William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

far as he is aware. None of us knows what weaknesses or vices people may have, and thank God, for the most part, it is none of our business. They may be men you know! Or any of us knows.” He spread his arms in a wide gesture, to includethe whole room, the jurors, the gallery, even the judge. “And since the court does not know who they are, this is futile.”
    “Sir Oliver is right,” the judge agreed. “Move on, Mr. Winchester, if you have anything else upon which to cross-examine Mr. Ballinger. Otherwise, let us put the matter to the jury.”
    “But we do know who these men are, my lord,” Winchester said clearly. “At least I do.”
    Suddenly there was total silence in the room. No one stirred. No one even coughed.
    “I beg your pardon?” the judge said at last.
    “I know who they are,” Winchester repeated.
    Rathbone felt the sweat break out on his skin and a prickle of fear sharp inside him, although he did not even know why. He stared at Winchester.
    “Were you aware of this, Sir Oliver?” the judge asked.
    “No, my lord. I would question its veracity, and why Mr. Winchester has not referred to it before.”
    “I came by it only this weekend, my lord,” Winchester replied to the judge.
    “From whom?” the judge demanded.
    Rathbone knew the answer the moment before it was spoken.
    “From Mr. Rupert Cardew, my lord,” Winchester said. “In the interests of justice, he provided it—”
    Rathbone lurched to his feet. “How can that possibly be in the interests of justice?” he demanded. “It has nothing to do with the case, except possibly to prove that there were a large number of men who may well have had motive to wish Parfitt dead. And who is to say that this list is accurate? It could be the complete fabrication of a man who has an intense interest in seeing Mr. Ballinger convicted, in order to remove all suspicion from himself!”
    “He will testify to the names, if necessary,” Winchester replied. “And with diligence, it should be possible to prove that all of them have visited the boat, at some time or other, most of them fairly regularly.”
    “A long and tedious job,” Rathbone rejoined. “And irrelevant to this case, my lord!”
    “Not irrelevant, my lord,” Winchester said. “I mention it to throw extreme doubt on Mr. Ballinger’s innocence in this matter. Sir Oliver paved the way for me in his own examination by asking the witness about his knowledge of the boat, and Mr. Ballinger replied that he did not know its business, nor was he aware of knowing any of the men who patronized it. I have the list of names, my lord. I regret to say that I myself am acquainted with two of them—”
    The judge was rapidly losing patience. “Mr. Winchester, you appear to be behaving in the worst possible taste, titillating the most vulgar aspect of public curiosity, in a matter that is repellent and does not further your case in the least.”
    “My lord, every one of the men on this list is personally acquainted with Mr. Ballinger! Every one of them, without exception. Why would he lie about it to this court, under oath, if it were not something he wished to—indeed, needed to—conceal?”
    There was a gasp, a rustle of movement right around the room, then a terrible stillness.
    Rathbone felt his muscles clench like a vise. He would like to have believed that it was Rupert Cardew making a desperate move to save himself from the suspicion that would inevitably follow Ballinger’s acquittal. He turned and looked at the gallery, and saw Rupert immediately, ashen-faced and perfectly steady. This would ruin him. Society would never forgive him for betraying the names of those who had soiled the honor most of them aspired to but had not the courage to defend.
    Winchester broke the silence. “I will call Mr. Cardew to the stand to name them. Should anyone doubt him, Sir Oliver can, naturally, question him on the issue, and require him to prove what he says. But I shall not do it unless your lordship insists. This knowledge would ruin many families, and call into question legal decisions, possibly even Acts of Parliament. The possibilities for blackmail are so momentous that the damage would affect …” He stopped, leaving their imaginations to fill in the rest.
    “Sir Oliver?” the judge said a little huskily.
    It was defeat, and Rathbone knew it. He would not bring down the whole order of society to save Ballinger, even would such a thinghave done so. And it would not. He