London Belongs to Me

by Norman Collins

  Mr Wassall: ‘Were you and this young lady intimate?’

  Percy: ‘Fairly.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘You understand what I mean by intimate?’

  Well, everybody knew that, didn’t they? You couldn’t go to the films, or read a decent book, without knowing.

  Percy: ‘Yus.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘She was your mistress, in fact?’

  Percy shook his head.

  Percy: ‘No.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘I will repeat my question. You have just admitted that there was intimacy between you and I asked if she was your mistress.’

  Percy looked across at Mr Veesey Blaize. Why didn’t he do something to earn his money? Percy certainly needed his help all right. He wasn’t going to be trapped into saying that the Blonde had been his mistress. That’d be fatal. Every one knew that mistresses always got murdered sooner or later. But how could be explain?

  Percy: ‘No. She was just a friend. A close friend. I never paid her anything.’

  There was a noise behind him that sounded like a snigger, and Mr Justice Plymme looked up. There was an expression of quite incredulous pain on his face. But it wasn’t at Percy that he was looking. It was at a small woman in the front row of the public gallery. She was wearing a gay hat with a feather peony in it.

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘A murder trial is not a public performance conducted for the amusement of the public. I am not an actor and this court is not a theatre. If I hear any other unseemly noises I shall order the court to be cleared.’

  Well, that was that, and Connie got her handkerchief ready for future emergencies. She didn’t want to be put out.

  Mr Wassall, meanwhile, was continuing. He was the only person who hadn’t removed his eyes from Percy’s face, and Percy felt uncomfortable under their stare.

  Mr Wassall: ‘I am not interested in your financial arrangements. I am interested only in the intimacy which you have admitted. Were you aware that this woman was going to bear a child?’

  Percy put out his hands to catch hold of the front of the dock. He felt faint for a moment. They’d raised that stunner at the police‐court.

  Percy: ‘No. She never told me.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Then this was information that you were expecting?’ Mr Veesey Blaize was on his feet before Percy could reply. Evidently he had caught Percy’s disapproving eye earlier.

  Mr Veesey Blaize: ‘M’lud,’ he exclaimed. ‘I protest. My learned friend is endeavouring to confuse my client. The prisoner has already told the court that he was no more than a close friend of the deceased. These insinuations can have only one purpose.’

  Mr Justice Plymme, however, remained quite unmoved by this outburst. He disliked Mr Veesey Blaize. Disliked him intensely. Had disliked him for years. Cut him quite deliberately in the corridors. And he wasn’t going to have him behaving like a jack‐in‐the‐box now.

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘Mr Blaize’ – he knew that would annoy him, because the creature loved sounding as though he had been born double‐barrelled – ‘these interruptions are most uncalled for. Mr Wassall has been conducting his examination in accordance with the best traditions of this court. If it had been otherwise, I should have taken suitable action. Pray proceed, Mr Wassall.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Were you or were you not the father of this woman’s child?’

  Percy: ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘But come – you must know. I will repeat my question. “Were you the father of this woman’s child?”’

  Percy: ‘No.’

  Why didn’t Mr Veesey Blaize help him? Was he afraid of the judge or something? Why didn’t he show Mr Wassall once and for all where he got off?

  Mr Wassall: ‘How long had there been intimacy between you?’ Percy: ‘I didn’t keep any record. About a year, I reckon.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘About a year. Then it is possible that she might have been about to bear your child?’

  Percy: ‘It wouldn’t have been likely.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘I am not interested in what was likely. I said “possible.”’

  Percy: ‘But we were careful.’

  Mr Wassall changed his stance. He caught hold of the two lapels of his coat in a sudden fury as though it were really Percy whom he wanted to seize. His voice was simply enormous now.

  Mr Wassall: ‘Will you answer my question? Is it possible that this woman was about to bear your child?’

  Percy: ‘Yes, it’s possible, I suppose.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Thank you.’

  Percy took out his handkerchief and passed it across his forehead. He was sweating. It wasn’t easy having to answer a question like that in front of a lot of strangers. Whatever would they think of him? Mr Wassall has made him blot his copybook all right.

  He raised his eyes and took a look at Mr Wassall. Funny that he didn’t show signs of any strain. Less than half a minute ago he’d been bawling at the top of his voice, and there he was looking as though he was standing up in church all the time. But his next question was put in quite a gentle voice. Percy was relieved. He was – why not admit it? – a bit frightened of Mr Wassall.

  Mr Wassall: ‘Were you and this woman planning to be married?’ Percy: ‘No. She said she was married already.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Did you ever discuss marriage?’

  Percy: ‘No. We just saw each other.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘And how many times did you see her?’

  Percy: ‘I don’t remember.’

  And even if he did remember, he wasn’t going to say. Suppose his mother got hold of a paper, it’d break her heart to know what had been going on. He wasn’t going to do that just to please Mr Wassall. He hoped in any case that his mother wasn’t well enough to read the papers. Hoped that she was worse in fact.

  Mr Wassall: ‘Well, did you see her every day?’

  Percy: ‘No.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Every other day?’

  Percy: ‘No.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Well, let us say once or twice a week.’

  Percy: ‘Not so often.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Well, how often then?’

  Percy: ‘More like once.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘You saw her once a week.’

  Percy: ‘Not always. At least, that is lately, I’d given up seeing her.’ He knew as soon as he’d said it that he’d made a mistake. He shouldn’t have said that bit. It was simply playing Mr Wassall’s game. And was Mr Wassall quick off his mark?

  Mr Wassall: ‘Why had you suddenly given up seeing this woman?’ Mr Veesey Blaize jumped to his feet.

  Mr Veesey Blaize: ‘M’lud, my client did not say “suddenly.” He merely said that he had given up seeing her.’

  Mr Justice Plymme ignored Mr Veesey Blaize altogether: he merely turned to his notes and addressed them in a quiet voice as though the two of them understood each other.

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘At one time I saw her once a week. Lately I had given up seeing her. Those were the words.’

  Then he turned to Mr Wassall.

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘There has been no suggestion of suddenness that I am aware of. You may proceed, Mr Wassall.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘I will re‐phrase my question, m’lud. Why did this intimacy cease?’

  Percy: ‘I stopped going.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘That is not an answer. I asked for the reason.’

  Percy knew that he’d asked; he’d heard him. But what could he say? He couldn’t stand there and tell them about Doris, and about the other Blonde at Victoria, because it would sound silly. More than that. It would make him seem a blooming Bluebeard. He wasn’t going to have that happen.

  Mr Wassall: ‘I am still waiting for my answer. Shall I repeat my question?’

  Percy: ‘I got tired of her.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘You got tired of her. She may have been expecting your child but you got tired of her. And when did your tiredness as you call it make you give up seeing her?’

  Percy: ‘About a month before.’

  Mr
Wassall: ‘About a month before what?’

  Percy: ‘A month before she… died.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Had you seen her at all during that time?’

  Percy: ‘Not until I met her in the public‐house.’

  He was getting confused. He couldn’t help it. Mr Wassall kept banging away with his questions and not giving him time to get his breath between answers. He was like some kind of a machine‐gun. And what was worse he was off again already.

  Mr Wassall: ‘Did you meet her by arrangement?’

  Percy: ‘No, it just happened.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘How did it happen?’

  Percy: ‘I went in to get a drink and she was in there so I went over to her.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘But I understand that you were tired of her.’

  Percy: ‘So I was.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Then why did you join her?’

  Percy: ‘She beckoned to me.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘It didn’t give you any particular pleasure seeing her?’ Percy: ‘No.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘You would just as soon not have seen her?’

  Percy: ‘It was all over and finished between us, like I said.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘In fact her company meant nothing to you?’

  There was a movement on the bench and Mr Justice Plymme raised his small pink face from his writing pad.

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘I am frequently amazed by the number of questions which counsel feel it necessary to put in order to establish a quite simple point. To the best of his ability the prisoner has already told you that the meeting gave him no particular pleasure, that he would just as soon not have seen her and, to use his own expression, it was all over and finished between them. I can see no progress in your last question, Mr Wassall.’

  It made Percy feel better hearing Mr Justice Plymme say that. It showed that he was on his side. He wanted to thank him for it, and tried to give a smile in his direction. But Mr Justice Plymme wasn’t having any. He had dropped his head again and was again apparently disinterested in the whole case. But Mr Wassall wasn’t.

  Mr Wassall: ‘It is a point of the most critical importance, m’lud. That is why I wished to make so certain of it.’ (Turning to Percy) ‘How long did you stay with her after Mr Rawkins had left?’

  Percy: ‘About half an hour.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Did you experience any rekindling of your emotions during that time? Did you, so to speak, fall in love with her again?’

  Percy: ‘No.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Then why did you invite her to drive with you in the car in which she went to her death?’

  Percy: ‘She asked me.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘But couldn’t you have refused?’

  Percy: ‘It wouldn’t have been polite.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘You are quite sure she asked you?’

  Percy: ‘Yes.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘You didn’t suggest it yourself ?’

  Percy: ‘No.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘You are sure?’

  Percy: ‘Quite sure.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘I suggest that the invitation came entirely from you. That you proposed that ride for purposes of your own. That you in fact lured her into that car.’

  Mr Wassall was at his biggest and most terrible as he said it. His voice swept over Percy like a tornado, stunning him. It was silly, he knew: but he felt frightened again. Properly frightened. He hadn’t known that things were going to turn out this way. It seemed to have shaken Mr Veesey Blaize as well. He was on his feet. ‘M’lud…’ he began. But Mr Justice Plymme motioned him to be quiet. Then he addressed himself direct to Percy. It was the first time he had looked full at Percy. And, when he looked, Percy wasn’t so sure that he really was on his side after all. He didn’t look like a real man. It was just a pair of old Haddock’s eyes that was peering out from underneath that wig.

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘You must answer counsel’s questions, you know. Would you like the last question to be repeated?’

  Percy: ‘No, sir. I heard it.’

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘Then kindly reply.’

  Percy: ‘But it isn’t true.’

  Mr Justice Plymme: ‘Thank you.’

  Percy was all hot and sweaty now. He’d have liked a bitter, or a cup of tea, or something.

  Mr Wassall: ‘Where did the young lady wish to be taken?’

  Percy: ‘Home.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘And where was her home?’

  Percy: ‘Kennington.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘But across Putney Common isn’t the quickest route to Kennington, is it?’

  Percy: ‘No.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Then why did you want to prolong this ride with a young woman whom you were tired of ?’

  Percy: ‘I wanted to go the quiet way.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘Ah. And what was your purpose in that?’

  Percy: ‘So as not to be seen.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘It was a foggy night, wasn’t it?’

  Percy: ‘Well, misty.’

  Mr Wassall: ‘So whatever route you took, you were not likely to be seen. Even so, deliberately you took the loneliest…’

  There were still the closing speeches. Mr Wassall and Mr Veesey Blaize both tried to score points off each other. That was where the really big stuff came in. It was as good as Marshall Hall after all. Only, by then, Mr Josser felt sick and couldn’t listen.

  5

  The summing‐up was a real triumph. It was long – about forty‐five minutes – and beautifully phrased. The Law Quarterly called it one of the most artistic and polished performances of Mr Plymme’s career. There was, indeed, a general opinion in legal circles that the whole case of Rex v. Percy Aloysius Boon would have been well worth it if only for the summing‐up. When his Lordship had finished speaking there was that chastened and slightly embarrassed silence which succeeds the faultless demonstration that something which had appeared very complex and difficult is in reality quite uninvolved and easy.

  Its effect was marred only by a foolish question from the little, puddingy foreman of the jury. When Mr Justice Plymme had finished speaking the foreman – he was a corn‐chandler – rose respectfully and, after a false start, during which his voice was at first so faint that he couldn’t be heard and then so loud that his Lordship drew back involuntarily, he said: ‘Suppose we decide that the prisoner killed her but didn’t mean to, what verdict do we bring in then?’

  This question, hesitantly put and indifferently uttered, brought forth the rebuke that was prominently reported in the papers next day.

  Mr Justice Plymme resumed his horn‐rimmed spectacles and placed his porcelain‐like hand over his little painted face. ‘There are occasions,’ he said in his smooth fluting voice, ‘when it seems impossible to impart information by word of mouth. Perhaps writing would be better: I do not know. The disappointing truth remains that the latter part of my summary was concerned exclusively with answering the very point that this gentleman has just put to me. At the cost of being repetitive in a case where so much has been repetitive already, I will elaborate what I have already said. To administer a blow in anger in a drawing‐room may be only an act of common assault. To administer an exactly comparable blow upon a man standing at the top of Beachy Head may be murder. In the case which you have just heard the prisoner has admitted to striking on the head with a spanner his fellow passenger in a fast moving car. As a result of the blow the passenger fell into the road and was killed either as a result of the blow or as a result of the fall or as a result of the shock caused by both these occurrences. You have heard the prisoner say that the blow was struck lightly. You have heard medical evidence to the contrary. You have heard the prisoner say that deprivation of life did not enter his mind. You have heard evidence that the door of the car was faulty. You may therefore decide that the succession of events was out of the prisoner’s hands. Nevertheless it remains for you to decide what set the succession of events in train. And if you decide that the blow struck within the car, a blow struck by a spanne
r weighing 3¼ pounds, was the cause of the succession of events it will be your duty to find the prisoner guilty of murder. If on the other hand you regard the delivery of the blow as purely accidental and the fall from the car as a further accident, then you may rightly return a verdict of manslaughter.’

  Mr Justice Plymme uncovered his face and fixed his eyes upon the corn‐chandler.

  ‘I trust,’ he said, ‘that I have succeeded in removing the perplexity which was in your mind.’

  The corn‐chandler cleared his throat and tried to look as though he understood. He was rubbing the plams of his hands up and down his waistcoat because he was sweating.

  ‘May I ask another question, my lord?’

  Mr Justice Plymme inclined his head politely.

  ‘What about a recommendation to mercy?’ he asked.

  Mr Justice Plymme had expected that to be the question.

  ‘All juries,’ he said straight away, ‘appear to labour under the misapprehension that they have been called to advise His Majesty’s Secretary of State for Home Affairs in the exercise of his duties. This is not so. Juries are summoned to listen to evidence and to give their verdict on it. Having given that verdict without thought or fear of the consequences their natural humanity may prompt them to utter a plea for clemency. The law provides for that, and the plea is passed on to the Secretary of State – who I may add is perfectly capable of showing clemency even without the benefit of advice on that score. That is the right order of events. It is not only misleading but positively mischievous to talk of mercy before guilt has been proved and there can be any possible need for mercy.’

  Mr Justice Plymme scrutinised the corn‐chandler closely.

  ‘I have made myself plain, I trust?’

  ‘Perfectly, thank you, sir – my lord, I mean,’ the corn‐chandler replied looking more mystified and abashed than ever.

  ‘Then the court will adjourn while you consider your verdict,’ Mr Justice Plymme announced.

  And what about me? Percy was asking. Where do I come in?

  What do I get out of this? Why wasn’t I allowed to speak? I could have told them. I could have put ’em straight. I could have cleared myself. And now what are they going to think of me? Why wasn’t I allowed to speak? You can’t call answering a lot of ruddy questions speaking. ‘How would he’ – Percy was staring at the door through which the scarlet robes of Mr Justice Plymme had just disappeared – ‘have liked it if I’d kept butting in when he was talking? Call this justice! What about me? Where do I come in?’