Выбрать главу

'I'd like to tell you, sir, about Henri Duval.' If his time were short, Alan thought, he would at least make the most of it. 'He's a good little man, sturdy, a hard worker; I'm convinced he'd make a good citizen. True, he doesn't speak English well; he's had no education…'

'Mr Maitland,' the Prime Minister interrupted firmly, 'the reason this man cannot be admitted is quite simple. The world is full of people who, on the surface of things, are perhaps worth helping. But there must be some order to the help; some plan, some scheme of action. It's the reason we have an Immigration Act…'

Besides, he thought obstinately, he would not give way to this absurd and disproportionate public clamour. The indignity at Ottawa airport still rankled. And even if he ignored the threat of Harvey Warrender, a concession now would seem weak and ridiculous. As Prime Minister he had made his decision known; surely that should count for something.

Alan Maitland was arguing, 'Henri Duval is in Vancouver, Mr Prime Minister. He isn't in Hungary, or Ethiopia, or China. He's here and now.' He added, with a trace of bitterness, 'In a country where the underprivileged are supposed to get a break.'

The underprivileged. For an instant James Howden had a troubled memory of the orphanage; the outside, unexpected chance, won for himself through one man – his own Alan Maitland, long ago. But at least he had been born here. He decided the interview had gone on long enough.

'The Immigration Act is the law of this country, Mr Maitland. No doubt it has its faults, but the way it is, is the way the people of Canada choose to have it. Under the law I regret the answer to you must be no.'

The concluding, speedy civilities were observed. Standing, James Howden shook Alan's hand. 'Allow me to wish you great success in your profession,' he remarked. 'Perhaps one day you'll enter political life. I've a notion you'd do well.'

Alan answered quietly, 'I don't think so, sir. There are too many things about it I don't like.'

When Alan Maitland had gone, the Prime Minister selected a second chocolate bar and nibbled it thoughtfully. After a while he summoned his executive assistant and irritably demanded the draft of his evening speech.

Chapter 2

In the Hotel Vancouver lobby Dan Orliffe was waiting for Alan Maitland. He asked expectantly, 'Any change?'

Alan shook his head.

'Well,' Orliffe said cheerfully, 'you're keeping the case before the public, and that's worth something.'

Alan asked dourly, 'It is? Just tell me what the public can do when the Government won't budge.'

'Haven't you heard? The public can change the Government; that's what.'

'Oh, great!' Alan said. 'We'll wait for an election, then send Henri a postcard with the news. If we can find out where he is.'

'Come on,' Dan told him. 'I'll drive you to your office. On the way you can tell me what Howden said.'

Tom Lewis was working in his own small cubicle when Alan came in. Dan Orliffe had driven away after their session in the car, presumably to the Post. Once more, for Tom's benefit, Alan repeated what had transpired.

'I'll say this,' Tom said. 'You don't let go of the bone once your teeth are in.'

Alan nodded. He wondered if he should call Sharon; or perhaps there was really no reason. They had not talked since their telephone conversation two days earlier.

'By the way,' Tom said, 'a parcel came for you – chauffeur-delivered and all. It's in your office.'

Curiously Alan went in. A square, wrapped package was in the centre of the desk. Untying it, he drew out a box and removed the lid. Under layers of tissue paper was a clay-moulded figure – head and shoulders. A note beside it read: 'I tried to make it like Mr Kramer, but it kept coming out the way it is. So, please, no pins – ever! With love – Sharon.'

He lifted the figure. It was, he saw glowing, a passable imitation of himself.

Chapter 3

Less than a quarter-mile from the Prime Minister's suite in the Hotel Vancouver, Mr Justice Stanley Willis of the British Columbia Supreme Court paced restlessly, as he had for more than an hour, his private Judge's chambers.

Mr Justice Willis, stern-faced, severe, and outwardly imperturbable, was waging an inward mental battle.

The lines of battles were clearly drawn. On one side was his judicial integrity, on the other his personal conscience. Both were focused upon a single subject: Henri Duval.

Edgar Kramer had told the Prime Minister's executive assistant: 'There is nothing further legally that the man's sponsors can do.' Alan Maitland, after a week-long search for legal precedents, had reached the same opinion.

Mr Justice Willis possessed knowledge demonstrating both to be wrong. The knowledge was such that, if used promptly, it would free Henri Duval from his shipboard prison, at least temporarily, and possibly for good.

The key to the situation lay in a heavy, bound volume – BC Reports, Vol 34, 1921 – on the judge's desk. It was open at a page headed Rex vs A hmed Singh.

The paper upon which the words – and those which followed – appeared was faded and yellow. But the proposition of law – ratio decidendi – was as binding as if enunciated yesterday.

A Canadian judge had ruled: Ahmed Singh in 1921… and therefore Henri Duval today… could not be deported solely to a ship.

Any individual (the long dead judge had declared in 1921) must be deported to the country from whence he came, and not to any other place.

But the Vastervik was not destined to Lebanon… the country whence Henri Duval had come… where be had boarded the ship. The MV Vastervik was an ocean-going tramp, its next port of call Belfast, its routing beyond that point uncertain…

The deportation order against Henri Duval was therefore unlawful and invalid.

Rex vs Ahmed Singh said so.

Mr Justice Stanley Willis had elicited the facts about the Vastervik discreetly, as he had followed other details of the case discreetly.

He had received word of the search by Alan Maitland and Tom Lewis for legal precedents which would prevent the deportation of Henri Duval. He had learned also of their failure and it did not surprise him.

He had no criticism of the two young lawyers for failing to discover Rex vs Ahmed Singh. The case was wrongly summarized and indexed in Canadian Abridgements, a not unusual happening. The judge himself would not have known of it, except that years before he had stumbled across the old report by merest chance, and it had remained in mind.

Knowing what he did, Mr Justice Willis reflected, if he were Henri Duval's lawyer he would apply at once – this afternoon – for a new writ of habeas corpus. And, as a judge, if confronted by the application he would immediately accede -not with the half-measure order nisi, as earlier, but with full habeas corpus which would free Henri Duval from the Vastervik at once.

But he was a judge; and he was not a lawyer. And no man could be both.

The business of a judge was to deal judicially with matters brought before him. It was no part of his function to meddle directly in legal cases or to initiate action favouring one litigant over another. Occasionally, to be sure, a judge might nudge counsel, hinting at steps to be followed which, in his opinion, would advance the cause of justice. He himself had done this with Alan Maitland at the nisi hearing affecting Henri Duval.

But beyond that point judicial interference was reprehensible. More, it was betrayal of a judge's role.

Once more Mr Justice Willis paced the rug between the window and his desk. Today the wide, bony shoulders were stooped over the spare body, as if responsibility weighed heavily upon them. The long, angular face, tense with thought, was troubled.