Snow, C.P. - George Passant (aka Strangers and Brothers).txt

by Unknown

  When I had finished, Porson said: "I want the jury to be certain of the figure, Mr. Exell. First of all, you have no doubts whatever, despite anything that has been hinted?"

  "No."

  "That's right. You have been telling us, with expert authority, the largest figure that the circulation can ever have reached. Now will you let the jury hear it again--for the last time?"

  "Twelve hundred."

  As I left the court on that first night, Porson threw me a word, friendly, triumphant and assertive. I saw George hesitate in front of me; then Jack called him, and he walked away with the other two. Having dinner with acquaintances. I heard speculations going on, coolly and disinterestedly, over George and the others: I kept thinking of their evening together. It made me escape early, back to useless work on the brief.

  The Farm evidence took up all the next day. It was heavy and suspicious, as Porson had promised, though there was nothing as clear as George's statement of the circulation. It was a story of Jack mixing in odd company, making friends, inspiring trust: meetings of his new friends with Olive and George: talk of the Farm as a business, mention of accounts, figures on the table.

  The stories fitted each other: Getliffe could not break any of them: it needed those figures to be preserved for our last hope to go. But no one possessed a copy. Miss Geary, the witness who gave the sharpest impression of accuracy, said that in her presence no written figures had ever been produced; the whole transaction had been verbal. She obviously blamed herself for a fool, she was bitterly angry with Jack in particular, and she showed herself overfond of money. Yet I thought she inclined, even now, to the side of George and Jack when she was not entirely sure. Once or twice, certainly, she seemed pleased to put Porson off with a doubt.

  Her very fairness, though, acted against us. And she was followed by Iris Ward, whom Porson kept to the last.

  As her name was called "Mrs. Ward! Mrs. Iris Ward!" I caught sight of George's face. She had once been, before her marriage, an obscure member of his group; she was Mona's half-sister, but George had never paid much attention to her. Now he showed an anxiety and suffering so acute that it was noticed by many people in the court.

  Her face was pleasant-looking, a little worn and tired. She was a year or two from thirty. She smiled involuntarily in a frank and almost naïve manner when Porson addressed her.

  "Mrs. Ward," he began, "did you hear Mr. Passant and his friends talk about buying the Farm?"

  "I did."

  "When was this?"

  "The last year I ever went there. I mean, to the Farm itself. Nearly three years ago."

  "That is," Porson remarked to the jury, "ten months before the Farm was actually bought. Can you describe the occasion for us?"

  "I went over one Saturday evening."

  "Who was there?"

  "Mr. Passant, Mr. Cotery, Miss Sands ( Rachel)--"She gave several other names.

  "Was Miss Calvert there?"

  "No."

  "Can you tell us anything that was said at that meeting -about the transaction?"

  "We were sitting round after supper. They were all excited. I think they had been talking before I arrived. Mr. Cotery said: 'It would be a good idea if we ran this place. So that we could have it to ourselves whenever we wanted it. We shan't be safe until we do.'"

  Porson stopped her for a moment: then he asked: "What was said then?"

  "Mr. Passant said it would be useful if we could, but he didn't see how it could conceivably be managed. Mr. Cotery laughed at him and called him a good old respectable member of the professional classes. 'Haven't I got you out of that after all this time?' he said. 'Of course it can be managed. Do you think I can't raise a bit of money for a good cause?' and he went on arguing with Mr. Passant, saying it was for an absolutely essential cause. He said: 'It takes all the pleasure away. And it's dangerous. I don't propose to stand the strain if you do. Just for the sake of a little money.'"

  Her voice was quiet, clear and monotonous. Everyone was believing her story. It sounded nothing like an invention: she seemed to draw on one of those minutely accurate memories, common among many people with an outwardly drab and uneventful life.

  "What did Mr. Passant say?"

  "He argued for a while--he talked about the difficulties of raising the money. He said he didn't propose to find himself outside the law."

  Getliffe made a note. She continued: "Mr. Cotery said how easy it would be to raise the money. 'You see,' he said, 'as soon as we own the place we can kill two birds with one stone. We can make a good deal of money out of it ourselves. It would be a good investment for the people we borrow from. And it's child's play persuading them. We've got all the cards in our hands. We've been here more often than everyone else put together. No one else knows how many people might use a hostel like this. We can tell people what its possibilities are.'"

  "From that remark," Porson said, "you gathered Mr. Cotery was suggesting they should give false information?"

  "I can't say."

  "That's what you understood at the time, isn't it?"

  "I'd rather not say. I may have got a wrong impression. I'm certain of what was said, though."

  "Very well. What happened afterwards?"

  "Mr. Cotery went on at Mr. Passant. No one else said much. At last Mr. Passant said: 'It would be magnificent! It will have to be done! I've respected my obligations long enough and they go on ignoring me. Besides, the suspense is wearing us down.'"

  "We are hearing about this suspense again. What suspense did they both mean?"

  Getliffe objected. He was getting on better with the judge than Porson was; he had begun to play on Porson's truculence. He also knew that the case was important in Porson's unlucky career.

  Porson turned to the judge. "I have just supplied what the jury will consider a discussion of a future conspiracy. I wish to carry this line further."

  The judge smiled perfunctorily. "You may ask the question."

  "What suspense did they mean?"

  "He meant--they were afraid."

  "What of?"

  "Some of their relations being discovered."

  "You had no doubt of that at the time?"

  "None at all."

  Porson's tone was comradely and casual: "You mean some of them had immoral relations with each other?"

  "Is this necessary?" put in the judge. "I take it you only want to demonstrate that they had a strong reason for attempting to get this farm to themselves? Surely you have asked enough to make the position clear."

  "I consider it desirable to ask one or two more questions," Porson said.

  "I don't think I can let you proceed any further along this line," the judge said.

  "I wish to make the jury aware of certain reasons."

  "They will have gathered enough."

  "Under protest, I should like to ask one or two relevant questions."

  "Go on," said the judge.

  "Well, Mrs. Ward. I shan't keep you long in the circumstances. Can you just tell us whether there was any change in the attitude of Mr. Passant and his friends--the attitude of these people whom we have learned to call the group--when strangers came to the Farm?"

  The judge was frowning. Getliffe looked at him, half rose, then did not object.

  "There was a great deal of talk about discretion after the scares began."

  "What were these scares?"

  "You may not ask that," said the judge.

  "I should like--"

  "You may not ask that."

  Porson turned round to the witness-box.

  "I hope the jury will have understood how afraid these people were of any discovery of their activities. Although I haven't been permitted to establish the point to my own satisfaction. However, perhaps I'm allowed to ask you whether you thought any of them, Mr. Passant for example, were afraid of having their careers ruined if their activities came out?"

  "I thought so."

  "Would you say any of them felt an even more compelling fear?"
>
  "I can't answer that," she said.

  "Why can't you?"

  "I'm not certain."

  All of a sudden, Porson was back in his seat, leaning against the bench, his legs crossed and his lids half over his eyes.

  Getliffe cross-examined at length. She had left the School and George's company, months before the Farm was bought? This conversation was long before they made any attempt to raise money? She had not been in their confidence at the critical time? The conversation might be utterly at random? Obviously this danger which had been so much stressed could not have been urgent--as they went on for months without acting on it?

  She answered the questions as straightforwardly as Porson's; she did not seem either malicious or burdened by her responsibility. I had only learned a few random facts about her; she had become a Catholic since she married, the marriage was apparently happy, she now lived in the school house of a country grammar school. She had always been intimate with her half-sister, Mona. None of us understood her part in the trial.

  Getliffe finished by a number of questions on the aftersupper conversation. Had she never heard people making plans for the fun of it? Had she never made plans herself of how to get rich quick? Had she never even heard people speculating on how to commit the ideal murder? For a moment, her answers were less composed than at the direct and critical points. Then Getliffe asked her about George's remark: "I won't go outside the law."

  "You are quite certain that was said?" Getliffe said.

  "Yes."

  "You believed it at the time?"

  "It struck me as a curious remark to make."

  She replied to Porson's re-examination just as equably. Now, however, with people excited by the scandal, he raised several bursts of laughter: it was, for the first time, laughter wholly on Porson's side. It was a sound which George could not escape. A wind had sprung up, the windows rattled, and at times the sun shone in beams across the room; in that rich, mellow, domestic light the court grew more hostile through the afternoon.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  DINNER PARTY AFTER A BAD DAY

  As soon as the court adjourned, we heard a great deal of talk upon Iris Ward's evidence. Everyone who spoke to us seemed to have believed her account; there was a continuous stir of gossip and curiosity into the lives of George and his friends. They were disapproved of with laughter and excitement: people thought that Porson had been right to force a scandal into notice. "He's won the case and shown them up at the same time," someone said in my hearing.

  Getliffe himself was unusually grave. He kept talking of Iris's evidence, and seemed both moved and despondent. He was anxious over the result, of course--but something else was taking hold of him.

  Though we were to meet at Eden's house for dinner, he kept on talking in the robing-room long after the court had cleared. I went straight to George's and stayed for a couple of hours. The three of them were there alone; they had eaten every meal together since the trial began; only my presence tonight prevented an outburst of reproaches--my presence, and the state into which George had fallen.

  He scarcely spoke or protested; yet, as his eyes saw nothing but his own thoughts, his face was torn with suffering--just as when he heard the call for Iris Ward.

  When Jack spoke now, he assumed that George would obey. Only once did George make an effort to show himself their leader still. He heard me say that Martineau, who had promised to be in the town by that afternoon, had still not arrived. George stirred himself: "I insist on your tracing him at once. I tried to make Getliffe realize that it was essential to keep in touch with Martineau--on the one occasion when Getliffe spared me a quarter of an hour. He didn't trouble to recognize that my opinion was more valuable than theirs." He looked at the other two.

  When I returned to Eden's house, I rang up Canon Martineau, to ask if he had any news of his brother; and also Martineau's housekeeper in his old house in the Walk. Neither had heard.

  As I hurried downstairs to Eden's drawing-room, there came a jolly and whole-hearted peal of laughter. Eden and Getliffe were waiting for me, glasses of sherry standing by their chairs on the broad rail by the fireside. I was five minutes late for dinner, and Eden was a little put out; though, when I said that I had been trying to find Martineau, he smiled at Getliffe's jokes at my expense.

  Getliffe, so dejected at the end of the afternoon, was in high spirits now; and as we sat down to dinner Eden looked at him with a broad and happy smile. He enjoyed entertaining him. He liked the reflection of the busy and successful world, and also the glow that Getliffe brought to so many people. With an aftertaste of envy, not unpleasant or bitter, Eden at times insisted on his own travels and tastes.

  "I want you to try another wine," he said, "I brought it from a place just behind Dijon when I was there--why! it must be five or six years ago."

  Getliffe said: "One doesn't ask any better than this, you know." He took a gulp at his glass.

  "I don't want you to miss the other," said Eden. "I can't let you leave without having something a little unusual."

  "Yours to command," Getliffe answered.

  Getliffe held his glass up to the light.

  "I could go on drinking that," he said. Then he chuckled. "When I think of all the wine in my ancient Inn I always think it's a shame that there are chaps like me--who could drink any of it and not be much the wiser. But as for this you've given us--well, L. S., you and I can tell our host that if he gives us nothing worse we don't care who's getting amongst the bottles at our respective ancient halls."

  "I've got up another bottle," Eden said. "We must finish it before the night's over." He talked contentedly on, though he looked at me once with kindly concern. "Those days," came in often, he told stories of counsel he had met at the Assizes, men of the generation in front of Getliffe's. They listened to each other with enjoyment; Getliffe began telling anecdotes about judges. "That reminds me," he said, in a few minutes. "It reminds me of the best remark ever made by a judicial authority within the Empire of His Britannic Majesty. It was actually made by the Chief Justice of a not unimportant Colony, you understand. He was delivering judgment. You must guess the sort of case for yourself when you've heard the remark. He said, 'However inclement the weather, His Majesty's Police Stations must in no circumstances be used for the purpose of fornication.'"

  Getliffe was still contented with the joke when we returned to the drawing-room. Then he and Eden found another pleasure in talking of London streets, dark during the War.

  "I remember going across to the Inn one night when I was home on leave," said Getliffe.

  "I had to go up to see one of your men in the Temple," Eden replied, "it must have been the same year."

  "We might have run across each other," said Getliffe, "Perhaps we did for all you know."

  At last I could not help coming back to the trial.

  On the instant Getliffe's face was clouded.

  "I'm worried," he said. "I don't mind saying I'm worried----"

  Eden broke in: "Of course we've noticed that it's on Eliot's mind. But I'm afraid I am going to forbid you to discuss it now. We are all exercised about it. I dare say it's specially so with Eliot, because he's been friendly with the three of them for a few years now----"

  "I'm worried on their account," said Getliffe. "Of course, one likes to win one's cases-but they count more--" He looked at me. "I'm asking you to believe that," he said.

  "You mustn't begin discussing it," Eden continued. "You must keep your minds off it tonight. I can't give either of you much advice, but I'm going to make sure that you follow this."

  His mouth was curved in a firm, kindly, gratified smile. But circumstances were too strong for him. He was himself rung up twice within half an hour. The second call was from Martineau, saying that he had arrived and would come round to see Getliffe at ten o'clock. Seeing my relief, Eden said: "Well, I didn't mean to let you worry tonight. I decided to guard you from some depressing news. But perhaps you'd better hear it now. That first conve
rsation over the 'phone -it was with Cameron, the Principal at the School."

  "Yes?"

  "He was just informing me, as a matter of courtesy, that if Passant couldn't deny the immorality stories, they would be obliged to dismiss him from the School. That applies, of course, whatever the result of the case."

  "I suppose you'd expect them to," said Getliffe.

  "You can't blame them," said Eden. "After all they're running an educational institution. They can't be too careful. They're entitled to say that Passant has abused a position of trust."

  I remembered George using exactly those words before the committee years ago: I remembered how he repudiated a suggestion by Jack in Nottingham that same night.

  "Shall you get rid of him yourself?" said Getliffe.

  Eden considered, and answered deliberately: "I don't regard that as quite on the same footing. If he's convicted, of course, the question doesn't arise. But if you get them off, I don't think I should feel entitled to dismiss someone who's been found innocent in a court of law. It's true that his private life will have damaged the firm; but I set off against that the good solid work he's done for me in the past. I think, taking everything into account, I shall have to let him stay. Though naturally I shouldn't be able to give him so much responsibility. It would mean harder work than I want until I retire."

  "I must say, you're more tolerant than most of us would be," said Getliffe. "I respect you for it." He broke off: "As for getting them off, I don't know. I may as well try to find out what Martineau has to say."

  "He'll be here in half an hour," said Eden.

  "Not that I hope for much," Getliffe said.

  "I'm beginning to be sorry I inflicted it on you," said Eden.

  "Never mind that. One's got to do one's job," Getliffe said. Then he added: "I wish one of you would tell me what those three were trying to do. It's getting me down."