long silence then. I saw my client sit with his arms crossed, his eyes on the ground. He only lifted his head to look at the witness with an unspoken protest when he answered, 'Professor Clympton was one of our members. Yes.

If that's what you're getting at.' 'Thank you. Sir Dennis.' I was genuinely grateful. 'That's exactly what I was getting at. Now did you, by any chance, have a meeting on the night Hayden Charles met his death?' 'As a matter of fact we did.' 'What time did that meeting begin?' 'Our normal time. Nine thirty.' 'Where was it?' 'The usual place.' 'The Gunster Arms hotel?' I remembered Wayfield's story.

'Yes.' 'And when did Professor Clympton arrive?' 'About ten minutes before the meeting was due to begin.' 'That's nine twenty. When Hayden Charles was still alive.

When did he leave?' 'We broke up around midnight. We had a few drinks when the meeting was over.' 'And by eleven o'clock the police had found Hayden Charles dead. And Professor Clympton was with you all the time?

From nine thirty to midnight?' 'Yes. He initiated a couple of candidates and...' 'Thank you. Sir Dennis', I was prepared to spare the witness further embarrassment, 'you can keep the rest of your secrets intact.' I sat down and Mordaunt Bissett got up to start a quite ineffective attempt to repair the fatal damage done to his case.

While this was going on, Mizz Probert asked me in a whisper what on earth a decent left-wing professor thought he was doing with a lot of old businessmen in aprons.

'He was ambitious,' I told her. 'But he'd rather be suspected of murder than let it be known just how ambitious. Perhaps 114 :Lthat's why he'll never thank me. He's lost the young.' And looking behind me at the man in the dock, I saw his face back in his hands, his shoulders bowed and felt some pity for him, but more for young Audrey Wystan who had so admired his outspoken independence of the University establishment.

The case of Claude Erskine-Brown was not going so happily.

He and Uncle Tom were both in our clerk's room when Dianne announced that Mrs Erskine-Brown was on the phone and wanted to speak to the aged golfer in the corner. I was just back from a day's work at the Bailey and I saw Uncle Tom take the call, and was a witness to the agony of Erskine-Brown as he heard how it was going.

'Oh, Mrs Erskine-Brown. Where are you? Winchester Crown Court. Just checking up? Oh.' And then Uncle Tom obliged Claude by saying, 'When you were in Hong Kong, your husband did take me to a show. It was very kind of him indeed. It was my birthday. What was the show called? Just a moment...' Here he put his hand over the instrument and whispered to Claude, 'What was it called?' And received the answer,'Tristan and Isolde.' 'Oh, yes.' Uncle Tom was back in contact with our Portia.

'Tristan and somebody else. No. Claude's not here at the moment. I think he's over in the library. Reading Phipson on Evidence. Yes. It was a most delightful show. Tristan, yes. I'm very fond of a musical, d'you see?' 'Uncle Tom!' Claude, in spite of himself, cried out, fearing what was coming. 'The tunes are unforgettable, aren't they?' Uncle Tom blundered on. 'I was singing to myself all the way home.' And here he burst into song with 'Nothing else would matter in the world today,/We would go on loving in the same old way,/If you were the only girl in the world...' This is not, of course, the best-known number from Wagner's Tristan. Uncle Tom's voice faded as the phone was put down at the other end, and he turned to Claude and asked, amazed that his deception hadn't met with more success, 'Did 1 say something wrong?' All over the place the truth was emerging despite the ii5 conspiracy of silence. Walking to the bus stop, I caught up with Ballard, and greeted him with a cry of 'Hop, skip and jump!' 'What?' Our leader look startled.