Why was he doing nothing? He had said he would fight all the way.
“I believe so,” Gavinton replied. “I intended to make them seem both financially and emotionally incompetent, and I believe I did so.”
“How did you accomplish that, Mr. Gavinton?” Wystan pursued. “Did you cross-question each one and expose his weaknesses to the court?”
“No. I had one witness who knew them all, and knew both Mr. Taft himself and also the financial dealings of the church and all the members of the congregation. I was able to draw from him all that I needed.”
“And that witness’s name?”
Gavinton was clearly uncomfortable now. He moved his head as if his collar were too tight, even touching it with one hand, and then changing his mind.
“Robertson Drew,” he replied.
“Did you in fact win the case?”
Gavinton made a slight, rueful gesture perhaps intended to be self-deprecating. “I doubt it, but the verdict was never returned.”
“Why not?”
This time Gavinton paused, and the effect, intended or not, was highly dramatic.
“The defendant, Abel Taft, took his own life.”
Rathbone looked at the jury and instantly regretted it. They looked grim and slightly embarrassed, perhaps at being spectators, albeit unwillingly, at such a tragedy.
“My sympathy,” Wystan said quietly. “That must have been terrible for you and everyone else concerned. Do you know why he did such a thing? Did you see him that day, or did he leave a letter?”
“I saw him,” Gavinton replied. “He was devastated. He felt totally betrayed by the fact that Robertson Drew had changed all his testimony under cross-examination. I had no doubt that the verdict the following day would have been one of guilty.”
Wystan looked puzzled. “Do you know why Mr. Drew so radically altered his testimony? Did he give you any warning that he would do such a thing?”
Gavinton’s face tightened. Suddenly the charm was gone, and his expression was bleak, even dangerous.
“He gave me no warning. He had no opportunity to. He was on the stand being questioned by Mr. Dillon Warne, counsel for the prosecution, when Mr. Warne produced a photograph and showed it to Mr. Drew. Mr. Drew was clearly profoundly shocked by it. He seemed almost to collapse on the stand. Naturally I demanded to see the photograph myself, and when I did so I requested that we speak to the judge in his chambers, immediately.”
“And the judge in question was Sir Oliver Rathbone?”
Gavinton’s mouth was a thin line. “Yes.”
“Please explain to the gentlemen of the jury why you made such a request.”
“Because I had had no warning of the photograph, as the law requires that I should, thence I had no opportunity to verify its authenticity, or to find any indication of what it seemed to purport.”
“I assume from the reaction, which you described, in Mr. Drew that it was in some manner damaging to him?” Wystan said innocently.
“Profoundly so,” Gavinton agreed grimly.
“Did you manage to prevent it being shown to the jury?”
“Yes, but it might have been shown to them once it had been authenticated, if indeed it could have been,” Gavinton pointed out. “However, the damage was done. We returned to the courtroom and thereafter Mr. Drew altered his testimony completely. He went back on everything he had previously said, restoring the reputations of all the witnesses he had previously demolished and ruining Mr. Taft beyond help. Obviously he was terrified the photograph would be used to destroy him.”
“And was this photograph subsequently authenticated?” Wystan inquired. He glanced at Brancaster, clearly expecting him to object, but Brancaster sat silent.
“Not to my knowledge,” Gavinton answered.
Wystan drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I will not ask you what was in it, because as you say, it was never authenticated. We may ruin an innocent man’s honor and reputation. My point in raising the entire issue-for which I am grateful to Mr. Brancaster”-he looked at him momentarily, then back at Gavinton again-“for refraining from interrupting me with any objections …”
His meaning was not lost on the jury, or possibly on the gallery either. Brancaster had already given up the fight. He had lost, and he knew it.
Rathbone felt a panic well up inside him, making it difficult to catch his breath. The room swam around him, disappearing at the edges, closing in. Was this how everyone felt in the dock, imprisoned, helpless, and terrified? He should have taken more care of the people he defended, realized how they felt. He ached to be able to interrupt, to explain. It was all slipping out of control.
Wystan began talking again. His pause for effect had seemed to stretch on and on, but it had been only seconds.
“My point in raising the issue is to find out and prove to this court here today,” he explained, “exactly where that photograph came from, who provided it to the court at exactly that moment when it had the most dramatic effect, and why they would do such a thing.”
“I cannot comment on the reasons,” Gavinton replied. “And as to where it came from, you will have to ask Mr. Warne.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Wystan said with clear satisfaction. “Believe me, sir, I intend to.”
Rathbone had known he would, of course, and yet still his heart sank. He looked at the jury, trying to read their faces, but their expressions could have meant anything. He could not be certain that they even understood. They were clerks, storekeepers, dentists, all kinds of men-the sort he had been happy to trust with other people’s lives.
Brancaster rose to his feet. He looked far more confident than he had any right to be. He had started acting, at last! Perhaps a little too late.
Brancaster looked up at Gavinton. “This photograph, Mr. Gavinton. I do not wish you to describe it, to tell me who was in it or what they were doing. It has not been introduced into evidence; indeed, I have not seen it. And because he has not mentioned it to me, I assume Mr. Wystan has not seen it, or does not possess it himself, and has no intention of introducing it as evidence either. However, he has made a good deal of it in testimony.” He regarded Gavinton inquiringly. “I imagine it would be fair to say that it is the center of this entire case? Do I understand you correctly that it was at the point he saw this photograph that Mr. Drew changed his testimony to almost the exact opposite of what he had said before?”
“Yes, sir, that is correct,” Gavinton agreed. He was grim, but not yet anxious.
“You said that he appeared to be stunned, appalled by it, almost to the point of passing out?” Brancaster pursued.
Gavinton hesitated only a moment. “Yes … I suppose that is true.”
“You suppose?” Brancaster looked surprised. “Did you not say so, just a few moments ago?”
Gavinton was definitely annoyed now. His voice was sharp. “Yes. He was appalled. It was a very natural reaction, Mr. Brancaster. Any man would have been.”
“Really? Quite plainly you have seen this photograph. Perhaps you could explain that to the jury. In what way was it so very dreadful?”
Gavinton’s face twisted with disgust.
Rathbone wanted to rise to his feet and protest, but he could not. It was as if he were watching his own execution. What in God’s name was Brancaster doing?
“It was obscene,” Gavinton replied. “Pornographic in the extreme.”
Brancaster looked unmoved. “Really?” His eyebrows rose. “And you believe that Mr. Drew had never seen pornography before? He was sufficiently innocent of the facts of nature that seeing such a thing caused him almost to lose his senses and pass out in public? You amaze me. I might find such a thing in extremely poor taste, even disgusting, but I doubt I would lose consciousness over it.”
“You might, sir, if the pictures were of yourself practicing obscene acts with a small boy!” Gavinton’s voice
