William Monk 16 - Execution Dock Read Online Free PDF Page B

to do with defending someone he has arrested!” Rathbone said hotly, realizing exactly how much it could, if he allowed it to. “Do you imagine that my acquaintance with the police, the prosecution, or the judge, for that matter, will have any effect on my conduct of a case? Any case?”
    “No, my dear chap, of course I don't,” Ballinger said with profound feeling. “That is exactly why my client chose you, and why I fully concurred with his judgment. Jericho Phillips will receive the fairest trial possible if you speak for him, and even if he is found guilty and hanged, we will all be easy at heart that justice has been done. We will never need to waken in the night with doubt or guilt that perhaps we hanged him because his style of life, his occupation, or his personal repulsiveness moved us more than honest judgment. If we are fair to the likes of him, then we are fair to all.” He rose to his feet and offered his hand. “Thank you, Oliver. Margaret is justly proud of you. I see her happiness in her face, and know that it will always be so.”
    Rathbone had no choice but to take Ballinger's hand and clasp it, still with a faint trace of self-consciousness because he was not accustomed to such frankness in matters of emotion.
    But after Ballinger had gone, he was also pleased. This would be a supreme challenge, and he would not like losing, but it was an honorable thing Ballinger had asked him to do—obliquely, dangerously honorable. And it would be intensely precious to have Margaret truly proud of him.

    It was several more days before Rathbone actually went to Newgate Prison to meet with Jericho Phillips. By this time he had a much greater knowledge of both the specific crime he was charged with and—far more worrying to him—Phillips's general pattern of life.
    Even so, he was still unprepared for the acute distaste he felt when they met. It was in a small, stone room with no furniture other than a table and two chairs. The single window was high in the wall and let in daylight, but there was nothing to see beyond it but the sky. The motionless air inside smelled stale, as if it held a century's sweat of fear that all the carbolic in the world could not wash away.
    Phillips himself was little above average height, but the leanness of his body and the angular way he stood made him look taller. He possessed no grace at all, and yet there was a suggestion of power in him in even the simple act of rising to his feet as Rathbone came in and the guard closed the door behind him.
    “Mornin’, Sir Oliver,” Phillips said civilly. His voice was rasping, as if his throat were sore. He made no move to offer his hand, for which Rathbone was grateful.
    “Good morning, Mr. Phillips,” he replied. “Please sit down. Our time is limited, so let us use it to the full.” He was slightly uncomfortable already. He felt an unease almost like a brush of physical fear. And yet Phillips was no threat to him at all. As far as he knew, to Phillips he was the one man on his side.
    Phillips obeyed, moving stiffly. It was the only thing that betrayed his fear. His hands were perfectly still, and he did not stammer or shake.
    “Yes, sir,” he said obediently.
    Rathbone looked at him. Phillips had sharp features and the pallid skin of one who lives largely away from the sunlight, but there was nothing soft in him, from his spiky hair to his glittering eyes, his strong hands, and his narrow, bony shoulders. He had the physical build of poverty—thin chest, slightly crooked legs—and yet he had learned not to show the usual limp of deformity.
    “Your attorney informs me that you wish to plead ‘not guilty,’ “Rathbone began. “The evidence against you is good, but not conclusive. Our greatest difficulty will be your reputation. Jurors will weighthe facts, but they will also be moved by emotion, whether they are aware of it or not.” He watched Phillips's face to judge whether he understood. He saw the instant flash of