Chapter 20: As Bad As Gold

It was early December and apart from the absence of cricket, life was pleasant. With regard to Christmas, Judge Embert Wimple was a ‘bah, humbug’ man. However, this was in a way an agreeable time of year, mainly because the gardening enthusiasts were still quiet. For several blessed weeks, the judge had not heard the sound of lawnmowers or hedge-trimmers. Had it not been for the bodily ravages inflicted by winter, the cost of keeping warm and the rest period in the only game that mattered, his honour would have been happy to experience this season the year round.

The judge’s internal conflict remained intense. On the one hand there was his ironclad sense of professional duty, on the other his growing awareness of the fact that the sand was running out with respect to his endeavours in the field of physics, which he was increasingly inclined to think of in terms of metaphysics. One lifetime just wasn’t enough and Embert Wimple was sustained only by his recent conversion to the notion that he would be able to return to the earthly plane, if he so wished. What he did not achieve on this occasion, he would attend to the next time round, finally becoming a fully rounded character. That was comforting.

In the meantime, one had to deal with one’s contemporaries, in the judge’s case, the more wayward ones. From what little he had heard of the matter – which had been reported in the local newspaper – Embert Wimple was vaguely aware that today’s affair was out of the ordinary. That was good. His honour’s palate was somewhat jaded, so as far as he was concerned, the stranger the better.

The plaintiff, Kevin McGee, was represented by good old Jeremy Turnpenny and the defendant, Norman Stott by the ebullient young Cedric Thistle. It seemed that Stott had made some sort of promise which he had failed to honour. Good enough for a start.

Having made a show of studying his papers, the judge switched on his most beatific smile as he addressed Turnpenny. “Perhaps you would get us going, Mr Turncoat.”

Bowing even lower than usual, prosecuting counsel began: “May it please Your Honour, the position here is that my client rendered to the defendant a service for which payment was promised and was not made. I will elucidate.”

“Oh, I do hope so,” said the judge. “Please discourse.”

“Thank you. The defendant, Mr Stott, had been having difficulties with his neighbours in general and with one – a Mr Illingworth – in particular. Mr Stott and this Mr Illingworth had been at cross-purposes for some time, owing to Mr Illingworth’s habit of parking his car in front of Mr Stott’s house, notwithstanding the fact that Mr Illingworth had his own garage, drive and road frontage, which he persistently failed to use for the obvious purpose. Mr Stott finally tired of remonstrating with Mr Illingworth and of trying to involve the authorities. He decided to employ more direct methods and in doing so, sought the assistance of my client – the two men are regular patrons of the same public house.”

“One moment,” said the judge. “I must make a note.” In fact, he was using the time he gained to observe the plaintiff, a very large man with a forward-hunched stance and fixed scowl which combined to give him a somewhat intimidating appearance. “Continue.”

“Thank you. Mr Stott told my client that he – Mr Stott – would give his all to be free from the presence of Mr Illingworth. Taking the defendant’s words literally, my client offered to intercede in whatever way seemed likely to produce the desired result.”

“My goodness,” said the judge. “Are you saying that Mr Stott employed an enforcer to put the frighteners on Mr Illingworth?” The judge had been reading a series of gangster stories.

Turnpenny bowed again. “It might be so construed, Your Honour, though my client had in mind reasonable argument and had no intention of using force. However, that is not the issue here. What is important is that the defendant promised a large reward to my client, in return for Mr McGee’s presumed nominal service in merely being present when Mr Illingworth next transgressed proper behaviour.”

The judge nodded. “I see. What was the nature of this reward?”

“My client was conducted to the defendant’s cellar, where he was shown a cube of what Mr Stott claimed to be pure gold. The item in question was of one foot per side, therefore a cubic foot in volume. It was in a casing of what the defendant said was bullet-proof glass. Mr Stott told my client that if he – Mr McGee – would discourage the troublesome neighbour, this gold would be his. Now, my client does not pretend to be an intellectual luminary. He was tempted by the offer and agreed to conceal himself in Mr Stott’s garden and to step in should Mr Illingworth again flout convention.”

“I see,” said the judge. “You mean that your client agreed to, as it were, lurk in the shrubbery and confront Mr Illingworth if circumstances so indicated?”

“Perhaps a lurid view of the matter, Your Honour, but essentially correct.”

“Very well. What then?”

“Developments occurred quickly. On the second night of my client’s vigil – the eighth of August – Mr Illingworth returned home late and parked his car. The vehicle blocked about two feet of Mr Stott’s drive. Mr McGee emerged from the rear of the property and spoke to Mr Illingworth, who instantly became violent. There was a brief fracas.”

It would have been brief, thought the judge, once again eyeing the formidable McGee. “I suspect that Mr Illingworth was the loser?”

“Yes, Your Honour. However, once again, that is not relevant here. The crucial point is that Mr Illingworth was persuaded to behave more responsibly. Here, perhaps a little background information would be helpful.”

“I feared as much,” the judge replied. “Please be concise.”

“I will try. Our enquiries elicited the information that Mr Illingworth was one of several people in the neighbourhood who had fallen foul of the defendant. Mr Stott had acquired a reputation for taking issue with those around him. If necessary, we could produce parties who would confirm this.”

Turnpenny took a deep breath and was about to plough on, when the judge put up a hand. “I think that will do for the moment, Mr Turnpike. Before I lose track, I would like to hear from the defence. His eyes swung to Cedric Thistle. “Let us hear from you, Mr Birtwistle.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. Happily, there is no danger of the thread being lost by our presentation, which is simplicity itself. My client did have some difficulties, which he is convinced arose from the fact that someone in the neighbourhood took a dislike to him and spread the word. Mr Illingworth was the main cul –”

“Just a moment,” the judge said. “How many others did Mr Stott have trouble with, and to which authorities did he turn for resolution of his problems?”

Thistle was prepared. “There were, at various times, six parties other than Mr Illingworth. On three occasions, my client asked the police to help, twice he consulted the environmental health office direct, without involving the police, and once he invoked both services.”

“Poor fellow,” the judge put in. “I am reminded of Job and his plague of boils. Go on.”