"Mortimer, John - Rumpole on Trial" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

Didn't we decide we were full up at the last Chambers meeting?' 'I say, you must be old Rumpole!' Young Wisbeach was looking at me as though I were some extinct species still on show in the Natural History Museum.

'I'm afraid I've got very little choice in the matter,' I had to admit.

'You're not still practising, are you?' Charlie Wisbeach had the gall to ask.

'Not really. I suppose I've learned how to do it by now.' 'Oh, but Claude Erskine-Brown told me you'd soon be retiring.' 'Did you, Claude? Did you tell young Charlie that?' I turned upon the treacherous Erskine-Brown the searchlight eyes and spoke in the pained tones of the born cross-examiner.

'Well, no. Not exactly, Rumpole.' The man fumbled for words. 'Well, of course, I just assumed you'd be retiring some time.' 'Don't count on it, Erskine-Brown. Don't you ever count on it!' 'And Claude told me that when you retired, old chap, there might be a bit of space in your Chambers.' The usurper Wisbeach apparently found the situation amusing. 'A pretty enormous space is what I think he said. Didn't you, Claude?' 'Well no, Charlie. No... Not quite.' Erskine-Brown's embarrassment proved his guilt.

'It sounds like an extremely humorous conversation.' I gave them both the look contemptuous.

'Charlie has a pretty impressive C.V., Rumpole.' ErskineBrown tried to change the subject as his newfound friend gave him another slurp.

'See what?' 'Curriculum vitae. Eton...' 'Oh. Good at that as well, is he? I thought it was mainly drinkin'.' 'Claude's probably referring to the old school.' Wisbeach could not, of course, grasp the Rumpole joke.

'Oh, Eton! Well, I've no doubt you'll rise above the handicaps of a deprived childhood. In somebody else's Chambers.' 'As a matter of fact Claude showed me your room.' Wisbeach gave the damning evidence. 'Very attractive accommodation.' 'You did what, Claude?' 'Charlie and I... Well, we... called in to see you. But you were doing that long arson in Snaresbrook.' 'Historic spot, your room!' Wisbeach told me as though I'd never seen the place before. 'Fine views over the churchyard.

Don't you look straight down at Dr Johnson's tomb?' 'It's Oliver Goldsmith's, as it so happens.' Eton seemed to have done little for the man's store of essential knowledge.

'No, Johnson's!' You can't tell an old Etonian anything.

'Goldsmith,' I repeated, with the last of my patience.

'Want to bet?' 'Not particularly.' 'Your old room needs a good deal of decorating, of course.

And some decent furniture. But the idea is, we might share.

While you're still practising, Rumpole.' 'That's not an idea. It's a bad dream.' I directed my rejection of the offer at Erskine-Brown, who started up a babble of 'Rumpole! Think of the work that Wisbeach could send us!' 'And I would like to let it be known that I still have work of my own to do, and I do it best alone. As a free spirit!

Wrongs are still to be righted.' Here I drained my plonk to the dregs and stood up, umbrella in hand. 'Mr Justice Graves is still putting the boot in. Chief Inspector Brush is still referring to his unreliable notebook. And an eight-year-old Timson has been banged up against her will, not in Eton College like you. Master Charlie, but in the tender care of the Crockthorpe Local Authority. The child is suspected of devil-worship. Can you believe it? An offence which I thought went out with the burning of witches.' 'Is that your case, Rumpole?' Erskine-Brown looked deeply interested.

'Indeed, yes. And I have a formidable opponent. None other than Mizz Liz Probert, with the full might of the Local Authority behind her. So, while there are such challenges to be overcome, let me tell you, Claude, and you, Charlie Whatsit, Rumpole shall never sheath the sword. Never!' So I left the bar with my umbrella held aloft like the weapon of a crusader, and the effect of this exit was only slightly marred by my colliding with a couple of trainee solicitors who were blocking the fairway. As I apologized and lowered the umbrella I could distinctly hear the appalling Wisbeach say, 'Funny old buffer!' In all my long experience down the Bailey and in lesser courts I have not known a villain as slithery and treacherous as Claude Erskine-Brown proved on that occasion. As soon as he could liberate himself from the cuckoo he intended to place in my nest, he dashed up to Equity Court in search of our Head of Chambers, Samuel Ballard, Q.c. Henry, who was working late on long-delayed fee notes, told him that Soapy Sam was at a service with his peer group, the Lawyers As Christians Society, in the Temple Church. Undeterred, Claude set off to disturb the holy and devoutly religious Soapy at prayer. It was, he told a mystified Henry as he departed, just the place to communicate the news he had in mind.

I am accustomed to mix with all sorts of dubious characters in pursuit of evidence and, when I bought a glass of Pommeroy's for a L.A.C. (member of the Lawyers As Christians Society), I received an astonishing account of Claude's entry into Evensong. Pushing his way down the pew he arrived beside our Head of Chambers, who had risen to his feet to an organ accompaniment and was about to give vent to a hymn.

Attending worshippers were able to hear dialogue along the following lines.

'Erskine-Brown. Have you joined us?' Ballard was surprised.

'Of course I've joined L.A.C.S. Subscription's in the post. But I had to tell you about Rumpole, as a matter of urgency.' 'Please, Erskine-Brown. This is no place to be talking about such matters as Rumpole.' ''Devil-worshippers. Rumpole's in with devil-worshippers,' Claude said in a voice calculated to make our leader's flesh creep.

However, at this moment, the hymn-singing began and Ballard burst out with: God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.

Betraying a certain talent for improvisation, my informant told me that he distinctly heard Claude Erskine-Brown join in with: 'Rumpole in his mischievous way Has taken on a case About some devil-worshippers.

He's had them in your place!

Your Chambers, I mean.' At which point Ballard apparently turned and looked at the conniving Claude with deep and horrified concern.