Authors: Graham Greene
‘Will you point them out to the jury?’ Sir Henry Merriman repeated with impatience. The face knew that it was seen and recognized. A tongue appeared and moistened the lips. The eyes no longer avoided Andrews’, but clung to them in apprehensive appeal. Andrews knew that he had only to raise his finger, point to the gallery, ‘there,’ and another of his enemies would be rendered powerless. Only Carlyon and that blundering giant Joe would remain. The face knew it also. Andrews began to raise his hand. It was the safest course. If he let Cockney Harry go free, Carlyon would know for certain who their betrayer was.
‘There,’ he said and pointed to the dock. You fool, you
fool
, you sentimental fool, he taunted silently in his heart, and his heart marvellously, miraculously, did not care. It was light and drunken with its triumph over his cowardly body and carried with pride like a banner the name of a girl. This will cost you your life, he told himself, but that distant trumpet and that close banner at his heart gave him courage. I will win through, he answered, and she will praise me. This is the first foolish thoughtless thing which I have ever done.
Because he looked no longer at the gallery, Andrews did not see a stout old woman, with flippant streaks of yellow hair, struggling towards the door, and when two minutes later Mr Braddock, a scrap of white paper in his hand, left the Court, he was answering a question from Sir Henry Merriman. ‘And what did you do there?’
‘I helped load the boat with the casks of brandy. Then I got in with them and rowed to the shore. They began to unload the cargo, and while they were doing it I slipped away. There was no moon. It was very dark and they did not see me go. I got away among the dunes and hid.’
‘Why did you slip away?’
‘I didn’t want to be there when the gaugers appeared.’
‘How did you know that the gaugers were there?’
‘Two days before I had sent an anonymous letter to the officer in command at Shoreham stating the time when we intended to run the cargo and the exact place where it was to be run.’
‘You went and hid among the dunes. What happened then?’
‘There was suddenly a lot of shouting and the sound of men running. Then there were shots. I waited till all the noise was over and then I crept away.’
‘Now, be careful in answering. Can you tell the jury who were with you when you landed?’
‘Yes.’ He named without hesitation the men in the dock.
‘Were there any others?’
‘Yes. Carlyon, the leader, a man we called Cockney Harry and Joe Collier.’
‘Do you know where these men are now?’
Again his eyes met the eyes in the gallery. Again his enemy’s eyes were full of terrified appeal. Andrews smiled. He was sure of himself now. ‘No,’ he said.
‘While you were hiding how many shots did you hear fired?’
‘I don’t know. They were all together and confused.’
‘More than one man was firing in fact?’
‘Yes. Several.’
‘It has been suggested that one of your companions had a personal quarrel with the man Rexall. Do you know anything about that?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you. That will do.’
As Sir Henry Merriman sat down, Mr Braddock re-entered the Court.
He smiled a little maliciously at Sir Henry and began his cross-examination.
‘How long have you been associated with the crew of the
Good Chance
?’
‘For three years.’
‘Have your relations with them been friendly?’
‘In a way.’
‘What do you mean by “in a way”?’
Andrews narrowed his eyes and answered not to counsel but to the men in the dock. ‘I was on sufferance,’ he said, ‘treated with contempt. My opinion was never consulted.’
‘Why didn’t you leave them?’
‘Mr Braddock, is this relevant?’ Sir Edward Parkin asked, with a note of petulance.
‘My lord, in my submission, highly. If your Lordship will have patience –’
‘Very well then, go on.’
‘Why didn’t you leave them?’ Mr Braddock repeated
fiercely
. Andrews turned his eyes away from the familiar faces in the dock and gazed at the red choleric face of counsel. It amused him to think that a man with a face like that should question him on such shadowy things as motives. Facts, hard and firm as chips of wood, were the only things that he would appreciate.
‘I had nowhere to go,’ he said, ‘and no money.’
‘Did it ever occur to you to work honestly for your living?’
‘No.’
‘Did you have any other motive in remaining with the
Good Chance
for three years?’
‘Yes, friendship for Carlyon.’
‘Why did you first join?’
‘Friendship for Carlyon.’
‘The man whom you have betrayed?’
Andrews reddened and felt his cheek with the tips of his fingers. ‘Yes.’
‘What were your motives for laying information with the Revenue?’
‘Do you really want to know that?’ Andrews asked. ‘Isn’t it wasting your time and the time of the Court?’
‘Don’t make speeches,’ Sir Edward Parkin snapped in his high, supercilious voice. ‘Answer the questions put to you.’
It was because I had a father whom I hated and he was always being put before me as a model. It made me mad. And I’m a coward. You all know that.’ Andrews gripped the edge of the box and leant forward, his voice angry, his face red and ashamed. ‘I was afraid of being hurt and I hated the sea and the noise and the danger. And unless I did something it would have gone on for always and always. And I wanted to show those men that I was someone to be considered, that I had the power to smash all their plans.’
‘And to hang them?’
‘I never thought of that. I swear it. How could I tell they’d fight?’
‘And your friend, the man Carlyon? Did you do nothing to warn him?’
‘It was a case of him or me.’
A bearded man called Hake in the second row of the prisoners sprang to his feet and shook his fist at Andrews. ‘It’s him or you still,’ he cried. ‘He’ll get you for this.’ A warder pulled him down.
The Court was growing unbearably stuffy. The judge and the ladies in the gallery were fluttering scented handkerchiefs. Andrews’ forehead was hot and sticky with sweat. He wiped it with the palm of his hand. He felt as though he had been standing for hours exposed to the gaze of the Court. His lips were dry and he longed for water. Give me strength to go through with this, he implored silently – not of God but of the image which he carried in his heart and behind which he tried to hide the faces that watched him.
‘Where is your father?’ Mr Braddock asked.
‘In Hell I hope,’ Andrews answered, and a burst of laughter from the gallery came like a breath of cool spring wind to a tropic night. No relief of cool winds was allowed in a court of justice. Laughter was suppressed by the usher’s cries.
‘Do you mean that he is dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it was jealousy of a dead man which impelled you to betray comrades of three years’ standing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you expect the jury to understand that?’
‘No.’ Andrews’ voice drooped wearily. He felt a sudden longing to explain to this red-faced counsel who plagued him so with questions that he had not slept all night. ‘I don’t expect anyone to understand,’ he said. In his heart he added – save Elizabeth – and Carlyon.
‘Do you expect the jury to believe it?’
‘It is true.’
The red face came at him again with the persistence of an insect.
‘I suggest to you that your whole story is untrue?’
Andrews shook his head, but he could not shake off that voice which came at him again and again and again.
‘That you never laid any information?’
‘I did.’
‘That you are telling this story to save yourself from the dock?’
‘No.’
‘That you never landed with a cargo on the night of February 10?’
‘I did, I tell you.’
‘That you were with a woman, a notorious woman?’
‘No. It’s untrue.’
Andrews’ weariness grew on him. He held the sides of the witness box as a support. I could sleep now, he said to himself.
‘Will you stand there on your oath and tell the jury that you have not been keeping company with a loose woman?’
‘No, I refused,’ he said wearily. He could not understand how this red bladder with the bullying voice was so well aware of his movements.
‘What do you mean you refused?’
‘I was in the Sussex Pad at Shoreham when the girl came up to me. But I wouldn’t have her. Carlyon came in to drink and I was afraid that he’d see me. So I said “No.” I said, “No. I won’t sleep with you. Not tonight.” And I slipped out. And I don’t know whether Carlyon saw me or not. I was afraid and I ran for miles, for miles up over the downs.’
‘That is no doubt another woman. There’s no need to tell the jury of all the women with whom you have consorted.’ Mr Braddock sniggered and the jury tittered. Sir Edward
Parkin
allowed himself a faint smile as he watched the young women in the public gallery.
The faces in front of Andrews, the solicitors at the table, the usher, the now soundly sleeping Clerk of Arraigns, the bearded prisoners in the dock, the spectators in the gallery, the twelve hostile cow-like jurymen, were becoming rapidly an indistinct blur, one large composite face of many eyes and mouths. Only Mr Braddock’s face, red and angry, protruded very distinctly out of this mass, as he leant forward to shoot out his questions, which seemed to Andrews absurd and meaningless.
‘Do you still persist in saying that you landed with the prisoners on the night of February 10?’
‘But it’s true, I tell you.’ Andrews clenched his fists and longed to beat back that red aggressive face into the grey mists which surrounded it. Then I could sleep, he thought, and his mind dwelt with longing on the cool white sheets and warm clean blankets which had been wasted on his restless mind and body the night before.
‘Carry your mind back two days. Were you not in the company of a notoriously loose woman?’
‘No. I don’t understand. I haven’t been with a woman like that for weeks. Can’t you take my answer and have done?’ Staring at the face of Mr Braddock, as it darted back and forth, Andrews was surprised to see it apparently disintegrate under his eyes. It softened and collapsed and re-formed itself into a kind of tigerish amiability.
‘I don’t want to tire you. This must be a very trying experience for you.’ Mr Braddock paused, and even in his weariness Andrews smiled, remembering the weaver Bottom – ‘I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove.’
‘I think we are talking at cross-purposes. I am sure that you don’t wish to hinder the course of justice. Only tell the jury where you were staying two nights ago.’
‘At a cottage out Hassocks way.’
‘Not all by yourself, surely?’ The red face creased itself
into
a sneer, the coarse mouth with two great grave-stone teeth sniggered out loud, seeming to give a lead and a cue to laughter from gallery and jury. The usher, grinning himself, called perfunctorily for silence.
‘What do you mean?’ The laughter confused Andrews. It was like a mist between himself and any clear thought.
‘Answer the question,’ Mr Braddock snapped at him. ‘It was plain enough. Were you alone?’
‘No. Why? I was with –’
‘With whom?’
He hesitated. He did not know her name, he realized.
‘A woman?’
The word woman seemed too general and too coarse a name to describe the banner under which he now fought. A woman? He had known many women, and Elizabeth was not like one of them. She was something more remote and infinitely more desirable.
‘No,’ he said, and then seeing Mr Braddock’s great mouth open for another question, he grew dismayed – ‘at least …’ he said and stood confused, hopelessly barren of words.
‘Don’t jest with us. It must have been either a woman, a man or a child. Which was it?’
‘A woman,’ and before he could add some qualifying phrase he was struck by a wave of laughter from every corner of the Court. He came out of it, as though half drowned, red, gasping, blind to everything but the face of his questioner, which was already darting forward for another question.
‘What is her name?’
‘Elizabeth,’ he murmured indistinctly, but loud enough for Mr Braddock to hear. He gave it to the Court with the air of a jester. ‘Elizabeth. And what is the young woman’s surname?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What was that the witness said?’ Sir Edward Parkin tapped the sheet of paper in front of him with his pen.
‘He doesn’t know her surname, my lord,’ Mr Braddock replied with a grin. Sir Edward Parkin smiled, and as though his smile gave an awaited sanction, laughter again swept the Court.
‘My lord,’ Mr Braddock continued, when silence had been restored, ‘the witness’s ignorance is not as astounding as it may seem. Opinion on the point differs a great deal among her neighbours.’
Andrews leant forward and banged the edge of the box with his clenched fist. ‘What are you insinuating?’ he said.
‘Be quiet,’ Sir Edward Parkin turned on him, fingers poised in the act of taking snuff. He turned and smiled ingratiatingly at Mr Braddock. The case was proving more amusing than he had foreseen.
‘Well, my lord, I shall bring a witness to show that the girl is the daughter, probably illegitimate, of a woman called Garnet. The woman is dead and no one knows whether she ever had a husband. They had a lodger staying with them and he took over the farm when the woman died. It is a common idea in the countryside that the girl was not only the daughter of this man, but also his mistress.’
‘Where is the man?’
‘He is dead, my lord.’
‘Do you propose to call the girl as a witness?’
‘No, my lord, the information has only this moment come into my hands, and in any case the girl would not be a witness in whom a jury could place any credence. The whole story is a very sordid one.’
‘My God, do you know what’s beautiful?’ Andrews cried.
‘If you cannot keep silent,’ Sir Edward Parkin said, ‘I shall commit you for contempt of Court.’
‘My lord,’ Andrews appealed, and hesitated, trying to shake off the mist of weariness that clung round his brain and clogged his words.