indeed.”
“Meaning?”
“I mean that he had a hard core of obstinacy which is very necessary in our trade. Give him a case which could be fought, and he’d fight it like a tiger. No. Tiger’s the wrong animal. What’s the obstinate creature that never lets go?”
“A bulldog.”
“Not a bulldog. No. A mongoose. I always thought of Jonas as a mongoose. Bottle-brush tail and pink eyes. And the bigger the cobra, the harder he’d bite. I very nearly offered him a junior partnership.”
“But you didn’t?”
“In the end, no. There was something missing. Balance. Judgement. The ability to compromise when the interests of the client demanded a compromise.”
“Did you know about this Dylan business?”
“I knew he was pursuing a private vendetta of some sort. I didn’t know the details. This embezzlement idea is something new, I gather.”
“It’s new,” said Buller. “And it’s a great deal more dangerous than the old line. It’s a criminal offence, and nothing can stop Killey applying for a summons. If Dylan was a nobody, it wouldn’t signify. I don’t think he’ll get his summons. Cedric Lyon plays everything by the book. He’ll find plenty of reasons for refusing it. But that’s not the point. The press will get wind of it and, win or lose, it’s not going to do Dylan any good.”
“Or Killey.”
“That’s my view.”
Lambard thought about the matter. He was a shortish man, running to stoutness, with an aggressive moustache and an attractively bent nose, the result of a misadventure in the boxing ring in his youth. His hair was grey but he still had plenty of it, and had kept most of his own teeth. He wore glasses for reading the small print on his clients’ contracts.
He said, “What do you want me to do?”
“If Killey will listen to anyone, he’ll listen to you. He thinks a lot of you. I know that.”
“I didn’t sack him,” agreed Lambard. “We parted quite amicably. He might listen to me. I rather doubt it. I don’t think I could chase after him.”
“But if he came to you, you’d do your best.”
“Certainly. Tell me one thing. What’s your interest in this?”
Buller thought about that one for a long minute in silence. Then he said, “I believe that the law is the most important thing in the world today. I don’t mean the practice of lawyers. I mean the law itself. Normally I sleep well. If there’s one thing that can keep me awake at night it’s a vision, which I sometimes have, of this country being ruled by the wishes of its rulers and not by the rule of law.”
“Could it happen here?”
“Of course it could. It’s too bloody easy for a Government to panic and set the law on one side because it happens to be inconvenient. Temporarily, of course. They always mean to bring it back again – some time.”
Lambard looked at his old friend in mild surprise and said, “And just where does Killey come into all this?”
“He comes into it because one of the things which helps the process along nicely is when people start to despise or dislike lawyers as a class. What people are going to see here is a solicitor pursuing a legalistic vendetta, apparently out of spite, against a well-liked member of the Government. The man in the street may not be great on principles, but personalities are things he can get hold of.”
“You may be right.” Lambard killed the end of his cigar and said. “Blast Killey. Why can’t he keep his mouth shut, and get on with his job?”
The Prime Minister looked at Bernard Gracey over the top of the half-moon spectacles which the cartoonists had adopted as his trade mark. It was not the first time that he had doubted whether Gracey was the right man for the job. He was clever, and adaptable, but a Minister for Labour needed more than cleverness and adaptability. He needed guts. More; like Napoleon’s generals, he needed luck. Gracey had been unlucky on more than one occasion. If they got a reasonable majority at the
“Meaning?”
“I mean that he had a hard core of obstinacy which is very necessary in our trade. Give him a case which could be fought, and he’d fight it like a tiger. No. Tiger’s the wrong animal. What’s the obstinate creature that never lets go?”
“A bulldog.”
“Not a bulldog. No. A mongoose. I always thought of Jonas as a mongoose. Bottle-brush tail and pink eyes. And the bigger the cobra, the harder he’d bite. I very nearly offered him a junior partnership.”
“But you didn’t?”
“In the end, no. There was something missing. Balance. Judgement. The ability to compromise when the interests of the client demanded a compromise.”
“Did you know about this Dylan business?”
“I knew he was pursuing a private vendetta of some sort. I didn’t know the details. This embezzlement idea is something new, I gather.”
“It’s new,” said Buller. “And it’s a great deal more dangerous than the old line. It’s a criminal offence, and nothing can stop Killey applying for a summons. If Dylan was a nobody, it wouldn’t signify. I don’t think he’ll get his summons. Cedric Lyon plays everything by the book. He’ll find plenty of reasons for refusing it. But that’s not the point. The press will get wind of it and, win or lose, it’s not going to do Dylan any good.”
“Or Killey.”
“That’s my view.”
Lambard thought about the matter. He was a shortish man, running to stoutness, with an aggressive moustache and an attractively bent nose, the result of a misadventure in the boxing ring in his youth. His hair was grey but he still had plenty of it, and had kept most of his own teeth. He wore glasses for reading the small print on his clients’ contracts.
He said, “What do you want me to do?”
“If Killey will listen to anyone, he’ll listen to you. He thinks a lot of you. I know that.”
“I didn’t sack him,” agreed Lambard. “We parted quite amicably. He might listen to me. I rather doubt it. I don’t think I could chase after him.”
“But if he came to you, you’d do your best.”
“Certainly. Tell me one thing. What’s your interest in this?”
Buller thought about that one for a long minute in silence. Then he said, “I believe that the law is the most important thing in the world today. I don’t mean the practice of lawyers. I mean the law itself. Normally I sleep well. If there’s one thing that can keep me awake at night it’s a vision, which I sometimes have, of this country being ruled by the wishes of its rulers and not by the rule of law.”
“Could it happen here?”
“Of course it could. It’s too bloody easy for a Government to panic and set the law on one side because it happens to be inconvenient. Temporarily, of course. They always mean to bring it back again – some time.”
Lambard looked at his old friend in mild surprise and said, “And just where does Killey come into all this?”
“He comes into it because one of the things which helps the process along nicely is when people start to despise or dislike lawyers as a class. What people are going to see here is a solicitor pursuing a legalistic vendetta, apparently out of spite, against a well-liked member of the Government. The man in the street may not be great on principles, but personalities are things he can get hold of.”
“You may be right.” Lambard killed the end of his cigar and said. “Blast Killey. Why can’t he keep his mouth shut, and get on with his job?”
The Prime Minister looked at Bernard Gracey over the top of the half-moon spectacles which the cartoonists had adopted as his trade mark. It was not the first time that he had doubted whether Gracey was the right man for the job. He was clever, and adaptable, but a Minister for Labour needed more than cleverness and adaptability. He needed guts. More; like Napoleon’s generals, he needed luck. Gracey had been unlucky on more than one occasion. If they got a reasonable majority at the
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