Arthur & George

And I am unable to pretend to be something I am not. My father brought me up an Englishman, and he cannot, when things become difficult, attempt to console me with matters he has never previously stressed.’
    ‘Your father came from …?’
    ‘Bombay. He was converted by missionaries. They were Scottish, in fact. As my mother is.’
    ‘I understand your father,’ says Sir Arthur. It is a phrase, George realizes, that he has never in his life heard before. ‘The truths of one’s race and the truths of one’s religion do not always lie in the same valley. Sometimes it is necessary to cross a high ridge in winter snow to find the greater truth.’
    George ponders this remark as if it is part of a sworn affidavit. ‘But then your heart is divided and you are cut off from your people?’
    ‘No – then it is your duty to tell your people about the valley over the ridge. You look back down to the village whence you have come, and you observe that they have dipped the flags in salute, because they imagine that getting to the ridge itself is the triumph. But it is not. And so you raise your ski stick to them and point. Down there, you indicate, down there is the truth, down there in the next valley. Follow me over the ridge.’
    George came to the Grand Hotel anticipating a concentrated examination of the evidence in his case. The conversation has taken several unexpected turns. Now he is feeling somewhat lost. Arthur senses a certain dismay in his new young friend. He feels responsible; he has meant to be encouraging. Enough reflection, then; it is time for action. Also, for anger.
    ‘George, those who have supported you so far – Mr Yelverton and all the rest – have done sterling work. They have been utterly diligent and correct. If the British state were a rational institution, you would even now be back at your desk in Newhall Street. But it is not. So my plan is not to repeat the work of Mr Yelverton, to express the same reasonable doubts and make the same reasonable requests. I am going to do something different. I am going to make a great deal of
noise
. The English – the official English – do not like noise. They think it vulgar; it embarrasses them. But if calm reason has not worked, I shall give them noisy reason. I shall not use the back stairs but the front steps. I shall bang a big drum. I intend to shake more than a few trees, George, and we shall see what rotten fruit falls down.’
    Sir Arthur stands to say goodbye. Now he towers over the little law clerk. Yet he has not done this in their conversation. George is surprised that such a famous man can listen as well as fulminate, be gentle as well as forceful. Despite this last declaration, however, he feels the need for some basic verification.
    ‘Sir Arthur, may I ask … to put it simply … you think me innocent?’
    Arthur looks down with a clear, steady gaze. ‘George, I have read your newspaper articles, and now I have met you in person. So my reply is, No, I do not think you are innocent. No, I do not believe you are innocent. I
know
you are innocent.’ Then he extends a large, athletic hand, toughened by numerous sports of which George is entirely ignorant.

Arthur
    As soon as Wood had familiarized himself with the dossier, he was sent ahead in a scouting capacity. He was to survey the area, assess the temper of the locals, drink moderately in the public houses, and make contact with Harry Charlesworth. He was not, however, to play the detective, and was to stay away from the Vicarage. Arthur had not yet decided his plan of campaign, but knew that the best way to cut off sources of information would be to set up public stall and announce that he and Woodie had come to prove the innocence of George Edalji. And, by implication, the guilt of some other local resident. He did not want to alarm the interests of untruth.
    In the library at Undershaw, he bent himself to research. He established that the parish of Great Wyrley contained a number of well-built residences and farmhouses; that its soil was light loam, with a subsoil of clay and gravel; that its chief crops were wheat, barley, turnips and mangolds. The station, a quarter of a mile to the north-west, was on the Walsall, Cannock & Rugeley branch of the London & North Western Railway. The Vicarage, with a net yearly value of
£
265, including residence, had been held since 1876 by the Reverend Shapurji Edalji of St Augustine’s College, Canterbury. The Working Men’s Institute,