Thankfully, the crippling industrial disputes of the early summer, which had seen Fleet Street closed down and a total national rail strike for weeks back in June, were over, and the nationalized British Railways system was back to normal working.
He still found it thrilling to see the huge bulk of the Caerphilly Castle hauling the coaches of the daily Red Dragon as it rolled into the station, shaking the platform as it passed him. Brought up in a thrifty Welsh home, he usually travelled Third Class – not that he often went by train since he had returned to Britain and bought the Humber. However, as George Lovesey had pressed him to submit all his expenses, today he launched out with a First-Class ticket and settled back in one of the end coaches in relative luxury. He had thought of suggesting to Angela that she came with him and had a half day beating up the dress shops in the West End, but he could hardly claim for her on Lovesey’s expenses, much as he would have enjoyed her company on a day out.
A copy of the
He made for the Tube and took the Bakerloo Line to Piccadilly Circus. Richard was not all that familiar with London, but he had spent a few weeks there when he first joined the Royal Army Medical Corps, during hurried basic training at the RAM College at Millbank. That had been during the height of the Blitz, and his subsequent active service in the Far East had seemed like a holiday in comparison with London in 1941.
However, he knew some of the major teaching hospitals and was able to walk leisurely along the lower end of Piccadilly to Hyde Park Corner, where, on the other side of a daunting stream of traffic, the cream bulk of St George’s Hospital stood. A solid early-Victorian building, it dominated the busy junction where Hyde Park, Green Park and Buckingham Palace Garden met.
Unwilling to risk his life crossing the road, he found a subway and came up near the hospital, where after a few enquiries he made his way to the medical school section and found the Clinical Biochemistry Department. Everywhere was cramped and overfilled with temporary cubicles for the ever-expanding staff, but eventually a secretary took pity on him and led him through corridors cluttered with equipment to a door hidden in a corner. A faded sign indicated that Professor L. Zigmond resided within.
Lucius Zigmond turned out to be a larger-than-life character, very Jewish and amiably rotund. Richard had spoken to him on the telephone when he had arranged this meeting, so he was prepared for his marked Central European accent, even though the medical directory had shown that he had been at St George’s since 1937. A frizz of grey hair around a shiny bald head and a pair of small gold-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his large nose made him almost a cartoon version of an eccentric professor, aided by the crumpled white coat and a floppy bow tie. However, his keen eyes and direct manner were sharply at odds with his appearance.
As he shook hands and then dragged a hard chair out for Richard, he got straight to the point. ‘Professor Pryor, nice to meet you. I gather you want my help in saving a man from the gallows?’
Richard went through his usual deprecating routine of saying that he had reverted to ‘doctor’ after giving up his university chair in Singapore. Though he had briefly explained the situation over the telephone, he now went through the problem in detail and described the two grounds on which he felt the prosecution medical evidence could be challenged.
Zigmond listened with genuine interest and seemed intrigued with the ongoing research from America and Germany that Richard described, especially when he produced copies of the papers obtained from abroad.
‘It’s not what you want from me, but fascinating all the same,’ he enthused, peering keenly over his glasses. ‘One works for years at a particular topic, without the faintest idea what other people might be doing by applying it to a new problem.’
This led them to despair about the ‘compartmentalization’ of science, where researchers beavered away at their own super-speciality, with no idea what others might be doing, which would have shed light on each other’s problems.
Then Zigmond came back to the reason he was being asked for help. ‘I’m basically a physiologist by training,’ he explained. ‘But I drifted into biochemistry by virtue of my interest in electrolyte balance – or more often imbalance!’
He handed back Richard’s papers and picked up a letter he had been sent by George Lovesey. ‘As a purely clinical biochemist, I’ve never been involved in any legal or forensic aspects of electrolytes, but there’s always a first time.’
‘You appreciate the task we have in defeating this allegation?’ said Pryor cautiously. This man could run rings around him academically, and he didn’t want to even hint that Zigmond was slow in grasping the problem. But the portly professor slapped his hand on a pile of three thick textbooks lying on his cluttered desk.
‘With your idea, I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, Dr Pryor,’ he said. ‘That basic fact has been known for years, but no one had ever needed to attach much practical importance to it.’
He took the top book and opened it where he had stuck a folded envelope between the pages as a marker. Swivelling it around on the desk to face Richard, he jabbed a thick finger at a passage halfway down the page.
‘Read that, will you?’ he commanded. ‘These other two standard texts on physiology and on electrolyte chemistry say the same thing.’
Richard read the passages, first in the book on the desk and then on the pages of the other two missives that Zigmond passed to him. When he had finished, he looked up. ‘That seems cast iron to me,’ he observed contentedly. ‘If you can write a report to summarize the situation they describe, I’m sure our solicitor and counsel will be more than happy.’
He closed the last book and slid it across the desk. ‘If you are called to give evidence, then naturally the court will want to see those books as corroboration.’
Lucius Zigmond nodded, his double chins wobbling above his spotted bow tie. ‘Sure, as long as I get them back! The librarian here will have hysterics if they go missing.’
They talked for a time about the case and Zigmond also wanted to hear more details of the research from Cologne and the United States. He even wrote down the addresses of the authors, and Pryor suspected that he might well pursue the same line of investigation himself. St George’s had a very well-respected forensic pathologist on its staff, Dr Donald Teare, one of the famous London three, the others being Keith Simpson and Francis Camps. Richard thought that Lucius would perhaps approach Teare to suggest some joint research, as it seemed well within his field of interest.
When they had talked the subject out, Richard rose to leave, knowing that the other man would be anxious to get on with his work – or possibly go to lunch, as it was now midday. Leaving with a promise to get George Lovesey to contact Zigmond over the details of the written statement, Pryor left and made his way out of the hospital. He had quite a few hours before he needed to get back to Paddington and decided to walk up to Wimpole Street, where he wanted to visit the library of the Royal Society of Medicine. He went back along Piccadilly to its famous circus, where the statue of Eros was back on its fountain, after its wartime evacuation. From there, he ambled up Regent Street, conscious of the mix of people he saw. Many were now smartly dressed, though there were some shabby figures and a few flat caps among the trilbies and occasional bowler hats. Though it was ten years since the end of the war, there were still some signs of bomb damage, behind builders’ hoardings and cranes were now rebuilding the gaps.
The traffic was heavy and, being interested in cars, he recognized so many different makes, many of them still of pre-war vintage, as it was only now that new vehicles were becoming freely available. Most were British, though foreign ones were increasing in numbers, many of them unfamiliar to him.
On Oxford Street he decided he wanted something to eat and turned into one of Joe Lyons’ Corner Houses, the famous white and gold facades welcoming hungry customers as they had for half a century. Upstairs, he found a table in the crowded restaurant and soon a ‘Nippy’ waitress took his order. Today’s ‘Special’ was roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with a plate of bread and butter, then ‘spotted dick’ and a pot of tea. He knew then that he really was back in Britain!
Sitting alone at the table made him wish again that Angela could have been with him, and he determined to bring her along next time he came to London. He sometimes wondered what had caused the drastic rift between
