Death of a Stranger - Anne Perry [141]
Rathbone rose to begin the defense. The public gallery was almost half empty. He called the surveyor again.
Fowler complained that he was wasting the court’s time. The surveyor had already testified in great detail. The subject had been more than exhausted.
“My lord,” Rathbone said patiently, “my learned friend knows as well as the rest of us that I was able only to cross-examine him on the subjects already spoken of in direct examination.”
“Can there possibly be any other subjects left?” Fowler asked to a ripple of laughter from the crowd. “We already know far more about the building of railways than we need to, or I imagine than we wish to.”
“Possibly than we wish to, my lord.” Rathbone smiled very slightly. “Not than we need to. We have still reached no unarguable conclusion.”
“You are lawyers,” the judge said dryly. “You can argue any conclusion on earth! However, proceed, Sir Oliver, but do not waste our time. If you appear to be talking for the sake of it I shall sustain Mr. Fowler’s objection—indeed, I shall object myself.”
Rathbone bowed with a smile. “I shall endeavor not to be tedious or irrelevant, my lord,” he promised.
The judge looked skeptical.
Rathbone faced the surveyor when he had been duly reminded of his previous oath and had restated his professional qualifications. “Mr. Whitney,” he began, “you have already told us that you surveyed both the originally intended route for the railway of Baltimore and Sons from London to Derby and the route now taken. Is there a significant difference in cost between the two?”
“No, sir, not significant,” Whitney replied.
“What do you consider significant?” Rathbone asked.
Whitney thought for a moment. “Above a few hundred pounds,” he replied at length. “Hardly as much as a thousand.”
“A lot of money,” Rathbone observed. “Sufficient to buy several houses for an ordinary family.”
Fowler rose to his feet.
The judge waved him down again and looked at Rathbone. “If you are intending to reach any conclusion, Sir Oliver, you have diverted further than the railway in question. You would be better occupied justifying your own circuitous journey.”
There was a titter from the crowd. This, at least, was mildly entertaining. They were happy to see Rathbone baited; he was better game than the accused, who had long since lost any sympathy they might have felt for him.
Rathbone took a deep breath and steadied his temper. He acknowledged the judge’s remark and turned again to the witness stand. “Mr. Whitney, would it be technically possible to commit a far greater fraud than the one suggested here, one worth several thousands of pounds, by this same means of diverting a proposed route?”
Whitney looked startled. “Yes, of course it would. This was only a slightly greater length, a few hundred yards. One could do far more to make money.”
“For example?” Rathbone asked.
Whitney shrugged. “Buy land oneself, prior to the rerouting, and then sell it back at an inflated price,” he answered. “Many things, with enough imagination and the right contacts. Choose a stretch where a lot of construction was necessary, bridges, viaducts, tunnels, even long cuttings, and take a percentage on materials—the possibilities are numerous.”
“My lord!” Fowler said loudly. “My learned friend is simply showing that the accused is incompetent even at fraud. That is not an excuse.”
There was open laughter in the room. No one pretended not to be amused.
When it had died down Rathbone turned to him. “I am attempting to prove that he is innocent of murder,” he said politely, but with an underlying anger. “Why is it that you seem unwilling to allow me to do that?”
“It is circumstances that are preventing you, not I,” Fowler returned to another rustle of laughter.
“Your circumstances!” Rathbone snapped. “Mine not only allow me to, they oblige me to.”
“Mr. Fowler!” the judge said very clearly. “Sir Oliver has a point. Unless you have some objection of substance in law, will you cease from interrupting him, or we are