Brief Tales From The Bench by Henry Cecil Read Free Book Online Page B

take it you want to pursue this point, Mr Faulkner, and to continue to keep Mr Carr from his public house?’
    ‘I’m afraid so, your honour,’ said Mr Faulkner.
    ‘Now, Mr Morris,’ he went on, ‘will you kindly look at someone else. Will Mr Briggs stand up, please. D’you know him by sight?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘He also goes to the Barclay Arms.’
    ‘I don’t know everyone who goes there.’
    ‘I don’t suggest you do, but he remembers you.’
    ‘What am I supposed to say to that?’
    ‘He’s going to say that he provided the watch which the landlord sold to you, and that this is the watch.’
    ‘I’m on oath,’ said Mr Morris.
    ‘I know you are,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘and so will he be. Do you still deny it?’
    ‘Of course I do. It’s all a put-up job to get out of paying for what was quite a valuable watch.’
    Eventually Mr Morris’ cross-examination was concluded, and in due course Mr Carr and Mr Briggs gave evidence. Mr Carr did so most unwillingly, but, if ever there was a voluntary witness, it was Mr Briggs. He obviously enjoyed himself from beginning to end.
    ‘You are Edward Briggs,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘and you live at seven, Maryland Buildings, E6?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What are you, Mr Briggs?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What d’you mean by “yes”?’
    ‘I was told I had to say “yes” or “no”, and “yes” sounded more like.’
    ‘Well,’ I put in, ‘you don’t have just to say “yes” or “no”, Mr Briggs, answer the questions as you like.’
    ‘Oh, that’s different,’ said Mr Briggs.
    ‘So long as you tell the truth,’ I added.
    ‘The truth, eh, my lord? That’s asking a bit.’
    ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but you must do your best.’
    ‘OK my lord, what’s the question?
    ‘What do you do for a living?’ asked Mr Faulkner.
    ‘Sell fings.’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘What d’you sell?’
    ‘What do I sell? Logs and dogs.’
    ‘I beg your pardon.’
    ‘Granted.’
    ‘ What do you sell? ’
    ‘Told yer. Logs and dogs.’
    ‘Logs and dogs?’
    ‘Logs and dogs.’
    ‘That’s an odd combination,’ said Mr Faulkner.
    ‘What’s that?’ said Mr Briggs.
    ‘Logs and dogs.’
    ‘Logs and dogs,’ repeated Mr Briggs.
    ‘What’s wrong with selling logs and dogs, Mr Faulkner?’ I asked.
    ‘Oh nothing, your honour,’ he said, ‘except they don’t seem to go together.’
    ‘Look,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘I sell logs, see. And sometimes I pick up a dog or two cheap, see. So I sell ’em. That’s logs and dogs, ain’t it?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘it’s logs and dogs.’
    ‘Well that’s me then,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘Logs and dogs.’
    ‘Have you seen Mr Morris before?’ asked Mr Faulkner.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘In the boozer.’
    ‘You mean the Barclay Arms?’ I put in.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘When did you last see him before today?’ asked Mr Faulkner.
    ‘In the boozer?’
    ‘All right, Mr Briggs,’ I said, ‘in the boozer.’
    ‘Didn’t see you there, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs.
    ‘No, you wouldn’t have,’ I said.
    ‘Perhaps it’s the wig?’
    ‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not the wig.’
    ‘There’s nothing wrong in going to a boozer, is there?’ said Mr Briggs.
    ‘Nothing at all,’ I said.
    ‘Then why don’t you go, my lord?’ asked Mr Briggs.
    ‘Mr Faulkner,’ I said, ‘shall we get on with the case?’
    ‘Mr Briggs,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘when did you last see Mr Morris in the Barclay Arms?’
    ‘A couple of nights ago,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘Call me a liar, it was three, or I’m a Dutchman. Cor, I am a Dutchman, it was four.’
    ‘Well, whenever it was,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘what happened?’
    ‘Well,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘I was downing my pint quiet like, when I heard him say something funny to Mr Carr.’
    ‘What did he say?’
    ‘He said he wanted to buy a gold watch.’
    ‘What was funny about that?’
    ‘He said he wanted one that didn’t go,’ said Mr