The Advocate's Wife Read Online Free PDF Page A

Don’t look at me with that brow of thunder, man! You seem to think that I do nothing up here but concoct schemes to make your life difficult. What about me? Do you think I enjoy persecuting you? Do you think I’ve nothing better to do with my time? You’re a good man, Box, but you’re too impertinent. Too truculent. You get above yourself, and it won’t do! The commissioner himself has commended the man! What do you say to that?’
    Box knew that it was time to calm down. Nothing positive would be gained from showing his resentment too blatantly.
    â€˜Well, sir, I have to admit that Sir Edward Bradford’s the best commissioner we’ve had for years. Whatever his reasons for agreeing to accept this Knollys in the Metropolitan force, they’ll be sufficient, as you say, and above board. So I suppose I’ll just have to do as I’m told!’
    â€˜Yes, quite so. It’s far the best course of action, Box. We’ve all got our crosses to bear, and it’s no good repining. So no moreimpudence, do you hear? See this Dr Oake, then go down to Essex tomorrow, or Wednesday. Clear up their little mystery for them, and then get back here!’

2
The Great Advocate
    ‘My Lord, gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case!’
    Sir William Porteous QC sat down. He was conscious that all eyes in the crowded courtroom remained fixed on him, as though the mesmerism of his oratory still held them under its spell. He attempted to produce a modest, self-deprecating smile, but he was not a modest man by nature. The resultant grimace, he knew, had been described long ago by his fellow benchers as ‘the Porteous leer’.
    It had been, he supposed, a minor triumph to add to his tally of successes. The secret was to defer to the judge. Never try to score points off him, but let him think that you bowed at all times to his superior wisdom. Defer to the judge, yes – but let the jurymen think that you were the thirteenth member of their band!
    Young Forster, the opposing counsel, began his closing speech for the defence, but Porteous knew that it would be his dramatic words that would be ringing still in the ears of those twelve good men and true. He half listened to Forster’s speech, but made no effort to concentrate on what the young barrister was saying.
    The Old Bailey was an exhilarating place in which to ply the lawyer’s craft! Its courts were invariably crammed with curious visitors, expecting a particularly thrilling kind of entertainment. Each court was a theatre in its own right. Its permanent repertory company consisted of the throng of bewigged and gowned lawyers, forever posing as enemies, divided by the need to prosecute  and defend, but in reality old friends and allies, engaged in hugely enjoyable battles of words and wits.
    There was an audience, too. Not the motley crew of figures in the public gallery, but the twelve good men and true who constituted the jury. One played to them, not to the gallery. Some of the jurors, clad in their sober best black, blended in with the court’s scenery of old oak panelling and cracked plaster ceilings, with the great Sword of Justice hanging above the bench, and the florid Royal coat of arms perched on the pediment above the judgment seat.
    Others brought a more secular feel to the place. These were the fellows who came there determined not to be overawed by the ranks of black and white figures in the well of the court. They were free spirits, who would dare to sport a coloured neckerchief , or pretend to glance at a newspaper during the less-interesting passages of the proceedings.
    Sir William Porteous knew his audience, and what they demanded from the players. He had contrived to catch the eye of every one of the jurors when he had delivered his concluding speech, and had crafted a telling sentence for each of them. ‘This was a miscreant who valued a man’s life at half a guinea, the price of a watch and chain’, he had told one juror, a