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Authors: Anthony Berkeley
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almost inevitable.
“No,” concluded Sir Charles, finally crushing Mr. Bradley once and for all, “I am convinced that the individual I am thinking of would realise that nobody else must handle that parcel till it had passed into the keeping of the post - office.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Bradley academically, “Lady Pennefather may have had not an innocent accomplice but a guilty one. You've considered that, of course?” Mr. Bradley managed to convey that the matter was of no real interest, but as Sir Charles had been addressing these remarks directly to him it was only courteous to comment on them.
Sir Charles purpled visibly. He had been priding himself on the skilful way in which he had been withholding his suspect's name, to bring it out with a lovely plump right at the end after proving his case, just like a real detective story. And now this wretched scribbler of the things had spoilt it all.
“Sir,” he intoned, in proper Johnsonian manner, “I must call your attention to the fact that I have mentioned no names at all. To do such a thing is most imprudent. Do I need to remind you that there is such a thing as a law of libel? ”
Morton Harrogate smiled his maddeningly superior smile (he really was a most insufferable young man). “Really, Sir Charles!” he mocked, stroking his little sleek object he wore on his upper lip. “I'm not going to write a story about Lady Pennefather trying to murder her husband, if that's what you're warning me against. Or could it possibly be that you were referring to the law of slander?”
Sir Charles, who had meant slander, enveloped Mr. Bradley in a crimson glare.
Roger sped to the rescue. The combatants reminded him of a bull and a gadfly, and that is a contest which it is often good fun to watch. But the Crimes Circle had been founded to investigate the crimes of others, not to provide opportunities for new ones. Roger did not particularly like either the bull or the gadfly, but both amused him in their different ways; he certainly disliked neither. Mr. Bradley on the other hand disliked both Roger and Sir Charles. He disliked Roger the more of the two because Roger was a gentleman and pretended not to be, whereas he himself was not a gentleman and pretended he was. And that surely is cause enough to dislike any one.
“I'm glad you raised that point, Sir Charles,” Roger now said smoothly. “It's one we must consider. Personally I don't see how we're to progress at all unless we come to some arrangement concerning the law of slander, do you?”
Sir Charles consented to be mollified. “It is a difficult point,” he agreed, the lawyer in him immediately swamping the outraged human being. A born lawyer will turn aside from any other minor pursuit, even briefs, for a really knotty legal point, just as a born woman will put on her best set of underclothes and powder her nose before inserting the latter in the gas - oven.
“I think,” Roger said carefully, anxious not to wound legal susceptibilities (it was a bold proposition for a layman to make), “that we should disregard that particular law. I mean,” he added hastily, observing the look of pain on Sir Charles's brow at being asked to condone this violation of a lex intangenda, “1 mean, we should come to some such arrangement as that anything said in this room should be without prejudice, or among friends, or - or not in the spirit of the adverb,” he plunged desperately, “or whatever the legal wriggle is.” On the whole it was not a tactful speech.
But it is doubtful whether Sir Charles heard it. A dreamy look had come into his eyes, as of a Lord of Appeal crooning over a piece of red tape. “Slander, as we all know,” he murmured, “consists in the malicious speaking of such words as render the party who speaks them in the hearing of others liable to an action at the suit of the party to whom they apply. In this case, the imputation being of a crime or misdemeanour which is punishable
“No,” concluded Sir Charles, finally crushing Mr. Bradley once and for all, “I am convinced that the individual I am thinking of would realise that nobody else must handle that parcel till it had passed into the keeping of the post - office.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Bradley academically, “Lady Pennefather may have had not an innocent accomplice but a guilty one. You've considered that, of course?” Mr. Bradley managed to convey that the matter was of no real interest, but as Sir Charles had been addressing these remarks directly to him it was only courteous to comment on them.
Sir Charles purpled visibly. He had been priding himself on the skilful way in which he had been withholding his suspect's name, to bring it out with a lovely plump right at the end after proving his case, just like a real detective story. And now this wretched scribbler of the things had spoilt it all.
“Sir,” he intoned, in proper Johnsonian manner, “I must call your attention to the fact that I have mentioned no names at all. To do such a thing is most imprudent. Do I need to remind you that there is such a thing as a law of libel? ”
Morton Harrogate smiled his maddeningly superior smile (he really was a most insufferable young man). “Really, Sir Charles!” he mocked, stroking his little sleek object he wore on his upper lip. “I'm not going to write a story about Lady Pennefather trying to murder her husband, if that's what you're warning me against. Or could it possibly be that you were referring to the law of slander?”
Sir Charles, who had meant slander, enveloped Mr. Bradley in a crimson glare.
Roger sped to the rescue. The combatants reminded him of a bull and a gadfly, and that is a contest which it is often good fun to watch. But the Crimes Circle had been founded to investigate the crimes of others, not to provide opportunities for new ones. Roger did not particularly like either the bull or the gadfly, but both amused him in their different ways; he certainly disliked neither. Mr. Bradley on the other hand disliked both Roger and Sir Charles. He disliked Roger the more of the two because Roger was a gentleman and pretended not to be, whereas he himself was not a gentleman and pretended he was. And that surely is cause enough to dislike any one.
“I'm glad you raised that point, Sir Charles,” Roger now said smoothly. “It's one we must consider. Personally I don't see how we're to progress at all unless we come to some arrangement concerning the law of slander, do you?”
Sir Charles consented to be mollified. “It is a difficult point,” he agreed, the lawyer in him immediately swamping the outraged human being. A born lawyer will turn aside from any other minor pursuit, even briefs, for a really knotty legal point, just as a born woman will put on her best set of underclothes and powder her nose before inserting the latter in the gas - oven.
“I think,” Roger said carefully, anxious not to wound legal susceptibilities (it was a bold proposition for a layman to make), “that we should disregard that particular law. I mean,” he added hastily, observing the look of pain on Sir Charles's brow at being asked to condone this violation of a lex intangenda, “1 mean, we should come to some such arrangement as that anything said in this room should be without prejudice, or among friends, or - or not in the spirit of the adverb,” he plunged desperately, “or whatever the legal wriggle is.” On the whole it was not a tactful speech.
But it is doubtful whether Sir Charles heard it. A dreamy look had come into his eyes, as of a Lord of Appeal crooning over a piece of red tape. “Slander, as we all know,” he murmured, “consists in the malicious speaking of such words as render the party who speaks them in the hearing of others liable to an action at the suit of the party to whom they apply. In this case, the imputation being of a crime or misdemeanour which is punishable
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