ignoring the ill wind.
“Let us now consider what is undoubtedly the crucial piece of evidence in this case. If Mr. Amhurst is guilty as charged, and was in possession of an autographed first edition of A Christmas Carol, why didn’t he offer it for sale, as it would have fetched ten times as much as a signed set of Churchill’s history of the Second World War? I’ll tell you why, because he wasn’t willing to part with a family heirloom, which he will in time pass on to the next generation.”
“He doesn’t have any children,” William whispered in Hayes’s ear.
“You should have told me that earlier.”
“Last night, members of the jury,” continued Grace, “while I was preparing this case, I spent a little time calculating how much Mr. Amhurst would have made had he sold the three volumes of Churchill’s memoirs that Constable Warwick produced in evidence and claimed had been falsely signed. It comes to just over a hundred pounds. So, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I would suggest this is hardly the crime of the century. Yet for reasons best known to itself, Scotland Yard has chosen to come down on Mr. Amhurst with the full force of the law. If you believe beyond reasonable doubt,” she emphasized, “the Crown has proved that Cyril Amhurst is a master forger and an accomplished fraudster, then he should spend his Christmas in prison. If, however, you find, as I believe you will, that the Crown has not proved its case, you will surely release him from this ordeal and allow him, like Tiny Tim’s father, to spend Christmas in the bosom of his family.”
When Grace sat down, Mr. Hayes turned and whispered to William, “What a pro. She’s a chip off the old block. Your father would have been proud of her.”
“But not of his son,” hissed William, who could quite happily have murdered Grace.
The judge’s summing-up was fair and unbiased. He presented the facts without trying to influence the jury in either direction. He placed considerable emphasis on the unexplained sheets of Churchill signatures, but he also stressed that the Crown had produced no evidence to prove that A Christmas Carol was not a family heirloom. After he had completed his summation, he instructed the jury to retire and consider their verdict.
Just over two hours later the seven men and five women filed back into the jury box. Once they were settled, the clerk of the court asked the foreman to rise. A stout, steely-looking woman in a smart, tightly fitting check suit rose from her place at the end of the front row.
“Foreman of the jury, have you been able to reach a verdict on which you are all agreed?”
“Yes we have, Your Honor.”
“On the first charge, of forgery, namely of the signature of Sir Winston Churchill on eighteen books, with the intention of deceiving the public and making a profit. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty,” she replied firmly.
“And on the second charge, of being in possession of a book bearing the forged signature of Charles Dickens with the intention of deceiving the public and making a profit. Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty.”
“And on the third charge, of possessing three volumes from Winston Churchill’s The Second World War bearing the forged signature of Sir Winston Churchill, do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty.”
While some in the courtroom gasped, William breathed a sigh of relief. He would be able to return to work the next day, if not in triumph, then at least not having to admit to being a complete failure.
“Will the prisoner please rise,” said the clerk of the court.
Amhurst rose, his head slightly bowed.
“Cyril Amhurst, you have been found guilty of a serious crime, for which I sentence you to one year in prison.”
William tried not to smile.
“However, as you have up until now had an unblemished record, and this is your first offense, the sentence will be suspended for two years, during which time I would recommend you do not visit too many bookshops. You are free to leave the court.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Amhurst, before stepping down from the dock and giving his counsel a long hug.
William shook Hayes’s hand, and thanked him for his gallant effort.
“Your sister was quite brilliant,” admitted Hayes. “With almost nothing to play with, she beat us two–one, and in the end she even had the referee coming down in her favor. I won’t make