Chapter 9: A Load of Balls

Judge Embert Wimple was out of sorts, his condition having arisen from a week-long shortage of sleep. He was still getting his fair share at night, but daytime was a problem. Since reaching the age of eighty, three years earlier, his honour had taken to cat-napping during the less complex parts of his cases, especially when learned counsels were inclined to verbosity. It had long been evident to the judge that there was no need to listen to all that was said by everybody, but rather to pick up certain key words which contained the essence of the presentation concerned. Unfortunately, Embert Wimple had recently heard a succession of demanding cases, causing him to remain exceptionally attentive. It was a strain.

On the plus side of life, affairs at the Wimple house were peaceful. Esmeralda was storming ahead with her painting and gaining a considerable reputation, while the judge had just about given up toying with his recent idea about the wisdom of selling the absurdly large residence and even more extravagant garden, and moving to a town apartment. He still looked longingly, if increasingly hopelessly, at the handsome houses surrounding the Georgian square a stone’s throw from the court building. It wasn’t so much a matter of the convenience – for Judge Wimple expected to turn in his gavel any decade now – but one of ambience. The place of his daydreams was given over to lawns, flowerbeds and splendid old trees, all enclosed by black iron railings, and the beauty of it was that the council dealt with the maintenance. The properties had long ceased to be purely residential and were now besprinkled with the discreet plaques of medical consultants, upmarket lawyers and architects. Still, a top-floor flat would be ideal. Well, perhaps in the life beyond, Embert Wimple would be able to construct his own Georgian square, choosing the occupants himself.

As the judge finished clipping his toenails, he began to get the day’s business into focus. He didn’t know who was to appear before him, but was aware that the case involved some sort of disagreement in the world of sports or games. Well, that would do to be going on with. Time enough to yawn through the details as they were recounted. Though once a first-class rugby player, Judge Wimple no longer had any time for sporting matters, with the exception of cricket, which he considered not really a game, but rather an aesthetically pleasing ballet, involving energy and elegance. The best of all worlds.

The judge arrived at court and took his seat, to find himself in the comforting presence of two familiar advocates, Desmond Oddley-Staggers appearing for the plaintiff, Albert Speight, Rodney Melliflewes for the defendant Dennis Ryan. The fog of sleep-deprivation had not totally cleared, so Judge Wimple took his time over making a final check of his papers, before addressing Oddley-Staggers. “Very well, Mr Catherwood. As a certain Roman lady said, ‘let it begin’.”

Being a little prudish, Oddley-Staggers was not too pleased by the allusion to the antics of a woman of easy virtue, but masked his disapproval.

“May it please Your Honour, the case here concerns a bizarre incident which took place on the twentieth of February in a billiard hall about a mile from here, owned and managed by a Mr Alfred Parsons. My client and the defendant became casual acquaintances because both men were patrons of the establishment. They had some difference of opinion as to who was the better snooker player and decided to settle the matter by means of a match. As they wished to finish in one session, they agreed on a best of eleven frames contest, meaning that the first player to win six frames would be the victor. There was no gambling involved, the encounter being simply a question of pride. Play was to proceed uninterrupted, save that each man was allowed to eat and drink between frames, or while the opponent was taking his shots.”

In order to let the details sink in, Oddley-Staggers paused for an unnecessary drink of water before continuing: “Play began at nine a.m. and proceeded until eight-fifty p.m., when it was abandoned after the incident we are addressing. At that time, five frames had been completed and the sixth was well advanced. It –”

“Just a moment,” said the judge. “You say they had been playing non-stop for nearly twelve hours and had completed only five frames. Now, while no expert, I am under the impression that a frame of snooker usually lasts for anything from, say, about twenty minutes up to an hour or so. Is that right?”

Oddley-Staggers bowed. “Your Honour is perhaps thinking of the highest standards, such as seen on television. Both parties here are far below that level. The five frames I mentioned had lasted for an average of rather over two hours each.”

“Ah, I see. Please carry on.”

“Thank you. The match was going badly for the defendant. My client had won all five completed frames and was on the verge of taking the sixth, which would have been the last. He was ahead by fifty-five points to three, with only twenty-four points left on the board. The –”

The judge held up a hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt you again, Mr Pettifer. You say that fifty-eight points had been scored and that only twenty-four remained. I believe that comes to eighty-two. Now, I am as a child in this matter, but I seem to recall hearing that there are one hundred and forty-seven points available in a snooker frame. Would you care to educate me?”

“Certainly, Your Honour. The figure you mention is correct, but depends upon maximum use of the object balls. To achieve this total, the fifteen red balls must be potted, each followed by the black, which has the highest value and which, like any other of the so-called colours – yellow, green, brown, blue and pink – is set up again after being potted, so long as there are still reds available. Once potted, the reds remain in the pockets. After all of them have gone, the colours are disposed of in ascending order, also remaining in the pockets. The maximum break occurs rarely and only among the leading players. At the other extreme it is quite possible for all the fifteen reds to be sunk, at one point each, without any being followed immediately by a colour. In that case, the reds’ total of fifteen points and the colours’ total of twenty-seven would add up to only forty-two points. Indeed, in the case of frame being conceded for lack of available scoring potential, a frame could be over with even fewer points registered.”

“Thank you. I understand. Continue.” In fact, the judge was well aware of the scoring system but did not wish to be thought of as a student of snooker.

“The match was clearly about to result in a crushing defeat for Mr Ryan. When my client prepared to execute the coup de grâce, the defendant began to behave in an extraordinary manner, making wild allegations and issuing most lurid threats. The situation became confused and increasingly heated. The result was that Mr Ryan attacked my client with his cue –”

“Which end?” the judge interjected.

“Which end, Your Honour? Do you mean of my client or of the cue?”

“Very punctilious, Mr Petherbridge. The cue.”

“The thin end, Your Honour.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

“Mr Speight was struck in the solar plexus. He staggered and fell backwards against the wall. It was then that events took a strange turn.”

“As if they were not already strange enough,” the judge remarked drily.

“They were to become more so. Here, I must digress slightly, to explain why.”

“By all means.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. The proprietor, Mr Parsons, had had trouble with balls disappearing, usually taken by people who wanted them as mementos of particularly good performances. This caused delays for later patrons, who were annoyed, as they paid by the hour and did not want to spend their time seeking missing balls or asking for replacements. Mr Parsons, who is a trained carpenter, made a set of six narrow wooden troughs – one for each table – each just under four feet long, They are lined with synthetic foam and are wall-mounted and each holds a full set of balls in, as it were, single file. One end is permanently closed, the other being secured by a small latch. When the second end is freed and the trough tipped, the balls roll into a baize-lined container, for transfer to the table.”