Charles Snow - George Passant

As he waited in the box, the court was strained to a pitch it had not reached before. There was dislike, envy and contempt ready for him; others listened apprehensively for each word, and were moved for him so that their nerves were tense.

At that moment, just as Getliffe was beginning his first question, the judge intervened with a businesslike discussion of the timetable of the case. ‘Unless you finish by tomorrow lunchtime,’ (Saturday) he said to Porson, ‘I shall have to leave it over until Monday. I particularly want to have next week clear for other work. If you could cut anything superfluous out of your cross-examination this afternoon — then perhaps you’ (he turned to Getliffe) ‘could begin your final speech today.’

Getliffe agreed in a word; he felt the suspense in the court, tightened by this unexpected delay. But Porson argued for some minutes, and said that he could not offer to omit essential questions. In fact, George’s evidence took up the whole afternoon.

Throughout the hours in the box George was nervous in a way which altered very little, whether it was Getliffe who questioned him or Porson. Yet he was, in many ways, the best witness the trial had seen. His hands strained at the lapels of his coat and his voice kept breaking out in anger; but even here, the rapidity and coherence of his mind, the ease with which his thoughts formed themselves into words, made the answers come clear, definite and undelayed.

In the examination, George gave a more elaborate account of their businesses, and one far more self-consistent and complete than either of the others or Getliffe himself in the opening speech. The answers explained that he and Jack heard of Martineau’s leaving the town and wanting to sell the agency. He, as an old friend, undertook the task of asking Martineau about it, in particular whether it was an investment they would be justified in inviting others to join. Martineau told him the agency was in a particularly healthy state — and that the Arrow had a circulation of about five thousand. His memory was absolutely precise. There were no vague impressions. He had not thought of any misrepresentation (‘It would have been fantastic,’ George broke out, ‘to inquire further’). Jack and Olive had approached Attock and the others; the firm was bought; it had brought in a reasonable profit, not as large as they expected. He had been puzzled for some months at the small circulation of the Arrow after they took it over. They had not been able to repay more than a fraction of the loan, but had regularly raised the interest. The disorganisation of industry in the town during the economic crisis had also diminished the business, just as it was becoming established. But still, they had maintained some profit and paid the interest regularly. The agency would still have been flourishing, if, in George’s words, ‘I had not been attacked’.

After the steady results of the agency, they had thought of other ventures. The farm, which he knew through visits with his friends from the School, struck him as a possibility, and he examined its finances together with Jack. They decided that, running it with one or two smaller hostels, and finally a chain, they could make it give profits on a scale different from their first attempt with the agency. They were anxious to make money, George said vehemently, in answer to Getliffe’s question: it was also a convenience to manage the farm, as he and a group of friends spent much of their time there. Essentially, however, it was a business step. He gave a precise account of the meeting with Miss Geary and others.

In the middle of the afternoon, when the windows were already becoming dark, Porson rose for the last cross-examination of the trial. He wrapped his fingers in his gown and waited a moment. Then he said: ‘In your professional career, haven’t you done a good deal of work on financial transactions, Mr Passant?’

‘Yes.’

‘You would consider yourself less likely than most to make a mistake through ignorance — or vagueness — or any incompetence that a man can fall into out of inexperience?’

‘I should.’

‘Thank you for admitting that. I don’t want to take up the court’s time questioning you about the financial cases — very much more complicated than the ones you engaged in yourself — which you handled for Mr Eden during the last five or six years. So, with your knowledge of financial matters, what was your first impression when Mr Martineau described the state of the agency?’

‘I accepted it as the truth.’

‘You didn’t think it remarkable that an agency of that kind — at that time — should be flourishing so excessively?’

‘I was interested that it should be doing well.’

‘With your experience and knowledge, it didn’t occur to you that it might be said to be doing too well?’

‘I was told it on the best of authority.’

‘I suggest to you, Mr Passant, that if you had been told anything so remarkable, even by Mr Martineau, you would naturally, as a result of your knowledge of these matters, immediately have investigated the facts?’

‘I might have done if I hadn’t known Mr Martineau well.’

Porson continued with questions on George’s knowledge of the agency. He kept emphasising George’s competence; several times he seemed deliberately to invite one of the methodical and lucid explanations. Many, however, were now noticing the contrast between the words and the defensive, bitter note in George’s voice.

‘Obviously, Mr Passant,’ Porson said, ‘you would never have believed such a story. Whoever told it to you. I put it to you that this tale of Mr Martineau telling you the circulation as a large figure — actually never took place?’

‘You’ve no grounds for suggesting that.’

At last, as George’s tired and angry answer was still echoing in the court, Porson left the agency and said: ‘Well, I’ll put that aside for the present. Now about your other speculation. You gave some explanation of why you embarked on that. Will you repeat it?’

‘I wanted money. This looked a safe and convenient method.’

‘That’s what you said. You also admitted it had some connection with your work at the Technical College and School of Art’ — he gave the full title, and then added — ‘the institution that seems to be referred to as the School? You admitted this speculation had some connection with your work there?’

‘It had.’

‘Let us see what your work at the School really amounted to. You are not a regular member of the staff, of course?’

‘I’ve been a part-time lecturer—’

‘For the last nine years your status, such as it is, hasn’t altered? You’ve given occasional classes in law which amount to two a week?’ By chance, he exactly repeated the Principal’s phrase of over seven years before.

‘That is true.’

‘That is, you’ve just been a casual visitor at the School. Now can you explain your statement that one reason for buying the farm was this — itinerant connection?’

‘I have made many friends among pupils there. I wanted to be useful to them. It was an advantage to have a place to entertain them — entirely at my disposal.’

‘Surely that isn’t a very important advantage?’

‘It’s a considerable one.’

‘I suggest there were others a good deal more urgent, Mr Passant. Wasn’t it more important to keep the activities of your friends secret at this time?’

‘It was not important in the sense you appear to be insinuating.’

‘Do you deny,’ Porson asked, ‘after all that’s been said — that you wanted to keep your activities secret?’

‘I saw no reason to welcome intrusion.’

‘Exactly. That is, you admit you had a particularly urgent reason for buying the farm at this time?’