Nothing Ventured(91)

“On several occasions, Your Honor. But I should warn you that there are bound to be some gaps. But first may I remind you of the final sentence on the first page, before I move on to the disputed second page.” The judge nodded. “I later regretted that I had lost my temper with him, and I should never have…” The professor took a large magnifying glass from his bag and studied the indented page closely before he continued.

“done so before I heard side story. On arrival back Euston S I took taxi to our,” he hesitated, “office in Marylebone. When I open the door I saw heavily built ma rush ward me. I held op the doo for him, but barged past me and to street. I didn’t think about at tim but ater realiz he co have be the mur erer. I went s up to Gary’ offi on the loor, and fo im pread on t floor by the mant piec . I rush across bu it was ready late. Someon must ave”

The professor turned to the third page of the statement and continued, “struck him.” One or two of those standing around the machine burst into applause, while the others remained stony silent.

“Thank you, professor,” said Lord Justice Arnott, before adding, “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please return to your seats.”

Grace waited until everyone had settled before she rose from her place and said, “No more questions, My Lords,” and collapsed onto the bench.

“Chapeau,” her father whispered, touching his forehead with the fingers of his right hand.

“Mr. Llewellyn, do you wish to cross-examine this witness?” asked Lord Justice Arnott.

Professor Abrahams braced himself for the Crown’s rebuttal.

“No, My Lords,” said the Crown’s chief advocate, barely moving from his place.

“We are in your debt, Professor Abrahams,” said Lord Justice Arnott. “I’m only glad that your mother lives in Warsaw, and that you dropped by to see us on your way to visit her. You may step down.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said the professor, before leaving the stand and gathering up his box of tricks.

Grace wanted to hug him as he walked across the room and winked at Arthur, before leaving the court.

“Do you have any more witnesses, Sir Julian?” asked Lord Justice Arnott.

“Just one, My Lords. Detective Sergeant Clarkson, the other signatory to Mr. Rainsford’s original statement. He has been subpoenaed to appear before your lordships at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Then we will adjourn until then.”

Sir Julian bowed, and remained standing until the three judges had gathered up their copious notes and departed.

“Do you think Clarkson will actually turn up tomorrow?” asked Grace.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” replied her father.





31





THE CROWN V. FAULKNER


“Please state your name and occupation, for the record,” said Mr. Booth Watson.

“Miles Adam Faulkner. I’m a farmer.”

“Mr. Faulkner, the court has heard that you own an impressive art collection, as well as homes in New York and Monte Carlo, an estate in Hampshire, a yacht, and a private jet. How can that be possible if you’re a farmer?”

“My dear father left me the farm in Limpton, along with three thousand acres.”

William immediately scribbed a note and passed it across to the Crown’s QC.

“That still doesn’t explain your lavish lifestyle, or your ability to collect valuable works of art.”

“The truth is that, despite my family having owned Limpton Hall for over four centuries, some years ago the government issued a compulsory purchase order on my land, as they wanted to build a six-lane motorway right through the middle of it, leaving me with the house and just a couple of hundred acres. I opposed the order and took them to court, but sadly lost on appeal. However, what the government ended up paying me in compensation allowed me to pursue my lifelong interest in art. And thanks to one or two shrewd investments in the stock market over the years, I have managed to build up a reasonable collection.”

William made a second note.

“Which no doubt you intend to pass on to the next generation,” said Booth Watson, looking down at a list of well-prepared questions.

“No, sir. I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Why not?”

“Sadly my wife had no interest in having children, and as I do not want to break up the collection, I have decided to leave my entire estate to the nation.”

Miles turned and smiled at the jury, just as Booth Watson had instructed him to. He was rewarded with one or two of them smiling back at him.

“Now I’d like to turn to one painting in particular, Mr. Faulkner, The Syndics of the Clothmakers’ Guild by Rembrandt.”

“Without question a masterpiece,” said Faulkner. “I’ve admired it since the day I first saw it as a schoolboy when my mother took me to visit the Fitzmolean.”

“The Crown would have us believe that you admired the painting so much, you stole it.”

Miles laughed. “I admit,” he said, looking at the jury once again, “that I’m an art lover, even an art junkie, but I am not, Mr. Booth Watson, an art thief.”

“Then how do you explain your wife’s claim, under oath, that you have been in possession of the Rembrandt for the past seven years?”