Glancing sideways, Alan observed that the other two lawyers had turned towards him. They smiled and nodded, and he returned their greeting. As on the earlier occasion, Edgar Kramer's eyes were studiedly averted. A moment later Tom Lewis, also gowned, dropped into the seat beside Alan. Looking around, he remarked irreverently, 'Reminds me of our office, only bigger.' He nodded to Duval. 'Good morning,
Henri.'
Alan wondered when he should break the news to Tom that there would no longer be a fee for the work which they were doing; that through impetuous pride he had brushed aside payment to which they were properly entitled, whatever his quarrel with Senator Deveraux might be. Perhaps it might mean the end of their partnership; at the very least there would be hardship for them both.
He thought of Sharon. He was sure now that she had had no knowledge of what her grandfather proposed this morning, and that was the reason she had been sent from the room. If she had stayed, she would have protested as he himself had done. But instead of having faith, he had doubted her. Suddenly, miserably, he remembered the words he had used to Sharon: You were included in the deal. He wished desperately that he could call them back. He supposed that she would not wish to see him again.
A thought occurred to him. Sharon had said she would be in court this morning. He craned around, surveying the public seats. As he had feared, she was not there.
'Order!' It was the clerk of the court.
The officials, counsel, and spectators rose as, robes rustling, Mr Justice Stanley Willis entered and took his seat upon the bench.
When the court had settled, the clerk announced, 'Supreme Court, January 13th, in the matter of Henri Duval.'
Alan Maitland was on his feet. Speedily he dealt with the preliminaries, then began, 'My lord, for centuries, every individual who is subject to the jurisdiction of the Crown -whether in the country temporarily or not – has been entitled to seek redress from injustice at the foot of the throne. Expressed in essence, in this application of habeas corpus, that is my client's plea today.'
In its correct sense, Alan knew, the hearing would be legally formalistic, with points of abstruse law being debated by himself and A. R. Butler. But he had decided in advance to introduce every ounce of humanity that he could. Now he continued, 'I draw the Court's attention to the deportation order issued by the Department of Immigration.' Alan quoted the words he knew by heart, '… detained and deported to the place whence you came to Canada, or to the country of which you are a national or citizen, or to the country of your birth, or to such country as may be approved…'
An individual, he argued, could not be deported to four places at the same time; therefore there must be some decision as to which of the four was to apply. 'Who is to make this decision?' Alan inquired rhetorically, then answered his own question: 'One would conclude – the authorities issuing the deportation order. And yet there has been no decision; only that my client, Henri Duval, shall be imprisoned on the ship.'
By this action – or inaction – Alan claimed, the ship's captain was being forced to make an impossible choice of the four alternatives. Alan declared vehemently, 'It is as if Your Lordship found an individual guilty of a crime and said, "I sentence this man either to three years in the penitentiary, or to twelve strokes of the paddle, or six months in local jail, and I leave it to someone else outside this courtroom to determine which it shall be."'
As Alan paused, sipping from a glass of ice water which Tom Lewis poured, there was a hint of a smile on the judge's face. At the other counsel's table, A. R. Butler, his distinguished features impassive, made a pencilled note.
Alan continued: 'I submit, my lord, that the deportation order affecting Henri Duval is defective because it cannot be carried out precisely.'
Now – the strongest pillar of his case – he sketched in the history of Rex vs Ahmed Singh, reading in detail from the volume of law reports he had brought to court, the significant portion flagged. In the 1921 case, stripped of legal verbiage, a Canadian judge had ruled: a rejected immigrant, Ahmed Singh, could not be deported solely to a ship. Nor, Alan insisted, could Henri Duval.
'Under the law,' Alan declared, 'the two situations are identical. Thus, under habeas corpus proceedings, the order should be quashed and my client freed.'
A. R. Butler stirred and made another note; soon he would have the opportunity of rebuttal and initiating argument himself. Meanwhile, Alan's words and reasoning flowed confidently on. He had told Senator Deveraux: I intend to win…
In the seat beside A. R. Butler, Edgar Kramer listened unhappily to the lengthening proceedings.
Edgar Kramer had a working knowledge of the law, and knowledge plus instinct told him that, for the Immigration Department, the hearing was not proceeding well. He also had a secondary instinct: that, if the verdict was adverse, a scapegoat might be found within the department. And there was an obvious one: himself.
He had been aware of this ever since the curt and cutting message two days earlier: 'The Prime Minister… extremely dissatisfied… handling of the case in judge's chambers… should not have offered a special inquiry… expect better performance in future.' The executive assistant who had relayed the censure by telephone had seemed to do so with especial relish.
Edgar Kramer seethed anew at the bitter, gross injustice. He had even been denied the elementary privilege of self-defence; of explaining to the Prime Minister personally that the special inquiry had been forced upon him by this judge, and that, faced with two impossible situations, he had chosen the least harmful and most expeditious.
It had been the correct thing to do, as everything he had done had been correct from the moment he had reached Vancouver.
In Ottawa, his instructions before departure had been explicit. The deputy minister had told him personally: if the stowaway Duval did not qualify for admittance as an immigrant under the law, then, under no circumstances would he be admitted. Furthermore, Edgar Kramer was authorized to take all necessary legal steps to prevent such admittance, whatever they might be.
There had been another assurance; political pressure or a public outcry would not be allowed to interfere with application of the law. The assurance, he was told, had come directly from the Minister, Mr Warrender.
Edgar Kramer had followed instructions conscientiously, as he had always done in the course of his career. Despite what was happening here and now, he had observed the law – the Immigration Act, as passed by Parliament. He had been dutiful and loyal, and not neglectful. And it was not his fault that an upstart lawyer and a misguided judge had thrown-his efforts out of joint.
His superiors, he supposed, would understand. And yet… the Prime Minister's displeasure was something else again.
Censure from a Prime Minister could cut a civil servant down; make him a marked man, with promotion barred. And even when governments changed, such judgements had a way of hanging over.
In his own case, of course, the censure had not been major; and perhaps already the Prime Minister had erased it from his mind. AH the same, uneasily, Edgar Kramer had an instinct that the brightness of his future, compared with a week ago, was slightly dimmed.
What he must guard against was another controversial step. If the Prime Minister were reminded of his name once more…