Rumpole Misbehaves by John Mortimer Read Free Book Online

me.’
    Dennis thought this over for a moment, gave himself another swig and came up with, ‘You’ll be hard put to find a judge, won’t you, Mr Rumpole? They’re not too keen on the way you keep winning cases.’
    â€˜Surprisingly enough,’ I told him, ‘Mr Justice Leonard Bullingham has offered his services.’
    â€˜Him you used to call the Mad Bull?’
    â€˜Exactly. He seems to have come to his senses. So could I rely on you to say…well, that I’ve always done my best for my clients? I suppose that’s what they want to hear.’
    â€˜QC.’ Dennis repeated the magical letters thoughtfully. ‘We don’t get a QC doing most of our family’s cases.’
    â€˜Petty thefts, minor break-ins, selling stolen fish and all that sort of thing. You’re quite right,’ I admitted to Dennis. ‘I shouldn’t be able to do them. But I’m sure you’ll find a satisfactory junior. And when it comes to the bigger stuff…’
    â€˜What bigger stuff is that, Mr Rumpole?’
    â€˜Bank robberies. Serious frauds. Or let’s say “a murder”. Not that I’m encouraging you to commit any such crimes, of course.’
    â€˜No, of course not, Mr Rumpole. That is clearly understood.’ There was something entirely judicial about the silence that followed. Dennis was clearly having some trouble making up his mind. At last he came out with, ‘All right, Mr Rumpole. Taking all that into consideration, I am prepared to speak up for you.’
    â€˜Thank you, Dennis.’ I was genuinely grateful. ‘It’s very good of you and exactly what I would expect from a senior member of the Timson family. All you need to tell them is that I always did my best for you–even in difficult cases.’
    â€˜Rely on me, Mr Rumpole. And I’ll keep quiet about the cases when your best wasn’t quite good enough.’
    â€˜You mean the cases when the prosecution had you bang to rights? Well, I suppose that’s fair enough. Now, I think the tide’s gone down in our glasses.’
    When I had arranged matters with Jack Pommeroy and added the cost of another round to my hope for the arrival of another legal aid cheque, I noticed Bertie Timson smiling, apparently at the memory of some private joke.
    â€˜What’s so funny about Mr Rumpole going after a QC?’ Dennis asked him.
    â€˜It’s not that. But when you said “cases”, it reminded me about the trouble old Scottie Thompson got into. Only it’s crates with him, not cases. I reckon Scottie’ll be coming to you for advice, Mr Rumpole.’
    â€˜Then I’ll do my best for him. What’s his trouble exactly?’
    â€˜Illegal immigration. Scottie’s got his own long-distance lorry. Runs it as a freelancer. He got a call from this firm that was apparently in trouble with its transport and had some crates needed picking up in some crazy place. Eastern Europe, I think that’s where it was.’
    â€˜So what was the trouble?’ I was curious to know.
    â€˜Well, you won’t believe this. He picked up the crates, three big ones like new. He got as far as Dover with them, when there was some sort of inspection of the cargo. It seems there was a noise from one of the crates.’
    â€˜What sort of noise?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Perhaps a girl crying, because what happened when they opened the crates up–he’d brought girls hid in crates, Scottie said. Course, he told them he knew nothing about it, but would they believe him? Course not! You’ll have a job getting him off, I reckon.’
    â€˜If your friend Scottie asks for me, tell him I’ll do my best.’
    Dennis was laughing at Bertie’s story but I couldn’t see the joke. All I could think of was a journey across Europe, nailed up in a packing case. Human beings exported like so many jars of mango chutney.

11
    Briefs