“She said she had to keep them but they were nothing to do with her.”

“My papers?”

“You’ve never understood, sir. You are part of the Great Pageant of English Literature.”

He really did say that. It rolled forth like a statement being read out in court. The accused wishes to state that he is part of the Great Pageant—why, there was meat in it! Prisoner at the bar, you have been accused of being, and with intent to deceive, a part of the Great Pageant—

“Balls!”

Rick’s chin was back, forehead thrust forward, eyes looking out from under his ledge of rock.

“So give over, professor.”

“In any case, she refused me, Wilf.”

“She never was promiscuous. I give her that.”

“I know you’re joking, sir. But I see the hurt.”

“Well, for God’s sake! How was Capstone Bowers?”

“Well, I guess.”

“Good. Very good.”

“She wouldn’t even let me see the boxes.”

“Good. Good.”

“She said not without your permission. Written permission. That was the agreement, she said. ‘Gentleman’s agreement,’ she said and laughed. You both laugh a lot. I’d like to research that.”

“Vivisection. You don’t know about my life. You aren’t going to either.”

A minute cup of coffee and a large brandy had appeared on my rush place mat. I warmed the brandy with cupped hands.

“It’s important to me, Wilf. Very important. I’d give anything—anything! You don’t know the competition—and I have a chance. There’s a man—I’ll tell you one day. But I must have your permission—”

“I said no, damn it!”

“Wait, wait! I’m not talking about the papers—there’s time and maybe one day—but there’s another thing.”

“The devil of it is, I gave up drinking yesterday. Now here I am, without conscious volition, drinking brandy and really, you know, a little, just a little—”

“Another thing—”

“I’m what they call just a little on circuit. The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast. How odd it must be on circuit. Rather like motor roads. No one to talk to. Just booze and the papers of the next day’s cases. Cheers.”

“Wilf—”

I thought of judges and how little I knew about them. Lucky me. A long life of undiscovered crime. Those who didn’t get away with it were exported to Australia. The criminals that stayed behind bred the likes of us. Take your pick.

I became aware that Rick had gone on talking. I interrupted him.

“I get drunk so easily nowadays. It’s the altitude.”

“Wilf, please!”

“Professor?”

“It means a whole lot to me. I can do no more than plead—”

“You wanna be a full professor? Emeritus?”

“Wilf. I want you to appoint me your official biographer.”

Chapter V

I looked up at him and then a long way past him. My life, that life, that long and lengthening trail of—of what? Foot prints in the sands of. Snail trail. The evidence for the prosecution and, let us not forget, the evidence for the defence, if any, and the prisoner is not about to throw himself on the mercy of the court. Let him plead guilty, the social worker will come forward and testify in his behalf that he was kind to his old mum and horses, threw money about, often in the direction of his friends, had slipped many a bank note into this collecting box and that; all this, m’lud, I offer as a counterbalance to the prisoner’s habit of scrawling lies on paper into a shape that the weak-minded have taken as guide, comforter and friend, allegedly, often to their cost. I would remind you, m’lud, that the principal witness for the prosecution, the man Plato, is a foreigner. Mr Smith, the case for the prosecution has been made. You will confine yourself to giving evidence as to the moral stature of the prisoner. Well, m’lud, if the truth is to be told he has been a real bastard . . .