“Naturally enough, the relatives demanded vengeance. But vengeance cannot be bought. Of course there was no contract and the man could not be shown to have broken the criminal law. All the facts were laid before counsel, and after a lot of thought Harker advised, I think, an action for an account. This meant that, if the action succeeded, the tutor would have to account for the moneys which he had received. It goes without saying that he was a man of straw: so the only satisfaction the relatives could obtain was that the knave would be harassed and, for what it was worth, exposed and, presently, made bankrupt. But that, they felt, was better than nothing. A fifth of a loaf was better than no bread.
“So dim is my memory that I cannot remember what happened. I imagine that the action succeeded. I don’t think it can have failed. But I saw the tutor in court, and if looks are anything to go by, he’d paid a part of his debt. I never saw anyone so hang-dog in all my life. Guilt, shame and fear looked out of his shifty eyes. After all, he had betrayed a solemn trust, robbed his employers right and left and helped to his death the young man committed to his charge.
“And now for the tail-piece, which I remember well.
“About three months later I dined in Cavendish Square. Among the guests was a man who resided abroad, whom the hostess had been asked to receive by a very old friend. ‘You’ll find him very amusing.’
“So we did. He made us all laugh very much. But I found him hard to place. As the women were leaving the table, I managed to ask my host who the stranger was. He whispered back, ‘He’s a fashionable GP – practises in Honolulu.’ When we sat down again, I found myself next to the man.”
“I’ll bet you did,” said Berry.
I laughed.
“I admit I probably worked it. I can’t remember now. Be that as it may, after some general conversation, he and I were talking quietly by ourselves. Presently, ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘have you ever heard of a lady called Margery Daw?’
“My words might have been a spell. I can see the fellow now. He had been about to drink; and there he sat, still as death, with his glass halfway to his lips. With the tail of my eye, I watched the blood leave his face. Then he pulled himself together and set down his glass. ‘Never,’ he said, ‘What makes you think…I should have?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I know she lives in Honolulu, and I thought you might know her name.’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ve never heard of her.’ Then he drank up his port and wiped his face.
“I never saw a change so sudden and so pronounced in all my life. All his assurance had left him, as if it had never been. I had shocked him – raised some spectre he’d never expected to see. Fate, in my innocent person, had tapped him upon the shoulder. And he had been unready – had never dreamed that Fate could so dog his steps.
“As I entered the drawing-room, I saw him approach his hostess and bid her goodbye. She protested, of course, but he made some excuse or other and took his leave.
“So I cut short a very good evening, so far as he was concerned.
“Now what was the explanation, I have no idea. As like as not, it had nothing to do with our case. I can’t remember his name, but it was not that of the doctor who gave the death certificate. And I never pursued the matter. To tell the truth, I felt very guilty about it.”
“Darling, it wasn’t your fault.”
“In a way, it wasn’t. But Margery Daw was clearly a lady of ill report. And since I knew nothing of the stranger, I ought not, perhaps, to have mentioned her name as I did. I mean, I might have led up to it.”
“I don’t blame you at all,” said Berry. “He was clearly a man of the world and you gave him every chance. He could perfectly well have replied, ‘No, I don’t think I know anybody of that name.’ You might not have believed him, but the matter would have been closed. As it was, he lost his nerve – and gave himself clean away. Did you mention the occurrence to Harker?”
“No, indeed. I thought I’d done enough harm. By asking an idle question I’d raised some dreadful ghost, which the poor fellow thought was laid.”
“Very curious,” said Jonah. “Whatever the trouble was, he must have been pretty deep in to take it so hard. Speculation, of course, is vain: but yours was the sort of question that someone from the Yard might have asked.”
“That occurred to me at once. And I am inclined to believe that when I, er, spoke out of turn, he thought he was under surveillance and that he had been asked to dinner at my request. Which would account for his manifest consternation.
“Well, there we are. I’m sorry I can’t remember more of the proceedings themselves; and I fear that, as a story, it’s rather disappointing. But the tail-piece does go to show that truth can be just as strange as fiction; and, in fact, the stage was set for a thriller that might have been worth reading, if someone had been disposed to follow the matter up.”
“I feel,” said Berry, “that a very few words on the English spoken today would not be out of place. And when I say spoken, I mean spoken publicly, particularly on the broadcast and in the House.
“First, as regards the reading of ‘the news’.
“I have always felt that, in view of the very high standing of ‘The BBC News’, and of the fact that it is relayed all over the world, not only should the composition of the bulletins be above reproach, but those appointed to read them should be masters of the English tongue. If this would necessitate the employment of a small, special staff, then this should be done. Such a measure would be well worth while, for in a very short time men, women and children all over the world would come to be taught to regard ‘The BBC News’, not only as reliable, but as a model of excellence – fine prose, accurate pronunciation, flawless enunciation and delivery.
“But, although the composition of the bulletins could be improved, it is the reading of them with which I wish to deal. This is by no means what it was. Stuart Hibberd was impeccable. On all the thousands of occasions on which I listened to his golden voice, I never once heard him fail in any particular. Pronunciation, enunciation, delivery – all were always perfect. The same can by no means be said of his many successors. None enunciate their words as he did. Some make mistakes in pronunciation. I have heard ‘controversy’ pronounced with the accent on the second syllable, and ‘remonstrate’ pronounced with the accent on the first. I have heard ‘formidable’ pronounced with the accent on the second syllable. Only the uneducated made those mistakes when I was young. And pray remember that such solecisms – intolerable in polite conversation – are being received all over the world. Millions of people, who know no better, are going to accept as orthodox those vulgar parodies. I have quoted but three examples, because, to be honest, I can’t remember the others which I have heard: but, though I don’t say that such mistakes are frequent, my point is that not one should ever have occurred. (Oh, I’ve just remembered another – ‘alleging’ with the accent on the first syllable. Can anyone beat that? And yet another – ‘revolt’, with the ‘o’ pronounced not as in ‘jolt’, but as in ‘jolly’.) The enunciation, again, leaves much to be desired, while the impression that the announcer is speaking against time is painfully insistent – an impression which is not only very trying to the ear, but, quite honestly, indefensible. In a word, if an item of news is deemed worthy to be communicated to the world, then let it be presented with dignity.
“Secondly, as regards public speech.
“It is too much to expect that the admirable English once spoken in Parliament should distinguish the House of Commons today. And, of course, I can say nothing of the delivery of the speeches made – though I have an uneasy feeling that Winston stands alone. But one grammatical fault, I can expose. It is often to be heard on the floor of the House and in speeches made elsewhere by eminent men.
“This is, shortly, the use of ‘will’, where ‘shall’ should be used, and of ‘would’, where ‘should’ should be used. I am not going to set out the reasons why the one is right and the other wrong, because, in the first place, I couldn’t do it, and, in the second, Fowler has done it for all time: but this I can say – that if I had made such a mistake at my private school, I should have been immediately corrected. To my mind, it is a matter of instinct.” He looked at Daphne and Jill. “I’m quite sure that neither of you two sweethearts could begin to defend your particular use of these words; but never in all my life have I heard either of you go wrong. In the old days, it was a recognized peculiarity of a Scotsman that he would sometimes say ‘will’ or ‘would’ where we should say ‘shall’ or ‘should’: and this peculiarity was regarded with interest and amusement. But now the solecism – for that is what it is – is committed by Englishmen of standing every day.
“You may say that it doesn’t matter. But English is admittedly the very finest language in all the world, and that is, to my mind, a heritage worth having. It would be too much to expect all those who use it to respect it as we do. After all, aliens scrawl their names on the stones of Westminster Abbey and The Tower. But it ill becomes our own stock to deface the English tongue.”
Unbidden, I rose, fetched the decanter and replenished Berry’s glass. Then I drank to him, and Jonah did too. And Berry drank to us. There was no need of words. Neither scholar nor pedant, my brother-in-law had hit the nail square on the head.
It ill becomes our own stock to deface the English tongue.
“And now,” said Berry, “the Queen’s Bench of today and yesterday.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Of the Judges of today, I know almost next to nothing. They’re probably very good. One or two, I know, are outstanding. But how they compare with those of The Golden Age, I cannot tell.” I hesitated. “A photograph I once saw made me think. It was taken in the early thirties, and it was a close-up of the two Judges who were taking some Summer Assize. They were walking side by side in procession from their coach to the doors of the Court.
“I think we’ve all seen that procession – I’ve seen it many times. As the Judges leave the coach, a fanfare of trumpets is blown and they pass slowly up the steps, with the High Sheriff walking before them, wand in hand. The little ceremony is one of the shreds of pageantry which survive, and it can be very impressive.
“Well, now for the photograph – of Her Majesty’s Justices in Eyre.
“The taller of the two cut a very dignified figure, wearing his robes with an air, looking straight before him – and wholly ignoring his ‘brother’, who was poking his head towards him, talking as if they were strolling in some back-garden, with his right hand thrust up and out, to emphasize some point. He made me think of a charwoman arguing with a statue; and, remembering other days, I was profoundly shocked. I mean, it showed that the dignity of his high office, the tradition with which it is endowed and the honour which was at that moment being done it meant no more to him than did the bananas which were probably being hawked half a dozen streets away.”
“A very vulgar exhibition,” said Berry.
“‘Vulgar,’ I’m afraid,” said I, “is the appropriate word. After all, the Red Judge is Her Majesty’s representative, and the honour and dignity which he is accorded is rendered to him as such. To disregard it is, therefore, offensive. If the Lord Chief saw the photograph – and it was certainly in
The Telegraph
, if not in
The Times
– I hope and believe that he fairly put it across him.”
“Who was the Lord Chief then?”
“Trevethin, I think. How he did, I don’t know: but he wasn’t up to Alverstone’s weight. I remember him as Lawrence J. I may be prejudiced, for he once gave me a bad time.”
“How was that?” said Daphne.
“Well, I was defending a fellow at, we’ll say, the Lewes Assizes. His crime was pardonable, and I did my best to get him off. And Lawrence embarrassed me by interrupting – not once, but again and again.”
“Please tell us the facts.”
“The accused had been a grocer’s assistant. Then he was left a legacy – five hundred pounds. So he determined to set up for himself.
“Now, before I go any further, I think I should make it clear that he was a full-marks fool. Not a knave. There was in the man no guile. He meant to be ‘The Poor Man’s Grocer’ – and make his own fortune in his peculiar way.
“The first thing he did was to get a shop in a poor quarter of the town. Then he went to an established grocer. ‘What is the price,’ he said, ‘of, say, ‘Rainbow soap?’ ‘Threepence a cake,’ said the grocer. ‘What’s the price to me, if I take a thousand cakes?’ Well, after a little discussion, the grocer sold him a thousand at twopence a cake. So he carted them off to his shop and started to sell Rainbow soap at twopence halfpenny. You see the idea? Small profits, quick returns. He did that with all kinds of goods. But it didn’t occur to him that no one, not even a grocer, likes being under-cut. Still less did it occur to him that the wholesale price of Rainbow soap was a penny a cake. But it certainly shook him up, when he found one afternoon that a cake of Rainbow soap was being sold for twopence at every shop except his. And it was the same thing with everything. The grocers showed him what undercutting meant. After all, it was only a temporary measure. As soon as he was broken, the price of soap would rise.
“Well, the poor fool tried to go on. With the inevitable result that he ordered more stuff than he could pay for. He had to sell much at a loss, to pay his bills. And in the end he was summoned for obtaining goods by false pretences. In fact, he’d been robbing Peter to pay Paul.
“I tried my best to make the poor man plead guilty, but that he would not do. So the case came to be tried. I had only one good card – and that was this. That before he started business, he’d been to see the Chief Constable of the Borough, laid his plan before him and had asked whether there was any objection in law to what he proposed to do. And the Chief Constable said there wasn’t and wished him luck. And now that same Chief Constable headed the list of witnesses for the Crown.
“Well, you may imagine that when I rose to cross-examine, I didn’t spare him. To my mind, he’d failed in his duty. When the accused had submitted his scheme, it was for him, as Chief Constable, to tell him not to be a fool and that, if he really meant to set up his shop, he must buy his stock from the wholesalers. But he didn’t even do that: he said that the absurd idea was unobjectionable and wished its creator luck. And so, as I say, I didn’t spare him. You know. ‘When you applied for a summons against the accused, did you tell the Bench that this scheme had been submitted to you and that you had approved it?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why didn’t you?’ ‘I didn’t think it was necessary.’ ‘Necessary or advisable?’ Well, it was easy money – at least it should have been. But Lawrence kept pulling me up. ‘What’s the point of that question, Mr Pleydell?’ Well, it’s distracting you know, to have to stop and explain – and then pick up the thread. To a more experienced counsel, it wouldn’t have mattered at all. But it greatly embarrassed me: and it helped and encouraged the witness, who naturally felt that the Judge was taking his part. When he’d interrupted me for about the fourth time, I looked at him in silence. Then, ‘My lord,’ I said, ‘my task is difficult enough… If your lordship feels that it is not for me to question the propriety of this officer’s behaviour, so be it.’ He looked damned hard at me, and I looked back. Then, ‘Go on,’ he said. And he didn’t interrupt me again. But I found the flurry upsetting – inexperience again, of course – and so I lost a case which I think I ought to have won.”
“You have all my sympathy,” said Berry. “If Lawrence had left you alone, your cross-examination would have won the case.”
“I don’t know that mine would. That of a better man would have got the prisoner off. Still, if he’d have pleaded guilty, I think I could have got him bound over. I mean, he’d lost all his money, and, generally, I had a very strong case for mitigation. But, there you are. That is the way things go.”
“But what was biting Lawrence?” said Jonah. “I mean, the Chief Constable merited censure for what he’d done.”
“I’ve no idea,” I said. “Channel would have put it across him – I’m sure of that. Lawrence may have had some notion of maintaining the dignity of the police.”
“And Lord Alverstone?”
I laughed.
“I’ll tell you what he would have done. He’d have taken the cross-examination out of my hands, asked four or five deadly questions and then told me to go on. And I should have bowed and sat down.”
“No reflection on you, I hope.”
“Oh no. He’d have done it to anyone – any junior, any way. In one of my books, somebody says, ‘Have you ever watched a fool untying a knot?’ Well, Alverstone’s brain was so great and his discernment so swift that in court he continually found himself in that most trying position. Hence his impatience, which I have mentioned before. But I never saw him lose his temper. And considering that, compared with him, nearly all men were fools, I think that does him infinite credit.”
My sister lifted her voice.
“Wasn’t it rather frightening to appear before him?”
I shook my head.
“I never found it so. I was always conscious of the benevolence of his tremendous personality. And so I was never afraid. There’s room for a fable there – ‘The Mouse and the Elephant’.”
“What about Darling?”
“Darling was nobody’s fool. If he’d been trying the case, he’d have asked the Chief Constable if he’d ever heard of Machiavelli. And when the Chief Constable said no, he’d have said, ‘Oh, I only wondered. He was rather a believer in not letting his right hand know what his left hand had done. There’s a lot in it, you know. According to the best traditions, you did your alms in secret. And then to go and tell the Bench would have spoiled everything.’”
“Lovely,” said Berry. “Lost on the jury, of course.”
“I’m afraid so. But the Chief Constable would have felt he was being got at and have got all hot and bothered, as a result.”
“I think it was a shame,” said Jill. “After all, he’d lost all his money. What did the Judge give him?”
“I can’t remember,” I said. “I think perhaps three months. Darling would have given him one, which would have meant that he was immediately released, and the Lord Chief, I think, would have done the same.”
“Why,” said Daphne, “would he have been immediately released?”
“Because, my sweet, he’d lain in jail for a month, waiting for the Assizes.”
“Supposing he’d been found ‘Not Guilty’. He’d have been in prison a month, although he was innocent.”
“I know. But that can’t be helped. A man must await his trial. And if he can’t get bail – well, that’s just too bad. It’s just one of those things. It’s obviously impossible to try every prisoner the instant he has been committed for trial. And those who are acquitted are so glad to get off that they never worry about their temporary detention.
“And now please let me qualify something which I have just said. I think that in my day the sentence of one month would have meant the prisoner’s immediate release. But I may be wrong. In any event to ensure his immediate release today, the Judge would have to sentence him to two days’ imprisonment only.”