William Murray, Earl of Mansfield, Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, stopped in midstep, turned back, and looked at me distrustfully. “Well, what do you want?” said he with what seemed a sneer.
“I have a document and a note to deliver to you from Sir John,” said I.
“Well, give it me.”
That I did without greater preamble.
“Must he have an answer immediate?” the Lord Chief Justice demanded. “That is his way, more often than not.”
“No, mlord,” said I. “Except that you recognize the nature and significance of the document, read the note, and agree or disagree to stop off at Number Four Bow Street tomorrow morning on your way to Old Bailey. Your response need not be written.”
“All that, eh? Indeed? Well, let us see what he has given us.” Then did he rip open the document at the seal — and none too gently. “A statement, is it? Who is this fellow, Percival Mobley? Silly name, Percival.”
“If you will but read on, m lord. Who he is should be made clear in the first long paragraph.”
He read on, and, of a sudden, burst out laughing. “Oh, dear!” he exclaimed. “Just see here! This fellow Mobley has quite dissolved our commission, has he not!”
“I would call your attention to the note, Lord Mansfield,” said I. “Sir John warns you of an expected visitor.”
“Oh? Let me see.”
He found the note and perused it rather hastily, nodding, grunting, chuckling, though in a somewhat sinister manner.
“Ah, well,” said he. “Just let him try. He shall discover that I have great powers of resistance. And yes, by all means, lad, tell Sir John that I shall be most happy to look in on him tomorrow morning.”
As I walked out the door and into Bloomsbury Square a moment later, I happened to reflect that if I had done nothing more, I had succeeded in altering the mood of the Lord Chief Justice. He was positively jolly by the time I took my leave.
Upon my arrival at Number 4 Bow Street, Sir John took me aside and told me that in my absence he had been blessed by a visit from the Solicitor-General himself.
“As I predicted,” said he, “he would have the original and accept no ‘Fair Copy’. Indeed, he demanded all copies that had been made, along with the signed original. When I told him that there were no other copies, he made some remark expressing great doubt. When I said to him then, ‘Sir, would you impugn my good word?’ he said, ‘Not your good word, only your good intentions’. And when I told him that the original was unavailable, for it was now with the Lord Chief Justice, he became altogether unreasonable and insisted that I send someone to fetch it back. I did then finally lose my temper. I told him that the statement made by Percival Mobley was material to his trial and belonged with the Lord Chief Justice. ‘And,’ said he, ‘if I have anything to say about it, there will be no trial.’”
Then did Sir John ask me how Lord Mansfield responded to the package with which I represented him.
“He had only to read the beginning of the statement to become most eager to read the rest,” said I. “And as for Sir Patrick, he seemed to look forward to a contest of the wills with the Solicitor-General.”
“I’m sure he does. When Lord Mansfield digs in his heels, it seems none can budge him.”
Yet I had been wondering a question, and I thought it only right to put it to him.
“Sir,” said I, “if I may say so without being judged impertinent, you can be quite as stubborn as Lord Mansfield. Why did you feel it necessary to send the original to him in order to keep it out of Sir Patricks hands?”
“A fair question,” said he. “You will find when you grow to manhood, and particularly if you are a lawyer, that it is a good thing to know the limits of your own power — if only to test those limits now and again. Now, I, as a mere magistrate, am not afforded near so much power as, say, the Solicitor-General. If we consider that the Solicitor-General we have in mind is also well known at court and a friend of the King’s, to the extent that the King has friends — consider all that, and you must concede that as an opponent he would be very powerful indeed. To tell the truth, I am not sure that I have power enough to resist him in this matter of Mr. Mobley’s statement. In less dire circumstances, it might have been amusing to try, but this is too important a matter to turn into such a contest. And so, knowing that the office of the Lord Chief Justice is a much higher and more powerful one than my own, and knowing, too, that Lord Mansfield is specially capable in contests of this sort, I thought him in the best position and better suited than I to fight this out with Sir Patrick Spenser.’’
“If that is the case, Sir John, why were you so eager for him to see Mr. Mobley’s statement that you had me copy it, and then sent it off with that young clerk to Sir Patrick? “
“Why, because, Jeremy, I wanted him to know the contents of the statement. In fact, I want the world to know, and that is why I sent you off with my invitations to the newspaper offices — but Sir Patrick I want most of all to know. I think it will tempt him to overreach himself.”
Lord Mansfield did not wait till morning to confer with Sir John. He arrived quite unexpectedly with the usual flurry and shout, tramping up the long corridor to the magistrate’s chambers, where Sir John and I were finishing an hour devoted to court correspondence. Thus we were not surprised by him as he made his entrance. I had time aplenty to shift my place to a chair in the corner. There I could hear all without being noticed.
“Well, Sir John,” said Lord Mansfield, “he came, and he came earlier than expected. I’d scarce had the opportunity to read through what you had sent me.”
“You’re referring to Sir Patrick, of course. He must have gone to you directly from here.’’
“Oh, indeed! I’m sure he did, for he had many words of criticism for you, sir, and most of them decorated with most colorful curses.”
“That sort of thing bothers me not in the least,” said Sir John. “What disturbed me far more was his emphatic declaration that if he had anything to say about it, Percival Mobley would have no trial.”
“I wonder what he could be planning,” said Lord Mansfield with a frown. “He was quite conspiratorial,” he continued, “at least in the beginning. When I made some reference to the false claim to the Laningham title and his part in it, he more or less dismissed it in that airy way of his.”
“Did he deny it?” Sir John asked.
“No, he did not attempt that. What he said — ” He hesitated. “If I may think a moment, I believe I can give you his very words …” He took that moment and then a moment more. “Ah, yes, Sir Patrick said, I see, then, you have been reading that bizarre confession by the claimant. I have seen it myself. He implicates me.’ I asked him then if he confirmed or denied the accusation, and he refused to do either. He said, ‘If you can show me that a crime has been committed by me, then I will do so. You know the law as well as I do. No formal claim has been made, and therefore no true effort at deception.’”
“Mobley said something of the sort in his own defense,” said Sir John. “He must have heard it from him. But you may be certain that Sir Patrick is not as indifferent to his situation as all that.”
“Oh, by no means! For in the next breath, he declared that this fellow who has been so free with his accusations is, after all, a murderer. He puts his faith in me that I am known for my short way with all who come before me accused of capital crimes. The facts are not in dispute, says he. Mobley killed this fellow Bolton by breaking his windpipe. That is murder. Make the jury aware of that in your summing-up. Direct them, as you often do, says he, and the jury will do the rest. ‘There should be no need to go into these matters of the Laningham claim — neither his part in it, nor mine.’ That last bit again is word for word from Sir Patrick’s mouth.”