William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance Read Online Free PDF

find and retrieve evidence of the truth, good or bad, it would be he. Nor would the magnitude of the case and its possible repercussions frighten him. “Although it may not be sufficient. This will be an extremely difficult case to prove. A great many vested interests lie against us.”
    Stephan frowned. “Of course.” He regarded Rathbone very seriously. “I am most grateful you have the courage, Sir Oliver. Many a lesser man would have balked at trying. I am completely at your service, sir, at any time.”
    He was so utterly serious Rathbone could only thank him again and turn to Zorah, who was now sitting on the red sofa, leaning back against the arm of it, her body relaxed amid her billowing, tawny skirts, her face tense, her eyes on Rathbone’s.She was smiling, but there was no laughter in her, no brilliance or ease.
    “We will have other friends,” she said in her slightly husky voice. “But very few. People believe what they need to, or what they have committed themselves to. I have enemies, but so has Gisela. There are many old scores to settle, old injuries, old loves and hates. And there are those whose only interest will be in the politics of the future, whether we remain independent or are swallowed up in a greater Germany, and who will win the profits of that battle. You will need to be both brave and clever.”
    Her remarkable face softened till she looked more than beautiful. There was a radiance in her. “But, then, if I had not believed you to be both, I should not have come to you. We shall give them a great fight, shall we not? No one shall murder a man, and a prince, while we stand by and allow the world to think it an accident. God, I hate a hypocrite! We shall have honesty. It is worth living and dying for, isn’t it?”
    “Of course,” Rathbone said with absolute conviction.
    That evening in the long summer twilight he went out to see his father, who lived to the north of London in Primrose Hill. It took him some time, and he did not hurry. He traveled in an open gig, light and fast, easy to maneuver through the traffic of barouches and landaus as people took the air in the dappled sunlight of tree-lined avenues or made their way home after the heat of a day in the city. He seldom drove, he had not the time, but he enjoyed it when he did. He had a light hand, and the pleasure was well worth the price of the hire from a local stable.
    Henry Rathbone had retired from his various mathematical and inventive pursuits. He still occasionally looked through his telescope at the stars, but merely for interest. On this evening, when Oliver arrived he was in his garden, standing on the long lawn looking towards the honeysuckle hedge at the bottom andthe apple trees in the orchard beyond. It had been rather a dry season, and he was pondering whether the fruit would swell to an acceptable quality. The sun was still well above the horizon, blazing gold and sending long shadows across the grass. He was a tall man, taller than his son, square-shouldered and thin. He had a gentle, aquiline face and farsighted blue eyes. He was obliged to remove his spectacles to study anything closely.
    “Good evening, Father.” Rathbone walked down the lawn to join him. The butler had conducted him through the house and out of the open French doors.
    Henry turned with slight surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you. I’ve only got bread and cheese for dinner, and a little rather good pâté. Got a decent red wine, though, if you feel like it.”
    “Thank you,” Oliver accepted immediately.
    “Bit dry for the fruit,” Henry went on, turning back to the trees. “But still got a few strawberries, I think.”
    “Thank you,” Oliver repeated. Now that he was here, he was not quite sure how to begin. “I’ve taken a slander case.”
    “Oh. Is your client plaintiff or defendant?” Henry started to amble gently back towards the house, the sun casting long shadows in the gold-green grass and making the spires of the