all. Dear me, no. The trial was conducted with perfect propriety, and there was most certainly no new evidence.”
“You are speaking of the appeal?”
“Of course. What else?”
“I had heard that Mr. Stafford was still interested in the matter, and had interviewed several of the principal witnesses again in the last few days.”
Again the writing stopped and there was a prickly silence.
“Indeed? I had not heard that!” The clerk looked quite taken aback. “I cannot imagine what that would mean. However, it did not concern these chambers, Mr.—er … Mr. Pitt, you say? Quite so—Mr. Pitt. We prosecuted the case, we did not defend. That, as I recall, was Mr. Barton James, of Finnegan, James and Mulhare, of Fetter Lane.” He frowned. “Although it is most odd that Mr. Stafford should be enquiring in the matter. If indeed there is some new evidence come to light, I would have thought Mr. James should take it up—if it is of any importance?”
“Miss Macaulay, Godman’s sister, appealed personally to Mr. Stafford,” Pitt explained.
“Oh dear, yes indeed. A most tenacious young woman-most misguided.” The clerk shook his head. “Unfortunate. An actress person, I believe. Most unfortunate. Well, sir, what is it that we may do for you?”
“May I see Mr. Pryce, if he is available? He was at the theater yesterday evening, and Mr. Stafford also called upon him earlier in the day. He may be able to give us some information which will throw further light upon Mr. Stafford’s death.”
“Indeed. He was a personal friend of Mr. and Mrs. Stafford; possibly Mr. Stafford confided some concern for his health. He has a client with him at the moment, but I do not believe he will be long. If you care to take a seat, sir, I will inform him that you are here.” And with that he bowed very slightly, a stiff gesture, rather like a black crow that was about to peck and changed its mind. Pitt watched him walk away between the desks and files and high-backed stools where young men sat bent over books, scribbling industriously. Not one of them looked up as he passed.
It was over a quarter of an hour before the clerk returned to say that Mr. Pryce was free now, and conducted Pitt to his heavily ornate office, where carved oak chests and bookcases held a library of law books, and the mellow gleam of polished wood reflected the warmth of the fire. Two well-curtained windows looked out onto a small shaded courtyard. The single tree was already bright with autumn colors and the grass was sorely in need of clipping.
Sunlight fell across a very formal desk, leather inlaid and furnished with onyx and crystal inkwells, and a stand for pen, seals, knife, tapers and sand. A dossier, tied in ribbon, still sat on one polished corner of the wood.
Adolphus Pryce looked agitated. He was extremely fashionably dressed in black frock coat, pin-striped trousers and exquisitely cut waistcoat. He had a natural grace and a posture which made his clothes look even more expensive than they probably were.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Pitt,” he said with an attempt at a smile, but it died on his lips almost before it was born. He looked as if he had slept little. “Withers tells me you have come about poor Stafford. I am not sure what else I can tell you, but of course I am more than happy to try. Please—be seated.” He waved his hand towards the large green leather upholstered chair near Pitt.
Pitt accepted, leaning back and crossing his legs as if he intended to remain for some time. He saw the look of concern deepen in Pryce’s face as he too sat down.
“Mr. Stafford came to see you yesterday,” Pitt began, not sure how best to draw the information he wanted, indeed not sure if Pryce possessed it. “Can you tell me what that concerned? I realize you cannot break confidence with a client, but Mr. Stafford himself is dead, and the Godman case is in the public domain.”
“Of course,” Pryce leaned back a little and placed his fingertips together thoughtfully. “Actually he came entirely about the Godman case. Of course we exchanged a few pleasantries.” His discomfort returned for a moment. “We —we have known each other for some time. But his reason for calling was his concern, indeed his intention to act, with regard to that case.”
“To act? He told you so?”
“Yes—yes, indeed.” Pryce stared at Pitt very fixedly. He was a man of considerable charm and poise, aristocratic features and sufficient individuality to remain unmistakable in the memory.
“To reopen the appeal?” Pitt pressed. “Upon what grounds?”
“Ah—that he did not say, at least not specifically.”
“Why did he come to you, Mr. Pryce? What did he wish you to do?”
“Nothing. Oh, nothing at all.” Pryce lifted his shoulders very slightly. “It was really something of a courtesy, since I had been the original prosecuting counsel. And I suppose he may have wondered if I had had any doubts myself.”
“If he intended to reopen the appeal, Mr. Pryce, he must either have found some breach of correct conduct in the original trial or else some new evidence, surely? Or there would be no grounds for raising the matter yet again.”
“Quite. Quite so. And I assure you the original trial was perfectly properly conducted. The judge was Mr. Thelonius Quade, a man of the utmost integrity, and more than sufficient skill to not make an error by mischance.” He sighed. “It seems therefore an inevitable conclusion that Mr. Stafford had found some new evidence. He did intimate to me that it had to do with the medical testimony at the original trial, but he did not say what. He also implied that there was something else he felt was unresolved, but he did not elaborate.”
“Medical evidence from the autopsy on Blaine?”
“I presume so.” Pryce’s eyebrows shot up. “But I suppose it is possible he meant some examination of Godman, although what that could have to do with it, I have no idea.”
Pitt was surprised. “What medical evidence was there to do with Godman?”
“Oh—most disturbing. He was in a very poor shape when he came to trial. Several most unpleasant bruises and lacerations about the face and shoulders, and a serious limp.”
