Sixsmith's gaze was intense. "Show him that he was mistaken. Mr. Havilland was his father-in-law, and I believed that relations were cordial between them."

"Could this man, this assassin, have misunderstood you?"

Sixsmith stared at him. "No, sir. I was quite specific."

Dobie could not resist making the very most of it. He looked at the jury, then at the gallery. "Describe the scene for us," he said at last to Sixsmith. "Let the court see exactly how it was."

Sixsmith obeyed him, speaking slowly and carefully, like a man emerging from a nightmare into the daylight of sanity. He described the room in the public house: the noise, the smell of ale, the straw on the floor, the press of men.

"He came in at about ten o'clock, as near as I can tell" he went on in response to Dobie's prompting. "I knew him straightaway. He was fairly tall, and thin, especially his face. His hair was black and straight, rather long over his collar. His nose was thin at the bridge. But most of all, he had these extraordinary teeth, which I saw when he smiled. He bought a tankard of ale and came straight over to me, as if he already knew who I was. Someone must have described me very well. The man introduced himself, using Argyll's name so I would know who he was. We discussed the problem of the toshers in particular, and I told him a little more about it. I gave him the money. He accepted it, folded it away, and then stood up. I remember he emptied the tankard in one long draught, and then he left, without once looking backwards."

Dobie thanked him and invited Rathbone to contest it if he wished.

Rathbone conceded defeat with both dignity and grace. Not by so much as a glance did he admit that it was actually the most elegant and perhaps the most difficult victory of his career.

The jury returned a verdict of guilty of attempted bribery, and the judge imposed a fine that was no more than a week's pay.

The court erupted in cheers, the gallery rising to its feet. The jury looked intensely satisfied, turning to shake one another's hands and pass words of congratulation.

Margaret abandoned decorum and met Rathbone halfway across the floor as he walked towards her. Her face was shining, but whatever she said to him was lost in the uproar.

Monk also was on his feet. He would speak a word or two to Runcorn, thank him for his courage in being willing to reexamine a case. Then he would go home to tell Hester-and Scuff.

TWELVE

TWELVE