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

'Rumpole!' the voice of She Who Must Be Obeyed called to me, no doubt from the banks of Duddon. 'What on earth's going on there?' 'Oh, Hilda. Is it you?', y 'Of course it's me.' 'Having a good time, are you? And did Cousin Everard enjoy his sliver of whatever it was?' 'Rumpole. What's that incredible noise?' 26 r 'Noise? Is there a noise? Oh, yes. I think I do hear music. Well. ' Here I improvised, as I thought brilliantly. 'It's a olay that's what it is, a play on television. It's all about young neople hopping about in a curious fashion.' 'Don't talk rubbish!' Hilda, as you may guess, sounded far from convinced. 'You know you never watch plays on television.' ?e"

'Not usually, I grant you,' I admitted. 'But what else have I got to do when my wife has left me?' Much later, it seemed a lifetime later, when the party was over, I settled down to read the latest addition to my brief in the O'Higgins case. It was a report from Fig Newton, who had been keeping observation on the workers at La Maison. One afternoon he followed Gaston Leblanc, who left his home in Ruislip with a large suitcase, with which he travelled to a smart address at Egerton Crescent in Knightsbridge. This house, which had a bunch of brightly coloured balloons tied to its front door. Fig kept under surveillance for some time. A number of small children arrived, escorted by nannies, and were let in by a manservant. Later, when all the children had been received. Fig, wrapped in his Burberry with his collar turned up against the rain, was able to move so he got a clear view into the sitting-room.

What he saw interested me greatly. The children were seated on the floor watching breathlessly as Gaston Leblanc, station waiter and part-time conjuror, dressed in a black robe ornamented with stars, entertained them by slowly extricating a live and kicking rabbit from a top hat.

For the trial of Jean-Pierre O'Higgins we drew the short straw in the shape of an Old Bailey judge aptly named Gerald Graves. Judge Graves and I have never exactly hit it off. He is a pale, long-faced, unsmiling fellow who probably lives on a diet of organic bran and carrot juice. He heard Ballard open ibe proceedings against La Maison with a pained expression, d looked at me over his half-glasses as though I were a ucepan that hadn't been washed up properly. He was the last Person in the world to laugh a case out of Court and I would "ave to manage that trick without him.

Soapy Sam Ballard began by describing the minor blemishes in the restaurant's kitchen. 'In this highly expensive, allegedly three-star establishment, the Environmental Health Officer discovered cracked tiles, open waste-bins and gravy stains on the ceiling.' 'The ceiling, Mr Ballard?' the Judge repeated in sepulchral tones.

'Alas, yes, my Lord. The ceiling.' 'Probably rather a tall cook,' I suggested, and was rewarded with a freezing look from the Bench.

'And there was a complete absence of nail-brushes in the kitchen handbasins.' Ballard touched on a subject dear to his heart. 'But wait. Members of the Jury, until you get to the ' 'Main course?' I suggested in another ill-received whisper and Ballard surged on ', the very heart of this most serious case.

On the night of May the i8th, a common house mouse was served up at a customer's dinner table.' 'We are no doubt dealing here, Mr Ballard,' the Judge intoned solemnly, 'with a defunct mouse?' 'Again, alas, no, my lord. The mouse in question was alive.' 'And kicking,' I muttered. Staring vaguely round the Court, my eye lit on the public gallery where I saw Mary Skelton, the quiet restaurant clerk, watching the proceedings attentively.

'Members of the Jury', Ballard had reached his peroration, 'need one ask if a kitchen is in breach of the Food and Hygiene Regulations if it serves up a living mouse? As proprietor of the restaurant, Mr O'Higgins is, say the Prosecution, absolutely responsible. Whomsoever in his employ he seeks to blame, Members of the Jury, he must take the consequences. I will now call my first witness.' 'Who's that pompous imbecile?' Jean-Pierre O'Higgins was adding his two pennyworth, but I told him he wasn't in his restaurant now and to leave the insults to me. I was watching a fearful and embarrassed Claude Erskine-Brown climb into the witness-box and take the oath as though it were the last r rites. When asked to give his full names he appealed to the Judge.

'My Lord. May I write them down? There may be some 28 fe nublicity about this case.' He looked nervously at the assembled reporters.

'Aren't you a Member of the Bar?' Judge Graves squinted at the witness over his half-glasses.

'Well, yes, my Lord,' Claude admitted reluctantly.

'That's nothing to be ashamed of, in most cases.' At which the Tudge aimed a look of distaste in my direction and then turned back to the witness. 'I think you'd better tell the Jury who you are, in the usual way.' 'Claude...' The unfortunate fellow tried a husky whisper, only to get a testy 'Oh, do speak up!' from his Lordship.

Whereupon, turning up the volume a couple of notches, the witness answered, 'Claude Leonard Erskine-Brown.' I hadn't know about the Leonard.

'On May the i8th were you dining at La Maison JeanPierre?' Ballard began his examination.

'Well, yes. Yes. I did just drop in.' 'For dinner?'.,;; 'Yes,' Claude had to admit.

'In the company of a young lady named Patricia Benbow?' 'Well. That is... Er... er.' 'Mr Erskine-Brown', Judge Graves had no sympathy with this sudden speech impediment, 'it seems a fairly simple question to answer, even for a Member of the Bar.' 'I was in Miss Benbow's company, my Lord,' Claude answered in despair.

'And when the main course was served were the plates covered?' 'Yes. They were.' 'And when the covers were lifted what happened?' Into the expectant silence, Erskine-Brown said in a still, small voice, 'A mouse ran out.' Oh, do speak up!' Graves was running out of patience with Ae witness, who almost shouted back, 'A mouse ran out, my Lord!' At this point Ballard said, 'Thank you, Mr Erskine-Brown,' and sat down, no doubt confident that the case was in the bag or perhaps the trap. Then I rose to cross-examine.

'Mr Claude Leonard Erskine-Brown,' I weighed in, 'is Miss Benbow a solicitor?' 'Well. Yes...' Claude looked at me sadly, as though wanting to say, Et to, Rumpole?

'And is your wife a well-known and highly regarded Queen's Counsel?' Graves's face lit up at the mention of our delightful Portia.

'Mrs Erskine-Brown has sat here as a Recorder, Members of the Jury.' He smiled sickeningly at the twelve honest citizens.

'I'm obliged to your Lordship.' I bowed slightly and turned back to the witness. 'And is Miss Benbow instructed in an important forthcoming case, that is the Balham MiniCab Murder, in which she is intending to brief Mrs Erskine-Brown, Q.c.?' 'Is, is she?' Never quick off the mark, Claude didn't yet realize that help was at hand.

'And were you taking her out to dinner so you might discuss the Defence in that case, your wife being unfortunately detained in Cardiff?' I hoped that made my good intentions clear, even to a barrister.

'Was I?' Erskine-Brown was still not with me.

'Well, weren't you?' I was losing patience with the fellow.