Jeffrey Archer - A Prisoner Of Birth

"No, my lord. However, I am attempting to demonstrate that perhaps Danny Cartwright is not quite the evil villain that the prosecution would have us believe. Indeed, thanks to his stewardship, Sir Hugo will be far better off than he could have expected to be."

Sir Matthew offered up a silent prayer.

"That's not true!" said Sir Hugo. "I'll be worse off."

Sir Matthew's eyes opened and he sat bolt upright. "There is a God in Heaven after all," he whispered. "Well done, my boy."

"I am now completely at a loss," said Mr. Justice Hackett. "If there is over seven and a half million dollars more in the bank account than you had anticipated, Sir Hugo, how can you possibly be worse off?"

"Because I recently signed a legal contract with a third party who was unwilling to reveal the details of what had happened to my nephew unless I agreed to part with twenty-five percent of my inheritance."

"Sit back, say nothing," murmured Sir Matthew.

The judge called loudly for order, and Alex didn't ask his next question until silence had been restored.

"When did you sign this agreement, Sir Hugo?"

Hugo removed a small diary from an inside pocket, and flicked over the pages until he came to the entry he was looking for. "October twenty-second last year," he said.

Alex checked his notes. "The day before a certain professional gentleman contacted Chief Inspector Fuller to arrange a meeting at an unknown location."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Hugo.

"Of course you don't," said Alex. "You had no way of knowing what was going on behind your back. But I am bound to ask, Sir Hugo, once you had signed the legal contract agreeing to part with millions of pounds should your family fortune be restored, what this professional gentleman could possibly be offering you in exchange for your signature."

"He told me that my nephew had been dead for over a year, and that his place had been usurped by that man sitting in the dock."

"And what was your reaction to this incredible piece of news?"

"I didn't believe it to begin with," said Hugo, "but then he showed me several photographs of Cartwright and Nick, and I had to admit they did look alike."

"I find it hard to believe, Sir Hugo, that that was enough proof for a shrewd man like yourself to agree to part with twenty-five percent of his family fortune."

"No, it wasn't enough. He also supplied me with several other photographs to back up his claim."

"Several other photographs?" prompted Alex hopefully.

"Yes. One of them was of the defendant's left leg, showing a scar above his knee that proved he was Cartwright, and not my nephew."

"Change the subject," whispered Sir Matthew.

"You have told the court, Sir Hugo, that the person who demanded twenty-five percent of what was rightfully yours in exchange for this piece of information was a professional gentleman."

"Yes, he most certainly was," said Hugo.

"Perhaps the time has come, Sir Hugo, for you to name this professional gentleman."

"I can't do that," said Hugo.

Once again, Alex had to wait for the judge to bring the court to order before he was able to ask his next question. "Why not?" demanded the judge.

"Let Hackett run with it," whispered Sir Matthew. "Just pray he doesn't work out for himself who the professional gentleman is."

"Because one of the clauses in the agreement," said Hugo, mopping his brow, "was that under no circumstances would I reveal his name."

Mr. Justice Hackett placed his pen down on the desk. "Now listen to me, Sir Hugo, and listen carefully. If you don't want a contempt-of-court order brought against you, and a night in a cell to help jog your memory, I suggest that you answer Mr. Redmayne's question, and tell the court the name of this professional gentleman who demanded twenty-five percent of your estate before he was willing to expose the defendant as a fraud. Do I make myself clear?"

Hugo began to shake uncontrollably. He peered up into the gallery, to see Margaret nodding. He turned back to the judge and said, "Mr. Spencer Craig QC."

Everyone in the courtroom began speaking at once.

"You can sit down, my boy," said Sir Matthew, "because I think that's what they call in Danny's neck of the woods a double whammy. Now our esteemed judge has no choice but to allow you to subpoena Spencer Craig, unless of course he wants a retrial."

Sir Matthew glanced across to see Arnold Pearson looking up at his son. He was doffing an imaginary hat.

"Chapeau, Alex," he said.

"HOW DO YOU imagine Munro will cope when he comes up against Pearson?" asked Alex.

"An aging bull against an aging matador," Sir Matthew replied. "Experience and sheer cunning will prove more important than the charge, so I'd have to bet on Munro."

"So when do I show the red rag to this bull?"

"You don't," said Sir Matthew. "You leave that pleasure to the matador. Pearson won't be able to resist the challenge, and it will make far more of an impact coming from the prosecution."

"All rise," announced the court usher.

Once they had all settled back in their places, the judge addressed the jury. "Good morning, members of the jury. Yesterday you heard Mr. Pearson complete the case for the prosecution, and now the defense will be given the opportunity to put its side of the argument. After a consultation with both sides, I shall be inviting you to dismiss one of the charges, namely that the defendant attempted to steal the Moncrieff family estate in Scotland. Sir Hugo Moncrieff confirmed that this was not the case, and that in accordance with his father Sir Alexander's wishes, the estate has been taken over by the National Trust for Scotland. However, the defendant still faces four other serious charges, on which you and you alone have been given the responsibility of making a judgment."

He smiled benignly at the jury before turning his attention to Alex. "Mr. Redmayne, please call your first witness," he said in a far more respectful tone than he had adopted the previous day.

"Thank you, m'lord," said Alex, rising from his place. "I call Mr. Fraser Munro."

The first thing Munro did when he entered the courtroom was to smile at Danny in the dock. He had visited him at Belmarsh on five occasions during the past six months, and Danny knew that he had also attended several consultations with Alex and Sir Matthew.

Once again no bills for services rendered had been presented. All Danny's bank accounts had been frozen, so all he had was the twelve pounds a week he was paid as the prison librarian, which wouldn't have covered Munro's taxi fare from the Caledonian Club to the Old Bailey.

Fraser Munro stepped into the witness box. He was dressed in a black tailcoat and pinstripe trousers, a white shirt with a wing collar and a black silk tie. He looked more like one of the court officials than a witness, lending him an authority that had influenced many a Scottish jury. He gave the judge a slight bow before delivering the oath.

"Would you please state your name and address for the record," said Alex.

"My name is Fraser Munro and I live at number forty-nine Argyll Street, Dunbroath in Scotland."

"And your occupation?"

"I am a solicitor of the High Court of Scotland."

"Can I confirm that you are a past president of the Scottish Law Society?"

"I am, sir." That was something Danny didn't know.

"And you are a freeman of the City of Edinburgh?"

"I have that honor, sir." Something else Danny didn't know.

"Would you please explain to the court, Mr. Munro, what your relationship is with the accused?"

"Certainly, Mr. Redmayne. I had the privilege, as my father did before me, of representing Sir Alexander Moncrieff, the first holder of the baronetcy."