Asked if he wished to re-examine, Sir Halbert declined the honour. Which was sensible of him, more than one spectator thought. Young Ffolliott’s ingenuous honesty made him a match for any man.
Someone at the back of the court began to clap when he left the witness box, causing Lord Coleridge’s expression to grow even more supercilious. He threatened to have the court cleared unless the spectators behaved themselves. There had been a lot of appreciative laughter during young Ffolliott’s evidence. Violet, to Dinah’s amusement, made her approval of him quite plain.
Later, the defendants were all agreed on how well he had acquitted himself.
Dagenham said ruefully, ‘There we were, smug in our maturity and wide experience of life, dropping him because we thought that he might be irresponsible and let the side down, and he scores in court, and so far, we haven’t. Sorry to say that, Kenilworth, but that’s the truth. Not that I shall necessarily do any better.’
He didn’t. Trapped in the witness box, he did well enough with Sir Darcy leading him—as Sir Halbert frequently complained. ‘M’lud, counsel is leading his witness again, pray ask him to refrain!’
When Sir Halbert rose to cross-examine him, it was not that, like poor Kenilworth, he committed a bêtise, but that he was so hesitant, he sounded unsure.
No, he could not tell Sir Halbert on which cards Sir Ratcliffe had cheated. Yes, he agreed that the defendants had met together to write the paper for Sir Ratcliffe to sign. No, no undue pressure had been put on Sir Ratcliffe to sign, but yes, Sir Ratcliffe might have thought so! No, there was no conspiracy, but yes, they were all trying to protect the Prince of Wales.
Was that, then, why the accusation was made? No, but of course the Prince’s interests were paramount. Over those of Sir Ratcliffe’s? Yes, no. Why was the whole matter so hugger-mugger, Sir Ratcliffe being hanged, drawn and quartered, so to speak, in private? To save the Prince, Dagenham muttered at last.
He grew more and more hunted, and by the time his cross-examination was over, Sir Ratcliffe’s cause looked bright again.
Surprisingly, like Walter Ffolliott, it was Rainey, poor unsophisticated Rainey, who had gambled away house and lands, whose career had never shone like those of Kenilworth and Dagenham, who came off best of ‘the three noble peers’, as the Press persisted in calling them.
Remarkably, as he had promised, he managed to make nearly all his answers monosyllabic, offering both counsel a simple Yes or No. He walked out of the witness box smiling happily at his fellow-defendants.
‘Nothing to it,’ he proclaimed. To his brother-in-law Kenilworth he remarked kindly, ‘Can’t imagine why you made such heavy weather of it all, old fellow.’
To his other brother-in-law, Mr Jacobus Grant, with whom he had long ago come to terms, since the arrangement which Cobie had made of the Freville estates had relieved him of responsibility whilst allowing him a sufficient sum to maintain his lifestyle, he also kindly offered some informed advice. ‘Say as little as possible, and you can’t go wrong. But you know how to keep mum when the chips are down, I’ll be bound.’
Which was all very well, Cobie thought privately the next day when his own ordeal was about to begin, but the devil frequently took a hand in these things, and chance, being a fickle mistress on whom one could not depend, might arrange matters to no one’s liking—including his own.
‘Mr Jacobus Grant,’ the usher bawled before he made his elegant way into the witness box. His name, said aloud like that, always amused him by its pomposity.
Once in the box he could, at last, see everything and everyone, including Dinah who was, he was sure, a little worried for him.
Sir Ratcliffe’s eyes were avid on his face. There was something there which warned the feral man who lived inside Cobie to be careful.
Nothing of this showed.
‘An American,’ one of the reporters present muttered to his companion. ‘You’d never guess it,’ and when he began to speak, his beautiful unaccented voice, the one which he had carefully developed for English society, betrayed nothing of his transatlantic origins.
Sir Darcy was cautious with him. He had been told, nay, he knew, that Mr Grant was clever out of the common run, but clever men—like Lord Kenilworth—frequently tripped themselves up in the witness box.
He took Cobie slowly through what had happened at Markendale in that fateful week when the Prince of Wales was there. Cobie’s answers were short and to the point, with no embroidery.
‘Why were you asked to be of the small party which was to watch Sir Ratcliffe, Mr Grant?’
Cobie said, ‘I had observed Sir Ratcliffe engage in cheating, but as an American I said nothing of it at first.’
‘Then how was it you became involved?’
‘Lord Kenilworth, who is married to my wife’s sister, asked me if I had observed anything untoward in Sir Ratcliffe’s play.’
Sir Halbert jumped up. ‘Instruct the witness not to engage in hearsay, m’lud.’
The judge so instructed. Cobie bowed, said, ‘I had seen Sir Ratcliffe cheat, and was able to remember the exact way in which he had done it, and the cards on which he had moved his counters, increasing them if he won, decreasing them if he lost. I was a useful witness on that account.’
‘And you joined in preparing the document which Sir Ratcliffe was asked to sign and appended your signature to it.’
Cobie bowed again. He was, Dinah thought, the very picture of charming and graceful elegance. ‘Yes, to both questions.’
‘Let me take you through that again, Mr Grant. You say that you were—and still are—able to remember what the other witnesses could not. That is, all the cards played in the game which you watched, and all the counters moved, either forwards or backwards. And that having seen that, you are prepared, with that knowledge, to swear on oath, that Sir Ratcliffe cheated.’
‘I am, sir.’
The court buzzed at this statement.
‘Just one moment, Sir Darcy.’
It was the judge intervening before a purple-faced Sir Halbert could.
‘Am I to understand that Mr Grant claims to be able to remember every card and every counter moved by Sir Ratcliffe Heneage in a game played nearly three months ago?’
‘Exactly, m’lud. He has just so testified. It was his evidence which was the final clincher so far as Sir Ratcliffe’s guilt was concerned.’
Sir Halbert was now on his feet. ‘Thank you, m’lud. I was about to protest this so-called evidence. Mr Grant’s claim is so large as to be impossible.’
During this interchange Cobie remained his usually calm, slightly aloof, self. His self-control was beginning to impress the spectators, if not the judge and jury. He made no effort to defend his outrageous claim but left his counsel to battle for him.
Sir Darcy said, ‘I am instructed, m’lud, that Mr Grant is willing to have his memory tested in court. If you will so allow, he is prepared to have a baccarat game laid out, counters pushed forward or backward during it, all the moves recorded by a clerk, and then tell the court exactly what passed during the game, after the cards have been removed.’
There was uproar again. Walker, hidden from view, laughed to himself. ‘So, Mr Dilley is willing to do his magic tricks in court. What happens if this one fails? What magic trick will he perform to get out of that?’
Sir Halbert was in a dilemma. If he refused to allow Grant to be tested, he might be considered to have conceded that Grant’s memory was reliable—and he was the only one of the defendants who claimed to have remembered the exact cards on which Sir Ratcliffe had moved his counters.
If he let the test go ahead, however, and Grant failed—then Sir Ratcliffe was home and dry. But what if Grant succeeded? Everyone would believe that he had remembered truly. Even the surprise which Sir Halbert had up his sleeve for the charmingly handsome and civilised semi-aristocrat in the witness box might not be able to wipe out the memory of his trick proving Sir Ratcliffe to be a cheat. He had to take the risk—and hope that Gr
ant would fail.
He therefore rose again, saying, ‘I am willing to agree that Mr Grant be tested—with the proviso that the packs of cards which will be used are supplied by officials of the court, and that officials of the court, not his counsel, will carry out the test. To that end I ask your lordship for an adjournment to arrange the matter, during which time Mr Grant will speak to no one.’
Oh, how wise, murmured Walker to himself. To put the magician in quarantine so that he cannot rig the game. Where is his shill, his accomplice? Is it possible that some of his tricks are real magic?
Sir Darcy agreed.
Cobie had nodded in the direction of the judge and the jury when this condition was made and agreed to by the judge. Nothing could have suited him more. He needed to order his mind, to concentrate on nothing, so that when the test began, he could concentrate on something. Talk would have been a distraction.
He could see Hendrick Van Deusen in the spectators, a curiously smug expression on his face. Well, he hoped not to let him down—or his co-defendants. He was aware, as everyone in the courtroom was, that the result of the action might turn on what came next.
An usher led him into a room, where, once the door was closed on him, he lay down on a strip of carpeting before a roaring fire, closed his eyes, and willed himself into nothingness—where he remained for some time until he heard footsteps. The usher, come to call him back, found him seated in an armchair, a book from a crowded bookcase in his hand, as though he had been studying it in the hour which had elapsed.
Back in the courtroom a table had been laid out for baccarat. Two officials were seated face to face, one ready to lay out the cards, the other to act as Sir Ratcliffe. A chair was offered to Cobie. Sir Darcy instructed him to place it where he had sat on the fateful night when he had been an observer. A third official stood by ready to write down every card laid down, and every move made by the pseudo-Sir Ratcliffe, to check Cobie’s recall when the cards had been removed, and his memory test began.
This was the boring part. Dinah, sitting between Violet and Hendrick Van Deusen, had asked him during the recess when the spectators’ seating had rung with noise, ‘Can he do it, Mr Van Deusen? Can he really do such a remarkable thing?’
Somehow she thought that Mr. Van Deusen would be able to answer her—and would tell her the truth.
‘He has done more difficult things than this test, Lady Dinah,’ he had told her truthfully.
Violet had cawed, ‘What a party piece, to be sure,’ and he had given her one of his oblique amber looks and said,
‘No party piece, Lady Kenilworth, and more than an action for slander has depended on his memory before now.’
Dinah did not doubt it. Her husband’s face wore an expression which she—and Hendrick Van Deusen—knew well. It was a distant one of great severity. Distant because in some strange way he was not in the court at all, but was in some limbo where only he existed.
Finally, it was over. The judge said, ‘You may return to the witness box, Mr Grant, in order to complete the test.’
The cards were removed, and Cobie’s ordeal now began. He had begun to sweat, but it was a cold sweat, not a hot one, and no one could tell from his appearance that he was at all discommoded.
Sir Darcy asked, ‘Are you ready, Mr Grant?’
‘Yes.’ Cobie’s answer was as curt as he could make it.
‘Then I will ask you to name each card as you recall it, and the clerk will signify whether your answer is true or false by calling out Yes, or No.’
Cobie closed his eyes, and began to summon up his strength. He was experiencing two strangely opposite things. As he began to speak each card he was about to name swam into his view, occupying the whole of his vision, and simultaneously, he was not in the room in present time at all, but was experiencing the action of a few moments ago.
If the courtroom had been quiet when he began, the silence resembled that of the tomb as he named each card correctly. Approaching the mid-point of his test, still calling the cards without making an error, the silence became almost oppressive. Once he paused, and opened his eyes. He could see Dinah, willing him to succeed, and for a moment the being who hovered over the courtroom in past time, reached out to touch her with his mind.
Dinah felt the touch as something silky pushing at the edge of her consciousness—and then the courtroom disappeared. She was in a strange dark place, very hot, lit only by a moon and distant stars. Somehow, she was not herself—her self had gone—but she was the man whom she loved.
Opposite to her, propped up against some rocks, and wrapped around with blankets, was Mr Van Deusen, his face ashen white, not its usual sallow hue. He was speaking. Remarkably, he was calling out moves in chess, and she, Cobie-Dinah, was responding with counter moves. What was even more disturbing was that there was no chess board in sight, and although Mr Van Deusen was marking his moves down on a grubby piece of paper, he/she was playing from a board which existed only in his/her memory.
He/she said exultantly, ‘Mated, Schultz!’ and Mr Van Deusen shook his head in wonder—and he and the strange scenery began to fade. She was back in the courtroom where Cobie had now begun to call out the moves the clerk had made in pushing his counters surreptitiously on and off the cards with a pencil, in imitation of what Sir Ratcliffe was supposed to have done.
Cobie was still unfaulted, and then he paused. The silence almost hurt Dinah, for it had a feral quality in it. The spectators might want the man in the witness box to succeed, but to have him fail, so far into his test, would be equally as exciting!
Walker felt the same. Oh, yes, this was Mr Dilley’s most magic trick of all—but why had he stopped?
Cobie opened his eyes, and said, in his beautiful voice. ‘At this point the clerk pushed his counter backwards and forwards several times on and off the Ace of Spades and then sideways on to the Four of Hearts. After which he turned to the clerk acting as banker, and whispered in his ear, “If that doesn’t flummox the bastard, nothing will!”’
The silence of the courtroom was shattered. Laughter and cheers filled it. An usher called for order. The Lord Chief Justice, who had been as engaged as everyone else in the unfolding drama, said to the clerk, ‘You, there! Is that correct?’
The clerk said. ‘Yes, I moved my pencil on and off the cards named—as I am sure my colleague will confirm.’
Exasperated, the judge said, ‘I will rephrase that. Did the witness repeat correctly what you said?’
‘Yes, m’lud. I apologise, m’lud.’
The judge ignored him. He asked, ‘Mr Grant. If he whispered that to his partner, how did you hear him say it from where you were sitting?’
Cobie thought that to tell the truth might be the wisest thing, even though the judge might not believe him.
‘I don’t know, m’lud. I only know that I was aware that he had whispered it—which he has admitted that he did.’
‘You don’t know?’ The judge shook his head. ‘I am stopping the test now. To continue it after this remarkable demonstration would be pointless. I am convinced that Mr Grant’s claim as to his ability to remember exactly what he has seen is a true one. Tell me, Mr Grant, how far does this talent extend?’
Cobie hesitated. He turned away from the courtroom towards the judge so that no one could see his face. He was exhausted, as he always was after such strange feats.
‘So far as I care to extend it, m’lud. My recall is total. The difficulty is to forget.’
Lord Justice Coleridge shook his head in wonder. ‘Then you possess a great talent. Not many are blessed with it.’
Cobie said, summoning up his strength to do so, ‘Oh, no, m’lud. With due respect it is a curse, not a blessing.’
Dinah saw Mr Van Deusen shake his head in agreement, and felt that she, too, knew what her husband meant if no one else did. Not to be able to forget. Yes, that would be a curse.
Sir Halbert was on his feet again. ‘And with due respect, m’lud, I concede that Mr Grant has proved
his point. I compliment him…’ He paused, then added, sneering, ‘He could set up as a memory man on the halls—’
The judge interrupted him, his face severe again. ‘Indeed, Sir Halbert. What halls are these of which you speak?’
‘The music halls, m’lud. Where such magicians as Mr Grant are paid to entertain the vulgar.’
‘Then say so, Sir Halbert. Although I fail to see what point you are trying to make.’
From his hidden corner Walker whistled to himself. ‘Oh, Sir Halbert, you spoke better than you know!’
Sir Halbert was sneering again, his gown gathered up behind him—a danger sign.
‘It is this, m’lud. I would like to ask Mr Grant a question, with your permission, since unorthodoxy is reigning here today. Is it not also possible that, despite his astonishing memory, Mr Grant might be willing to testify incorrectly as to what he had seen that night at Markendale?’
The judge motioned for Cobie to answer. He said, ‘Yes, I suppose that may be so. But in the case of Sir Ratcliffe’s conduct at Markendale, I am telling you what I saw—and remembered.’
Sir Halbert said testily. ‘The first part of your answer, Mr Grant, was all that I needed to hear. I trust you to instruct the jury to ignore the second part, m’lud.’
‘I will do so, Sir Halbert. Sir Darcy, you may continue your examination of the witness. I believe that you have not yet finished.’
‘Indeed, not, m’lud. My learned friend has seen fit to sneer at the excellence of Mr Grant’s memory and to cast doubts on his veracity. I believe, Mr Grant, that you have no need to be a magician, that—’
Sir Halbert was on his feet protesting. ‘Sir Darcy is leading the witness again, m’lud.’
‘So you are, Sir Darcy. If you have a question to ask of the witness, Sir Darcy, ask it.’
‘As your lordship wishes. What is your financial situation, Mr Grant?’
‘I am the President of the Trust, South West Mining Associates.’
‘What is its financial standing?’
‘It is good, sir. My own position as President means that my financial standing is also excellent.’
Prince of Secrets Page 20
