“I think we can all understand that,” Gleave said expansively. He too smiled, at the jury. “Nothing better tests a man’s true worth, his courage, his loyalty and his honor in battle than the threat to his own life, or perhaps something worse, the fear of maiming without death, of being left crippled and in permanent pain.” An expression of great grief filled his face. He turned slowly so the gallery as well as the jurors might see it. “And did you hear anything ill of John Adinett among all your fellows at the Services Club, Mr. Birkett? Anything at all?”
“Not a word.” Birkett still treated the matter lightly. There was no amazement or emphasis in his voice. To him this seemed all a rather silly mistake which was going to be cleared up within a day or two, possibly less.
“But they did know Mr. Adinett?” Gleave pressed.
“Oh, yes, of course. He had served with particular distinction in Canada. Something to do with the Hudson Bay Company and a rebellion of some sort inland. Actually, Fraser told me about it. Said Adinett was more or less co-opted in because of his courage and his knowledge of the area. Vast wilderness, you know?” He raised fair eyebrows. “Yes, of course you know. Up in the Thunder Bay direction. No use for a man unless he has imagination, endurance, utter loyalty, intelligence and courage beyond limit.”
Gleave nodded. “How about honesty?”
Birkett looked surprised at last. His eyes widened. “One takes that for granted, sir. There is no place whatever for a man who is not honest. Anyone may be mistaken in one way or another, but a lie is inexcusable.”
“And loyalty to one’s friends, one’s fellows?” Gleave tried to look as if the question were casual and he did not know the answer. But he was in no danger of overplaying his hand. No one else in the room, except Juster, Pitt, and the judge, was sophisticated enough in courtroom histrionics to be aware of his tactics.
“Loyalty is more precious than life,” Birkett said simply. “I would trust John Adinett with all I possess—my home, my land, my wife, my honor—and have not a moment’s concern that I stood in danger of losing any of it.”
Gleave was pleased with himself, as well he might be. The jury were regarding Birkert with admiration, and several of them had looked up at Adinett squarely for the first time. He was winning, and he tasted it already.
Pitt glanced at the jury foreman and saw him frown.
“Did you know Mr. Fetters, by any chance?” Gleave enquired conversationally, turning back to the witness.
“Slightly.” Birkett’s face darkened and a look of sadness came into it that was so sharp no one could question its reality. “A fine man. It is a bitter irony that he should travel the world in search of the ancient and beautiful in order to uncover the glories of the past, and slip to his death in his own library.” He let out his breath silently. “I’ve read his papers on Troy. Opened up a new world for me, I admit. Never thought it so … immediate, before. I daresay travel and a passionate interest in the richness of other cultures were what drew Fetters and Adinett together.”
“Could they have had a conflict of any sort over it?” Gleave asked, and the certainty of the answer shone in his eyes.
Birkett was startled. “Good heavens, no! Fetters was a skilled man; Adinett is merely an enthusiast, a supporter and admirer of those who actually made the discoveries. He spoke very highly of Fetters, but he had no ambition to emulate him, only to take joy in his achievements.”
“Thank you, Mr. Birkett,” Gleave said with a slight bow. “You have reinforced all that we have already heard from other men of distinction such as yourself. No one has spoken ill of Mr. Adinett, from the highest to the most humble. I don’t know if my learned friend has anything to put to you, but I have nothing further.”
Juster did not hesitate. The jury was slipping away from him, and Pitt could see that he knew it. But the shadow of indecision was in his face for only a moment before it was masked.
“Thank you,” he said graciously, then turned to Birkett
Pitt felt a tightening of anxiety in his chest; Birkett was unassailable, as all the character witnesses had been. In the last two days, by association with the men who admired him and were willing to swear friendship to him, even to appear in a court where he was accused of murder, Adinett had been placed almost beyond criticism. To attack Birkett would alienate the jury, not convince them of the few slender facts.
Juster smiled. “Mr. Birkett, you say that John Adinett was absolutely loyal to his friends?”
“Absolutely,” Birkett affirmed, nodding his agreement.
“A quality you admire?” Juster asked.
“Of course.”
“Ahead of loyalty to your principles?”
“No.” Birkett looked slightly puzzled. “I did not suggest that, sir. Or if I did, it was unintentional. A man must place his principles before everything, or he is of no value. A friend would expect as much. At least any man would that I should choose to call friend.”
“I too,” Juster agreed. “A man must do what he believes to be right, even if it should prove to be at the terrible cost of the loss of a friend, or of the esteem of those he cares for.”
“My lord!” Gleave said, standing up impatiently. “This is all very moral sounding, but it is not a question! If my learned friend has a point in all this, may he be asked to reach it?”
The judge looked at Juster enquiringly.
Juster was not perturbed. “The point is very important, my lord. Mr. Adinett was a man who would place his principles, his convictions, above even friendship. Or to put it another way, even friendship, however long or deep, would have to be sacrificed to his beliefs if the two were in opposition. We have established that the victim, Martin Fetters, was his friend. I am obliged to Mr. Gleave for establishing that friendship was not Adinett’s paramount concern, and he would sacrifice it to principle, were such a choice forced upon him.”
There was a murmur around the room. One of the jurors looked startled, but there was a sudden comprehension in his face. The foreman let out his breath in a sigh, and something within him relaxed.
“We have not established that there was any such conflict!” Gleave protested, taking a pace forward across the floor.
“Or that there was not!” Juster rejoined, swinging around to him.
The judge silenced them both with a look.
Juster thanked Birkett and returned to his seat, this time walking easily, with a slight swagger.
* * *
The following day Gleave began his final assault upon Pitt. He faced the jury.
“This whole case, flimsy and circumstantial as it is, depends entirely upon the evidence of one man, Superintendent Thomas Pitt.” His voice was heavy with contempt. “Discount what he says and what have we left? I don’t need to tell you—we have nothing at all!” He ticked off on his fingers. “A man who saw another man in the street, turning in towards one of the gardens. This man might have been John Adinett, or he might not.” He put up another finger. “A scratch on a door which could have been there for days, and was probably caused by a clumsily wielded billiard cue.” A third finger. “A library chair moved, for any number of reasons.” A fourth finger. “Books out of place.” He shrugged, waving his hands. “Perhaps they were left out, and the housemaid is not a reader of classical Greek mythology, so she put them back wherever she thought they fitted. Her mind was on tidiness of appearance, not order of subject. Very possibly she cannot read at all! A thread of carpet in a shoe.” He opened his eyes very wide. “How did it get there? Who knows? And most absurd of all, half a glass of port wine. Mr. Pitt would have us believe this means that Mr. Fetters had no occasion to ring for the butler. All it really means is that Mr. Pitt himself is not accustomed to having servants—which we might reasonably have guessed, since he is a policeman.” He pronounced the last word with total scorn.