William Monk 19 - Blind Justice

the brave promises, he had nothing.
    Wystan rose to his feet. He looked infinitely satisfied. Not that he must have ever doubted that in the end he would win.
    “No questions, my lord,” he said simply, and sat down again. Apparently he did not feel he needed to add anything more. Victory was in his hands. He could afford to be casual.
    “I call Richard Athlone,” Brancaster said loudly.
    A couple of the jurors stirred to attention. Several of the others looked embarrassed, as if decency required that the end be swifter than this.
    York sighed.
    The usher repeated the call, and after a few more seconds a tall, lean man with receding hair emerged from the doors into the hall, walked across the floor, and climbed to the witness stand. He was duly sworn, and he faced Brancaster.
    The man had a thin, intelligent face, deeply lined but good humored. Rathbone tried to place him, and failed.
    Brancaster walked out onto the floor and looked up at Athlone with a slight smile.
    “You are a professor of law, is that correct?”
    “Yes, sir,” Athlone agreed.
    “And as well as the law itself, you have made a speciality of studying most of the more famous cases that are recent—shall we say, within the last thirty years?”
    “Yes, sir,” Athlone replied.
    York shifted his position and glanced at Wystan.
    Wystan rose to his feet. “My lord, the prosecution is happy to stipulate that Sir Oliver has been an outstanding lawyer and won remarkably many cases. Indeed, we would state it positively. It is part of our own case that his extraordinary success has led to his arrogance, and is at the very least a witness to his supreme ambition. He must win at all costs, even the cost of loyalty to his wife and her family and, beyond that, to honor and to the principles of the law. That is the heart of the case against him.”
    “If you believe the law is as important as you say,” Brancaster retorted instantly, “then you will allow that the accused is entitled to the best defense he is able to find.”
    Wystan rolled his eyes, unusually expressively for him. “If this is the best defense you can find, then by all means, make it, sir!”
    Brancaster bowed. “Thank you.” He turned back to Athlone.
    “Professor, perhaps we might pick two or three of Sir Oliver’s most remarkable cases and mention, very briefly indeed, some of the truths that he uncovered in court, so that justice was done where it had previously appeared that the truth was the exact opposite of what had actually transpired. Shall we say one for the defense, one for the prosecution? And so that we do not exhaust the patience of the court, let us keep it to not more than five minutes each?”
    “By all means,” Athlone agreed. Then he proceeded to tell the story of how Rathbone had defended a man who appeared to be unquestionably guilty but, by brilliant questioning, Rathbone had left no doubt at all, either with the jury or with the public in general, that another completely different person was in fact to blame.
    Athlone recounted it with wit and a considerable flair for drama. Not a single member of the jury moved his eyes from him while he spoke. The people in the gallery sat motionless, silently staring at the witness box.
    Athlone started with the second account, this time a case where Rathbone had appeared for the prosecution. The crime was particularly unpleasant and the proof slight. The defense was brilliant, and it seemed inevitable that, at least legally, there was reasonable doubt. This time Rathbone had found a witness who was able to discredit the accused totally, and within the space of minutes the entire trial turned the other way. The man was convicted.
    At the end of his account several people in the gallery actually cheered. Even the jury looked impressed.
    “That is an excellent example, Professor Athlone, but I rather expected you to cite the case of Mr. Wilton Jones.”
    Athlone looked slightly puzzled. “Wilton Jones? Remind me, sir.”
    “A man of great skill, and villainy,” Brancaster replied. “But his violence was always well concealed. Frequently he corrupted others to do his worst work. He presented himself as a gentleman, but he was greedy, cruel, and totally ruthless. That case was one of Sir Oliver’s greatest victories.”
    “Ah. Yes.” Athlone smiled. “I believe I recall the case now. Was that not the one where another gentleman of excellent family, and rather a lot of influence, swore to Wilton Jones’s