“Yes.”
“Have you or have you not received complaints from headquarters that you are not properly fulfilling your duties with regard to the prevention of smuggling?”
“Mr. Braddock,” the judge again interrupted, his eyes on the young women in the gallery, “that is not a relevant question.”
“My lord,” Mr. Braddock fired up, “I am very well aware of what is relevant and what is not relevant. If the defence is to be hampered …”
“That is not the way to address the Bench. You must learn to keep your temper, Mr. Braddock. I am anxious to give the defence every latitude. Well, Mr. Hilliard?”
“I have received complaints, my lord.”
“He has received complaints, Mr. Braddock. There you have your answer. Will you proceed?”
“Did you receive a complaint within the last month?”
“Yes.”
“Did you say in the hearing of a number of your men that unless something was done quickly you and they would be dismissed the service?”
“No.”
“Now, Mr. Hilliard, think carefully upon that point and remember that you are upon your oath.”
“I cannot remember saying so.”
“Yes or no, Mr. Hilliard.”
Sir Edward Parkin fluttered a white hand impatiently. Attention in the public gallery was becoming too centred on counsel. “The witness has already answered you, Mr. Braddock. He cannot remember.”
Mr. Braddock snorted and shrugged his shoulders with an eye on the jury.
“Now, Mr. Hilliard, listen very carefully. I suggest to you that there was urgent need, if you were not to be dismissed from the service, for—shall we say a grand coup?”
“I don’t know.”
“I suggest Mr. Hilliard that your whole story, and the story your men will tell, is a complete fabrication?”
“That’s a lie.”
“These men are known to be smugglers. I suggest that you arrested them not on the shore but in their homes?”
“That’s another.”
“Don’t laugh at me, Mr. Hilliard. This is a serious matter for you. The jury have only your word and the word of your men against the word of these prisoners in the dock.”
“Counsel for the defence,” Sir Edward Parkin interrupted, “cannot address the jury. Confine yourself to cross-examining the witness, Mr. Braddock.”
“Can I say something, my lord?” Mr. Hilliard asked. “It’s not only our word. There’s the body.”
“I shall come to the body in good time,” Mr. Braddock said. “In the last three years, Mr. Hilliard, are these the first successful arrests you have made?”
“Yes.”
“I suggest to you that it is curious that after three years of apathy you are able suddenly to hit on the exact portion of shore where these men landed?”
“I acted on information.”
“Information is a vague word. Do you mean your imagination?” Mr. Braddock grinned fiercely at the jury and they tittered nervously back.
“No, I received an anonymous letter.”
“Have you made any attempt to trace the writer?”
“No.”
“Is that letter going to be produced in court?”
“Are you asking for it to be read, Mr. Braddock?” the judge asked.
“No, my lord.”
“Well, then, you know as well as I do that it cannot be produced. It’s not evidence.”
“Your source of information then was an anonymous letter?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Braddock laughed. The sound was like the clang of iron gates. “An anonymous letter!” With a rough sweep of his hand he seemed to brush away incredulously the whole story. “I have no more to ask this witness, my lord,” he said, and sat down.
“Do you wish to reexamine, Sir Henry?”
Sir Henry Merriman with a faint smile shook his head. Mr. Braddock was behaving exactly as he had foreseen.
The next witness was the elderly gauger with whom Andrews had had his encounter. He repeated the same story as his chief. Mr. Braddock rose to cross-examine. He adopted a friendly, insinuating manner which sat on him less naturally than his previous bullying ways.
“Have you been at all afraid of dismissal during the last year?”
“We been all afraid of that.”
“Thank you. Did you know the dead man, Rexall, well?”
“Middlin’.”
“Are you aware of any quarrel he has had during the last year?”
“Lots.”
Laughter broke out in the gallery and the usher had to call for silence several times. Mr. Farne spoke rapidly in Sir Henry Merriman’s ear.
“He was of a quarrelsome disposition?”
“Middlin’.”
“Did you know personally any of the men in the dock?”
“All of ’em.”
“Did Rexall?”
“Aye.”
“Thank you. That is all.”
Sir Henry gave a nod to Mr. Farne and Mr. Farne rose.
“Are you aware of any quarrel which Rexall may have had with any of the prisoners in the dock?”
“No. We got on middlin’ well wi’ ’em all.”
Mr. Farne sat down.
One after the other the gaugers were called to testify to the truth of Mr. Hilliard’s story. Mr. Braddock let them troop in and out of the box without stay, until the last had given his evidence. Then he rose again. He smiled triumphantly at Sir Henry Merriman, and Sir Henry returned the smile, for he had kept back a trump card, of which Mr. Braddock was unaware.
“Do you know,” Mr. Braddock asked, “of any quarrel which Rexall had with one of the prisoners?”
“Aye, it was that scared-looking one in the front row,” and the witness, a wizened ratlike man, raised a finger and pointed at the boy Tims.
“Can you tell us about it?”
“Why, ’e met the boy in the street and ’e started a teasing of ’im. An’ the boy up an’ slapped ’is face.”
“And what did Rexall do?”
“Nought. That’s only a mad boy.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Braddock sat down. Sir Henry turned to Mr. Farne and spoke under his breath. “The swine. They are going to throw suspicion on that half-wit. Shall we reexamine?”
“No need,” said Mr. Farne. “Our next witness smashes their whole tale.”
“Andrews.” The name, his own name, overwhelmed him where he stood by the window. He turned and faced the officer who called him as he would face an enemy, with clenched fists. “Get on, you sneak.” A voice came to him from the benches. He wanted to stay and explain, to tell them that he was about to stand in greater danger than did the prisoners in the dock—“betraying them thus openly I stand above
