"Mortimer, John Clifford - Rumpole 01 - Rumpole of the Bailey" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

'Used to be a decent area,' he continued, 'Balaclava Road. Until that lot got their foot in the door. Squatters, are they?' 'They've got a nine-year lease. And they've all got jobs. The only fellows scrounging off the State, Tooke, are you and I!' ' Really Rumpole ?' Tooke looked pained.

' Well, they're paying you on the rates, aren't they?' 'Most amusing!' He looked as if I'd pointed out a bad case of foot and mouth in the herd, but he offered me a cigarette from a gold case. I refused and produced the remains of a small cigar from the waistcoat pocket. Tooke ignited it with a gold lighter.

'Is this going to take long?" he asked anxiously. 'Coldsands gymkhana tomorrow. We tend to make it rather a day out.' 'Take long? I don't suppose so. It's quite a simple point of law.' 'Law, Rumpole... Did you say law?" The casually dropped word seemed to fill Tooke with a certain amount of dread.

' That's right. You do have law, I suppose, down on the Western Circuit?' I left Tooke and moved towards the commune. A young man with dark hair and a permanent frown who seemed to be their leader greeted me, as I thought, in an unfriendly fashion.

' You her lawyer ?' I admitted it, Kathy, smiling as ever, introduced him to me as a friend of hers, named Dave Hawkins. I speculated, with a ridiculous stab of regret, that the friendship was a close one.

'This is Dave.' 'Oh yes?' 'Will she be going in today?" Dave wanted to be put in the picture.

'In?' 'Into the witness box. I mean, there's something I want her to say. It's pretty important.' I was accustomed to being the sole person in charge of my cases. I put Dave right patiently. 'Dave. May I call you Mr Hawkins? If I were a doctor taking out your appendix, old darling, you wouldn't want Kathy, would you, telling me where to put the knife?' At this point the usher came out of court and called, ' Katherine Trelawny.' 'You'd better answer your bail.' As I said this Kathy gave a little shiver and asked me.' Will they lock me up now?' ' Of course not. Trust me.' The usher called her again. I dropped the remnants of the small cigar on the marble floor of the Shire Hall and ground it underfoot. The lance was in the rest, Sir Galahad Rumpole was about to do battle for the damsel in distress, or words to that effect.

Half-way through the afternoon things were going pretty well. Rice Crispies, doing his job in a very decent fashion, was decidedly interested in the point of agent provocateur. Kathy was smiling in the dock, the commune were gripped by the spectacle, and outside the Court room the baby, unaware of the solemnity of the occasion, was yelling lustily. In the witness box, Detective Sergeant Jack Smedley was looking extremely square, clean shaven and in his natty Old Bill uniform.

' I see Detective Sergeant,' I had the pleasure to put to him, 'you are no longer wearing your beads.' ' Beads ? What beads are those ?' The judge was puzzled.

'I was wearing beads, your Honour, on the occasion of my visits to 34 Balaclava Road.' 'Beads! With the uniform?' His Honour couldn't believe his ears. No one had sported beads in the Navy.

'Not with the uniform! With the embroidered jeans, and the waistcoat of Afghan goat, and the purple silk drapery knotted round your neck.' I pursued my advantage.

' I was in plain clothes, your Honour.' 'Plain clothes, Sergeant? You were in fancy dress!' I rode over a titter from the commune. 'Now perhaps you'll tell the Court. What's happened to your gaucho moustache ?' 'I... I shaved it off.' 'Why?' 'In view of certain comments, your Honour, passed in the Station. It wasn't a gaucho. More a Viva Zapata, actually.' 'A Viva, what was that, Mr Rumpole?' The judge seemed to feel the world slipping away from him.

'The officer was affecting the moustache, your Honour, of a well-known South American revolutionary.' This news worried the old darling on the bench deeply.

'A South American! Can you tell me, officer, what was the purpose of this elaborate disguise?' The witness paused. I filled the gap with my humble submission.

'May I suggest an answer, Sergeant? You took it into your head to pose as a drug dealer in order to trap this quite innocent young woman ...' I had the pleasure of pointing out Kathy in the dock ... 'into taking part in a filthy trade she wouldn't otherwise have dreamed of."

'Well yes, but...' 'What did he say?' Rice Crispies pounced on the grudging admission.

'Your Honour.' The witness tried to start again.

' Shorthand writer, just read me that answer.' There was a long pause while the elderly lady shuffled through her notes, but at last the passage was reproduced.

'... in order to trap this quite innocent young woman into taking part in a filthy trade.'' Well yes, but..."

The judge made a note of that. I could have kissed the old darling. However, I pressed on.

' But what, Sergeant?' ' She wasn't so innocent.' ' What reason had you to suppose that?' 'Her way of life, your Honour.' ' What I want you to tell me, officer, is this.' The judge weighed in in support of Rumpole. 'Did you have any reason to believe that this young woman was dealing in drugs before you went there in your Viva... What?' ' Zapata, your Honour," I helped him along.

'Thank you, Mr Rumpole. I'm much obliged.' 'We had received certain information.' The sergeant did his best to make it sound sinister.

'And will you let us into the secret, officer. What was this information?' ' That Miss Trelawny was the type to get involved.' ' Involved by you?' ' Involved already.' Tooke, who seemed to feel the case was eluding his grasp, rose to his feet. 'I shall be calling the evidence, your Honour, of the neighbour. Miss Tigwell.' ' Very well, Mr Tooke.' 'But if the evidence shows no previous attempt to deal in drugs, then you would agree the whole of this crime was a result of your fertile imagination.' I fired a final salvo at the witness but the judge interrupted me, perfectly fairly.

'Doesn't that rather depend, Mr Rumpole, on the effect of Miss Tigwell's evidence ? When we hear it ?' ' If your Honour pleases. Of course, as always, your Honour is perfectly right!' I rewarded that upright fellow Rice Crispies with a low bow and sat down in a mood of quiet self-congratulation. I hadn't been sitting long before the man, Dave, was at my side, whispering furiously, 'Is that all you're going to ask?' 'You want to have a go?' I whispered back. 'Do borrow the wig, old darling.' The evidence of Kathy's previous malpractices was offered to us in the person of Miss Tigwell who lived opposite at No. 33 Balaclava Road, and whose idea of entertainment appeared to be gazing into the windows of' Nirvana' in the daily hope of moral indignation.

' I could tell exactly what they were.' 'What were they, Miss Tigwell?' 'Perverted. All living higgledy-piggledy. Men and women, black and white.' 'Did your supervision include the bedrooms?' ' Well... No. But they all sat together in the front room.' ' Sat together? What did they talk about?' ' I couldn't hear that.' "They were a community, that's what it comes to. They might well have been Trappist monks for all you knew.' 'I don't know if Air Rumpole is suggesting his client is a Trappist monk.' Tooke made a mistake, he should have left the jokes to me. Rice Crispies didn't smile.