answer the question exactly. He'll flatter you, make you angry, challenge you intellectually if he thinks it will make you forget yourself. Your impression on the jury is the most important weapon you have. He knows that as well as I do."
Sir Herbert looked pale, a furrow of anxiety sharp between his brows. He stared at Rathbone as if weighing him for some inner judgment.
"I shall be careful," he said at last. "Thank you for your counsel."
Rathbone straightened up and held out his hand.
"Don't worry. This is the darkest hour. From now on it is our turn, and unless we make some foolish mistake, we will carry the day."
Sir Herbert grasped his hand and held it hard.
"Thank you. I have every confidence in you. And I shall obey your instructions precisely." He let go and stepped back, a very slight smile touching his lips.
* * * * *
As on every day so far, the court was packed with spectators and journalists, and this morning there was an air of expectancy among them and something not unlike hope. The defense was about to begin, there might at last be disclosures, drama, even evidence toward another murderer. Everyone's eyes were to the front, the noise was not talking but the myriad tiny rustles and creaks of movement as one fabric rubbed against another, whalebone shifted pressure, and the leather soles of boots scraped on the floor.
Rathbone was not as well prepared as he would have liked, but there was no more time. He must look as if he not only knew Sir Herbert was innocent but also who was guilty. He was acutely aware of the eyes of every juror intent upon him; every movement was watched, every inflection of his voice measured.
"My lord, gentlemen of the jury," he began with a very slight smile. "I am sure you will appreciate it is much easier for the prosecution to prove that a man is guilty of a crime man for the defense to prove he is not. Unless, of course, you can prove that someone else is. And unfortunately I cannot do that-so far. Although it is always possible something may emerge during the evidence yet to come."
The whisper of excitement was audible, even the hasty scratching of pencil on paper.
"Even so," he continued, "the prosecution has failed to demonstrate that Sir Herbert Stanhope killed Prudence Barrymore, only that he could have. As could many others: Geoffrey Taunton, Nanette Cuthbertson, Dr. Beck are only some. The main thrust of his argument"-he indicated Lovat-Smith with a casual gesture-"is that Sir Herbert had a powerful motive, as evidenced by Prudence's own letters to her sister, Faith Barker."
His smile broadened a fraction and he looked squarely at the jury.
"However, I will show you that those letters are open to a quite different interpretation, one which leaves Sir Herbert no more culpable than any other man might be in his position and with his skills, his personal modesty, and the other urgent and powerful calls upon his attention."
There was more fidgeting on the public benches. A fat woman in the gallery leaned forward and stared at Sir Herbert in the dock.
Before Hardie could become restive, Rathbone proceeded to the point.
"I shall now call my first witness, Sir Herbert Stanhope himself."
It took several moments for Sir Herbert to disappear from the dock down the stairs and reappear in the body of the court. Leaving his escort of jailers behind, he crossed the floor to mount the steps to the witness stand, walking very uprightly, an immaculately dressed and dignified figure. All the time there was a hush in the room as if everyone had held their breath. The only sound was the scratching of pencils on paper as the journalists sought to catch the mood in words.
As soon as Sir Herbert reached the top of the steps and turned there was a ripple of movement as a hundred heads craned forward to look at him, and everyone shifted very slightly in their seats. He stood square-shouldered, head high, but Rathbone watching him felt it was assurance, not arrogance. He glanced at the jury's faces and saw interest and a flash of reluctant respect.
The clerk swore him in, and Rathbone moved to the center of the floor and began.
"Sir Herbert, you have been chief surgeon at the Royal Free Hospital for approximately the last seven years. During that time you must have been assisted by many nurses, probably even hundreds, would you say?"
Sir Herbert's slight eyebrows rose in