"Mortimer, John - Rumpole A La Carte" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)
'At last I could stand it no more. I saw an advertisement for this "studio". It seemed so jolly. Music and...' '... Young ladies?' 'That's why I kept it from Marguerite. I thought she might not appreciate...' 'You skipping about with young ladies? I think she'd admire your heroism. Bollard. Tell her you made the supreme sacrifice and got into a purple jump-suit, just for her. And you've lost weight?' 'A few inches.' He sounded modestly pleased. 'As I told you, my trousers hang loose.' ' Superb! Tell her. Bollard. Boast of it to her.' 'That's really your advice to me, Rumpole?' 'Why not? Bring it all out into the open, old darling. The time for secrets is over.' 'Although steps may be taken soon to bring the law into line with good, old-fashioned common sense. Members of the Jury', Oilie Oliphant's summing up was drawing to a close, 'Professor Clympton has chosen not to enter the witness-box and give evidence. But you have had the testimony of Sir Dennis Tolson.' He said this as though the Holy Ghost had given tongue in Number One Court at the Old Bailey. 'Sir Dennis and I come from the same part of England. We have a rule up there in the North, Members of the Jury, Use your common sense. Sir Dennis isn't a stranger to us, is he? I expect some of you brought your sandwiches in Tolson's bags, didn't 116 byou? And Sir Dennis is quite sure the Professor was at the meeting when the deceased man fell from the stairs. Has he any reason for inventing? Use your common sense. Members of the Jury! Now. Take all the time you need to consider your verdict.' With these words ringing in their ears, the Jury retired and I went out into the corridor to light a small cigar, walk up and down and hope for victory. As I was so engaged I met the Professor of Classics wandering vaguely, and I offered to buy him a coffee in the Old Bailey canteen. This fluid now comes from a machine which also emits tea, cocoa and soup, these beverages being indistinguishable. We sat at a table in a corner of the big room, among the witnesses, families, barristers and police officers engaged in other cases, and I said, 'You're taking a lot of interest in these proceedings?' 'Why not?' Wayfield filled his pipe but didn't get around to lighting it. 'Clive Clympton's a valued colleague.' 'Hayden Charles wasn't such a valued colleague, was he?' 'What do you mean?' Wayfield frowned, as though over a particularly obscure Latin text.
'I've been thinking about those odd words Mrs O'Leary heard. "Oh, temporary", she said, if you remember. "Oh, more is"... As I told you. I don't know much Latin, but didn't Cicero express his disgust with the age he lived in?
Didn't he say, "0 tempora, 0 mores!"? Oh, our horrible times and our dreadful customs!, or words to that effect?' 'Cicero said that. Yes.' Wayfield seemed surprised I knew such things, and I wouldn't have done had I not spent a good ten minutes with he Oxford Dictionary of Quotations.
'And did a Classics Professor,' I asked him then, 'shout it on the staircase, furious with the man who was going to stop its study at Gunster University?' I don't understand what you're saying, Mr Rumpole.' For once in his life, I thought, Martin Wayfield wasn't telling the truth. He lied without any talent.
'Don't you. Professor Wayfield? "Licking the boots of the Chancellor" and turning Gunster into a training-ground for 117 1 bankers and accountants? You heard Clympton say that and you thought it was a pretty good description of Charles's activities. So good, in fact, that it was worth shouting at him again on the stairs.' 'Mr Rumpole, you argued dive's case very well, but...' Wayfield tried an unconvincing bluster which also didn't suit him.
'But the Vice-Chancellor was seized by the throat with a strong grasp. I've felt your handshake. Professor. He was thrown against the banister by someone who thought all he believed in, his whole life, was threatened. Isn't that possible?' 'Just who is suggesting that?' 'Oh, no one but me. If anyone else does, I'll make them prove it. There's really no evidence, except for a rough translation from the Latin.' Wayfield said nothing to that, but he took out his diary, tore a scrap of paper out of it and wrote something down. 'Look, if you're ever in Gunster again,' he said, 'do ring me. We could have dinner. I'll give you my number.' 'Thank you. Professor. I think I'll give Gunster a wide berth from now on.' 'Here's the number, anyway.' And he handed me the scrap of paper, just as Mizz Liz Probert, whom I had left downstairs to await events, came to tell us that the Jury were back with a.1 verdict.
'I suppose I'm expected to thank you.' Clive Clympton parted from me with a singular lack of grace.
'No need. I get people off murder charges every day of the week. It's just part of the Rumpole service.' 'Couldn't you have done it without Tolson?' 'Probably not. Silence may be golden but it can also be extremely dangerous. It tends to give people ideas.' So Professor Clympton went back to Gunster. Whether or not he ended up with Mercy Charles I don't know, but young Audrey Wystan took up a teaching job in America and we didn't see her again. In due course Martin Wayfield retired to Devon to write a new life of Cicero, but died before the task 118could be completed. Claude Erskine-Brown's difficulties were solved more easily. He told me that Phillida and he were on excellent terms again. 'How did you manage that?' I asked him. 'Did you teach Uncle Tom to sing the love duet?' 'Oh, no. I told her the truth. I said you'd persuaded me to take Liz Probert secretly to the Opera to settle a problem in Chambers. I made it perfectly clear that the whole wretched business was entirely your fault.' It is the touching loyalty of my fellow hacks that's such a feature of the great camaraderie of the Bar.
On the day I won R. v. Clympton, the Gunster murder, I returned home to the mansion flat, went into the kitchen, poured myself a sustaining glass of Chateau Fleet Street, and hoped to enjoy a post-mortem on my triumph with She Who Must Be Obeyed as she prepared supper for the hero of Court Number One.
'You know what first gave me the idea?' I told her. 'When the Prosecution moved the case to London. It wasn't for the Professor's benefit; they were afraid of Ostlers on the Jury who might let their fellow Ostler off. You see the point, don't you, old thing?' Hilda answered with a stunning silence.
'Secrets! It's extraordinary, Hilda. The secrets people think important. Take my Professor, now. He'd rather risk prison than break his oath of secrecy to a lot of middle-aged businessmen tricked out in fancy dress in a hotel dining-room.
You follow me?' But once again, answer came there none. 'Of course, he wanted it all ways. He wanted to be the hero of the young. And he wanted the secret help of the Ancient Order of Ostlers. Do you see the point?' I sent out words like soldiers to battle and they never returned. 'Oh, thanks,' I said, 'always glad of your opinion, Hilda. So he resorted to silence. It's what everyone does when life gets too difficult. Take cover in silence.
wrap silence round your ears like a blanket. If you say nothing, you can't come to any harm. But no one can keep silent forever. You get lonely. You have to say something some time.
Unless you're struck dumb by some unfortunate disease. Is at your problem, Hilda?' But my wife, peeling potatoes, seemed unaware of my existence.
119 bankers and accountants? You heard Clympton say that and you thought it was a pretty good description of Charles's activities. So good, in fact, that it was worth shouting at him again on the stairs.' 'Mr Rumpole, you argued dive's case very well, but...' Wayfield tried an unconvincing bluster which also didn't suit him.
'But the Vice-Chancellor was seized by the throat with a strong grasp. I've felt your handshake. Professor. He was thrown against the banister by someone who thought all he believed in, his whole life, was threatened. Isn't that possible?' 'Just who is suggesting that?' 'Oh, no one but me. If anyone else does, I'll make them prove it. There's really no evidence, except for a rough translation from the Latin.' Wayfield said nothing to that, but he took out his diary, tore a scrap of paper out of it and wrote something down. 'Look, if you're ever in Gunster again,' he said, 'do ring me. We could have dinner. I'll give you my number.' 'Thank you. Professor. I think I'll give Gunster a wide berth from now on.' 'Here's the number, anyway.' And he handed me the scrap of paper, just as Mizz Liz Probert, whom I had left downstairs to await events, came to tell us that the Jury were back with a verdict.
'I suppose I'm expected to thank you.' Clive Clympton parted from me with a singular lack of grace.
'No need. I get people off murder charges every day of the week. It's just part of the Rumpole service.' 'Couldn't you have done it without Tolson?' 'Probably not. Silence may be golden but it can also be extremely dangerous. It tends to give people ideas.' So Professor Clympton went back to Gunster. Whether or noi he ended up with Mercy Charles I don't know, but young " Audrey Wystan took up a teaching job in America and we didn't see her again. In due course Martin Wayfield retired to Devon to write a new life of Cicero, but died before the task 118could be completed. Claude Erskine-Brown's difficulties were solved more easily. He told me that Phillida and he were on excellent terms again. 'How did you manage that?' I asked him. 'Did you teach Uncle Tom to sing the love duet?' 'Oh, no. I told her the truth. I said you'd persuaded me to take Liz Probert secretly to the Opera to settle a problem in Chambers. I made it perfectly clear that the whole wretched business was entirely your fault.' It is the touching loyalty of my fellow hacks that's such a feature of the great camaraderie of the Bar.
On the day I won R. v. Clympton, the Gunster murder, I returned home to the mansion flat, went into the kitchen, poured myself a sustaining glass of Chateau Fleet Street, and hoped to enjoy a post-mortem on my triumph with She Who Must Be Obeyed as she prepared supper for the hero of Court Number One.
'You know what first gave me the idea?' I told her. 'When the Prosecution moved the case to London. It wasn't for the Professor's benefit, they were afraid of Ostlers on the Jury who might let their fellow Ostler off. You see the point, don't you, old thing?' Hilda answered with a stunning silence.
'Secrets! It's extraordinary, Hilda. The secrets people think important. Take my Professor, now. He'd rather risk prison than break his oath of secrecy to a lot of middle-aged businessmen tricked out in fancy dress in a hotel dining-room.
You follow me?' But once again, answer came there none. 'Of course, he wanted it all ways. He wanted to be the hero of the young. And he wanted the secret help of the Ancient Order of Ostlers. Do you see the point?' I sent out words like soldiers to battle and they never returned. 'Oh, thanks,' I said, 'always glad of your opinion, Hilda. So he resorted to silence. It's what everyone does when life gets too difficult. Take cover in silence.
Wrap silence round your ears like a blanket. If you say nothing, you can't come to any harm. But no one can keep silent forever. You get lonely. You have to say something some time.
Unless you're struck dumb by some unfortunate disease. Is that your problem, Hilda?' But my wife, peeling potatoes, seemed unaware of my existence.
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