One or two of the jury nodded.
‘But we found several other books,’ spluttered William, still trying to fight back. ‘Don’t forget the first edition of A Christmas Carol, signed by Charles Dickens, for example.’
‘I’m glad you raised the subject of the Dickens,’ said Grace, ‘because my client has long treasured that particular family heirloom, left to him by his late father, so he would never have considered selling it. Indeed, the court may be interested to know that my client is in possession of the original receipt for the sale of the book, dated December nineteenth, 1843, price five shillings.’
Mr. Hayes was quickly on his feet. ‘My Lord, I must protest. This document has not been offered in evidence by the defence.’
‘There’s a simple explanation for that, Your Honor,’ said Grace. ‘My client has been searching for the receipt since the day he was arrested, but Constable Warwick and his colleague left his home in such a mess that he only came across it this morning.’
‘How convenient,’ said Hayes, loud enough for the jury to hear. The judge scowled but didn’t rebuke him.
Once again, the jury took their time studying the receipt.
‘I hope, Constable Warwick,’ said Grace after William had looked briefly at the receipt, ‘that you’re not going to suggest my client forged that as well?’
Several members of the jury began to chat among themselves, while Hayes made a note on his pad.
Grace smiled up at her brother and said, ‘I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honour.’
‘Thank you, Ms. Warwick,’ said the judge. ‘Perhaps this might be a convenient time to adjourn for lunch.’
‘We’re not beaten yet,’ said Hayes, enjoying a Caesar salad in the canteen.
‘But I didn’t exactly help our cause,’ said William, unable to eat. ‘I should have reminded my sister about the pages of Churchill signatures we found in Amhurst’s house.’
‘Fear not,’ said Hayes. ‘Once Amhurst steps into the witness box, I will remind the jury about the fake signatures again and again.’
‘And I’m puzzled about that receipt,’ said William. ‘Why didn’t we find it when we searched the house?’
‘Because I suspect it wasn’t there. Amhurst probably bought it quite recently to cover himself. A point I shall put to him under oath.’
William glanced across at his sister, who was having lunch on the other side of the canteen with her instructing solicitor, who he suspected was Clare. But neither of them once looked in his direction.
When the court reconvened, Mr. Justice Gray asked defending counsel if she would like to call her first witness. Ms. Warwick rose from her place and said, ‘I shall not be calling any witnesses, Your Honor.’
A murmur went up around the court. William leaned forward and whispered in Hayes’ ear, ‘So if Amhurst isn’t going to testify, won’t that make the jury assume he’s guilty?’
‘Possibly. But don’t forget your sister will have the last word. And if I’d been representing Amhurst, I would have given him the same advice.’
The judge turned his attention to prosecuting counsel.
‘Are you ready, Mr. Hayes, to sum up on behalf of the Crown?’
‘I am indeed, Your Honor,’ said Hayes, who rose and placed his summation on the little stand in front of him. He coughed, adjusted his wig, and turned to face the jury. ‘Members of the jury, what a fascinating case this has turned out to be — although perhaps you might feel that you are attending a performance of Hamlet without the prince. Let me begin by asking you, why defending counsel never once in her cross-examination of Detective Constable Warwick mentioned the pages of Winston Churchill signatures that were found in the defendant’s home, written on pages torn from a 49p WHSmith lined pad. I think we can assume that they weren’t signed by the great war leader, and not least because he died before decimalization.
‘We also know that DC Warwick found a complete set of Churchill’s The Second World War in the defendant’s home, of which three of the six volumes were signed and three unsigned. So I’m bound to ask why the other three weren’t signed.’ Hayes paused. ‘Perhaps they were next on his list?’
One or two members of the jury rewarded Hayes with a smile.
‘And next, you must consider the signed copy of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Defending counsel would have you believe that it is a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. Did you not find that a little too convenient? Isn’t it more likely that Mr. Amhurst bought an unsigned copy of A Christmas Carol, along with its original receipt, on one of his many visits to bookshops all over London? You might also ask yourselves why two Scotland Yard detectives, having carried out a comprehensive search of Mr. Amhurst’s residence, didn’t come across that receipt.
‘I am quite happy for you to decide,’ continued Hayes, his eyes never leaving the jury, ‘if you prefer to believe the more romantic version, as suggested by my learned friend, or the more likely version, as supported by the facts. I feel confident that common sense will prevail.’
When Hayes resumed his place on the bench, William wanted to applaud, and felt they were back in with a chance. The judge looked across at defending counsel and asked if she was ready to put the case for the defence.
‘More than ready, Your Honor,’ replied Grace, as she rose from her place. She looked directly at the jury for some time before she spoke.
She began by reminding them that in English law, it was the defendant’s privilege not to enter the witness box, which might have proved quite an ordeal for ‘this frail old gentleman.’
‘He’s only sixty-two,’ muttered Hayes, but Grace sailed on, ignoring the ill wind.
‘Let us now consider what is undoubtedly the crucial piece of evidence in this case. If Mr. Amhurst is guilty as charged, and was in possession of an autographed first edition of A Christmas Carol, why didn’t he offer it for sale, as it would have fetched ten times as much as a signed set of Churchill’s history of the Second World War? I’ll tell you why, because he wasn’t willing to part with a family heirloom, which he will in time pass on to the next generation.’
‘He doesn’t have any children,’ William whispered in Hayes’s ear.
‘You should have told me that earlier.’
‘Last night, members of the jury,’ continued Grace, ‘while I was preparing this case, I spent a little time calculating how much Mr. Amhurst would have made had he sold the three volumes of Churchill’s memoirs that Constable Warwick produced in evidence and claimed had been falsely signed. It comes to just over a hundred pounds. So, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I would suggest this is hardly the crime of the century. Yet for reasons best known to itself, Scotland Yard has chosen to come down on Mr. Amhurst with the full force of the law. If you believe beyond reasonable doubt,’ she emphasized, ‘the Crown has proved that Cyril Amhurst is a master forger and an accomplished fraudster, then he should spend his Christmas in prison. If, however, you find, as I believe you will, that the Crown has not proved its case, you will surely release him from this ordeal and allow him, like Tiny Tim’s father, to spend Christmas in the bosom of his family.’
When Grace sat down, Mr. Hayes turned and whispered to William, ‘What a pro. She’s a chip off the old block. Your father would have been proud of her.’
‘But not of his son,’ hissed William, who could quite happily have murdered Grace.