Dead Ringer by Roy Lewis Read Free Book Online Page B

replied, injecting a note of doubt into my tone.
    ‘I approve of your strategy for attacking the Jockey Club itself. It’s high time these people—’
    ‘It’s likely to be expensive, Mr Bulstrode,’ I said shortly. The thought that followed made me hesitate, but I took the step nevertheless.
    It was to be a fatal one, I may tell you. But Bulstrode was an innocent, and I had outstanding debts, and when one is in the hands of moneylenders … At any rate, I took the decision.
    At the foot of the staircase I stopped, preventing the solicitor stepping out into the shadowed courtyard that led down towards the Temple gardens. I held his glance, with a conspiratorial frown. ‘I think there’s a great deal of work to be done if Mr Wood is to be successful. Cockburn has already suggested that you must get up a list of names of witnesses who can support Wood and Goodman. But this is a matter in which I could possibly provide some assistance.’
    Bulstrode gulped. ‘How so, Mr James?’
    I linked my arm through the solicitor’s and gently steered him into the courtyard. Surprised, for it was unusual for barristers to demonstrate such a friendly bearing towards the men who briefed them, Bulstrode allowed himself to be towed along through the sun-dappled gardens, beaming with pleasure at this intimacy.
    ‘Though I’m a member of the Bar,’ I announced cheerfully, ‘I enjoy a life outside the Temple.’ I winked confidentially at Bulstrode, one man of the world to another. ‘I enjoy the theatre, I attend Epsom, the prize ring notes my presence from time to time – and a growing Old Bailey practice brings me into contact with all manner of unusual and interesting persons … from all walks of life, if you take my meaning.’
    Bulstrode glanced around him, leaned forward to whisper asthough we were in danger of being overheard. ‘You think you might be able to find out … useful information?’
    ‘At all relevant levels of society,’ I stated solemnly. ‘But it takes a little time … and not a little tin.’
    Bulstrode hesitated. ‘Your brief fee—’
    ‘Is for my work, of course, in court and outside it. But time presses, and a brief fee usually arrives late in the day … sometimes many months later from some solicitors of my acquaintance, though I feel sure that you, Bulstrode—’
    ‘Oh, I assure you, Mr James,’ the solicitor interrupted hastily, scrabbling at the gilt buttons on his coat, ‘I am always prompt in my payments of brief fees!’
    ‘I don’t doubt it, Bulstrode.’ We stood at the entrance to the Temple Gardens overlooking the noisy river, where Mr Bazalgette’s Embankment now extends. We looked out over the river where the wherries and steamers plied their trade; pigeons coo-ed in the trees of the Temple gardens and a hansom cab clattered its way beyond the trees that protected the gravelled walks. There was the perfumed hint of roses in the air. I breathed deeply, aware that my bait was being taken. ‘However, there are certain people I could contact, engage to undertake further investigations….’
    There was a light grunting sound in Mr Bulstrode’s chest as he gazed about him, considering my words: I guessed he was excited at the hint of using the services of raffish members of the London underworld. But this was an important case; it could help the firm of Bulstrode and Bulstrode significantly. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. ‘If you think an approach to … certain persons might be advantageous and supportive of Mr Wood’s case….’
    ‘I feel sure it would,’ I said gently, admiring with detached approval the shady walks of the Temple garden.
    ‘It’s possible I could arrange for a certain advance of funds, Mr James. I could talk to the clerk in your chambers.’
    I nodded soberly, restraining the relief in my voice. ‘I think that the expenditure would be worthwhile. But,’ I added, my voice dropping a tone as I leaned towards the Exeter solicitor with a