. 'Want to see two of the Ones in the Big Case?' he asked in a whisper. 'Just ahead of you! That there on the right is Dr Spencer Hume, and that there on the left is Reginald Answell, 'is cousin. They're right amongst us, and they'll 'ave to go downstairs together. Ss-t!'
Back went the head. By the convergence of the crowd on the big marble stairs, the two men he indicated were swept to a stiff march side by side. The bleak March light showed them not too favourably. Dr Hume was a middle-sized, rather tubby man with greying black hair parted and combed to such nicety on his round head that it gave the effect of a wheel. He turned his head sideways for a brief look; we saw a nose radiating self-confidence, and a gravely pursed-up mouth. He carried, incongruously, a top-hat, which he was trying to prevent being squashed.
His companion I recognized as the young man whom I had seen sitting at the solicitors' table, and to whom Dyer had given a sign of recognition. He was a good type; lean, with a fine carriage of the shoulders and sharply defined jaws. The tailor had done well by him, and he was absently hitting the edge of his hand on a bowler hat.
The two took a quick look at each other, and descended with that shuffle-fall which is the march of the Old Bailey. They decided to notice each other's presence. I wondered whether the atmosphere would be hostile; but, as they spoke, they appeared to decide. The atmosphere between them, palpable and sticky as glue, was hypocrisy.
Reginald Answell spoke in that tone exclusively reserved for funerals.
'How is Mary taking it?' he inquired in a hoarse whisper.
'Pretty badly, I'm afraid,' said the doctor, shaking his head. 'Too bad!' 'Yes, unfortunately.' They descended another step.
'I didn't see her in court,' observed Reginald out of the side of his mouth. 'Are they calling her as a witness?'
'The prosecution aren't,' said Dr Hume in a curious tone. He looked sideways. 'And I notice they're not calling you?'
'Oh, no. I'm not concerned in it. The defence aren't calling me either. I couldn't do him any good. I only got to the house after he - you know, fainted. Poor old Jim. I thought he was made of stronger stuff than that, big as he is. Mad as a coot, of course.'
'Believe me, I quite appreciate that,' murmured Dr
Hume, looking quickly over his shoulder; 'and I myself should have been only too willing to testify - but there seems to be some doubt on the part of the Crown, and he himself, you know, says -' He stopped. 'No hard feelings?'
'No. Oh, no. There is insanity in the family, you know.'
They descended nearly the whole flight.
'Nothing much, of course. Only like a touch of the tar-brush a few generations back. I wonder what he's eating?'
The doctor was sententious. 'Ah, that's difficult to say. I expect "'He's drinking bitter beer alone,' the colour-sergeant said."'
'Why the hell,' asked the other quietly, 'do you bring up the army?'
They stopped.
'My dear fellow, it was only in a manner of speaking! Besides, I didn't know you were any longer concerned with the army,' Dr Hume told him, with an air of concern. They stopped under the great rotunda and dim mural paintings of the Central Hall; Dr Hume became gravely kind. 'Now let's face it. It's a sad business. I've lost a brother myself, you know. But there it is: the world must keep on, and men must work, and women must weep, as they say. So the most sensible thing to do is to get this unpleasant matter off our minds and forget it as soon as possible, eh? Good-bye, captain. I'd better not be seen shaking hands with you; it wouldn't look seemly, under the circumstances.'
He bustled off.
For they've done with Danny Deever;
you can hear the Dead March play;
The regiment's in column, and they're marching them away -
There is something about the atmosphere of this place which impels people to moralize in just the way those lines were going through my head. It was dispelled in a moment by the surprising and welcome spectacle of Lolly-pop, H.M.'s blonde secretary, pushing her way through the crowd towards us. Evelyn was beginning to say: 'For God's sake, let's get out of here -' with her very attractive face flushed, when she stopped.
'Hooray!' said Evelyn, expelling her breath.
'It's H.M.,' said Lollypop, rather unnecessarily. 'He wants to see you.'
'Where is he? What's he doing?'
'At the moment,' said Lollypop doubtfully, 'I should think he was breaking furniture. That's what he said he was going to do when I saw him last. But by the time you arrive I expect he'll be eating his lunch. You're to go to the Milton's Head Tavern, Wood Street, Cheapside - just round the corner, it is. Oh, dear.'
H.M.'s extensive knowledge of obscure eating-houses is due to his extensive knowledge of obscure people. Everyone seems to know him, and the more disreputable the better. The Milton's Head, tucked up into a crazy little alley off Wood Street, looked as though it had not had its little-paned windows cleaned since the Great Fire. There was now a great fire burning in the tap-room against the raw March cold, and artificial geraniums in the windows emphasized that cold. We were directed upstairs to a private room, where H.M. sat behind an immense pewter tankard and a plate of lamb-chops. With a napkin tucked into his collar, he was chewing at the side of one lamb-chop in that fashion which popular film-tradition attributes to King Henry the Eighth.
'Ar,' said H.M., opening one eye.
I waited, to see which way the mood would go.
'Well,' growled H.M., only half-malevolently, 'I suppose you're not goin' to keep that door open all day? You want me to die of pneumonia?'
'In the past,' I said, 'you've got out of some almighty tight places in the face of evidence. Is it possible that you can get out of this one?'
H.M. put down the lamb-chop and opened his eyes wide. Over his wooden face crept an expression of amusement.
'Ho, ho,' he said. 'So they think they've got the old man licked already, hey?' 'Not necessarily. H.M., is this fellow guilty?' 'No,* said H.M. 'Can you prove it?'
'I dunno, son. I'm goin' to have a very good try. It depends on how much of my evidence they'll admit.'
There was no raising of defences. The old man was worried, and almost showed it.
'Who's instructing you in the case?'
He rubbed his hand across his big bald head, and looked sour. 'Solicitor? There's no solicitor.* Y'see, I'm the only feller who'd believe him. I got a fancy for lame dogs,' he added apologetically.
There was a silence.
'What's more, if you're lookin' for any dramatic last-minute eruption of the hidden witness bustin' into court and causing a row, get it out of your heads. You'd no more cause a row in Balmy Rankin's court than you'd find one on a chess-board. It's all goin' to be on the table all the time - and that's how I want it. One quiet move to another. Like chess. Or maybe like hunting. You remember
*As a rule, counsel for the defence may appear at the Old Bailey only on instructions from a solicitor. But there are two exceptions to this: 'legal aid' cases, and 'dock briefs'. In legal aid cases, counsel is appointed by the judge for a prisoner having no money to employ it. When no legal aid is granted, it becomes a 'dock brief', or 'docker'; the accused has the right to be defended by any counsel, sitting in robes in court, whom he may select. In Answell's case there was, of course, no question of a lack of money. But since Answell -as will appear - refused to have anything to do with anyone except H.M., it became technically a dock brief. I am told that this procedure, though unconventional, is strictly legal. The ordinary dock brief is one of the best features of the impartial Central Criminal Court. Any counsel, however eminent, must serve if selected; it is a point of honour that he must put his best efforts into the defence; and his fee must be - neither more nor less - £1 3s. 6d.