Rumpole Misbehaves by John Mortimer Page B

another argument about the reliability of speed cameras and some contradictory police evidence.
    â€˜Didn’t I get you off?’
    â€˜Indeed you did, Mr Rumpole! If I’d got a conviction my life wouldn’t have been worth living. I work here now. So, what can I do for you?’
    â€˜They say they are on a case funded by the government.’ The woman sounded as though she didn’t believe a word of it.
    â€˜I’m sure they are. Mr Rumpole is a very important barrister,’ Pershore was happy to correct her. ‘Now, how can I help you, Mr Rumpole? It would be a small return for all you did for me.’
    I told him that I wanted to know if a Russian woman named Ludmilla Ravenskaya had entered the country via Dover.
    This led to prolonged clicking research on various computers, which ended in a cry of triumph from Pershore.
    â€˜I’ve got it for you, Mr Rumpole. It was 12 September last year. Illegal entry into Dover harbour.’
    â€˜And what happened? Was she sent back to where she came from?’
    Pershore was frowning in a puzzled sort of way at one of his machines. ‘It seems not. She was allowed to apply for asylum.’
    â€˜What does that mean exactly?’
    â€˜We let her go free on the condition that she reported regularly to a police station in the Paddington area.’
    â€˜Had anyone suggested that she might be a candidate for asylum?’
    â€˜I’m afraid the computer doesn’t tell you that sort of thing. It seems she was just one of the lucky ones.’
    â€˜Not all that lucky.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜She got herself murdered.’
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    In the car on the way back Bonny Bernard accused me of deceit. ‘You said you were doing a case that the government is paying for.’
    â€˜So it is.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜We’re defending Wetherby on legal aid. That’s the government’s money, isn’t it?’
    â€˜So you’re saying it wasn’t a lie?’
    â€˜No. Just a slightly misleading statement, but it was for a good cause.’
    â€˜What good cause exactly?’
    â€˜Finding out who recommended Ludmilla as a candidate for asylum. Who was it who really wanted her here?’
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    As we pulled up outside Froxbury Mansions some time later, I turned to Bonny Bernard and said, ‘Thank you. And thank your good wife for letting us hear the grating roar of pebbles on Dover beach.’

15
    â€˜You’re to be congratulated,’ I told the jury after one of my less interesting engagements, ‘on having sat through one of the most boring cases ever heard at the Old Bailey.’
    â€˜It may well come as a surprise to you to know,’ responded the presiding judge, Sir Leonard Bullingham no less, who couldn’t resist putting in his own two pennyworth, ‘that it is not the sole purpose of the criminal law of England to entertain Mr Rumpole!’
    There were some obedient sniggers from the jury at this but I thought it was not altogether funny. My life among so many cheerful criminals and vainglorious judges had brought me more pleasure than could ever be experienced by a rock star or record-breaking mountaineer.
    At the end of that day in court the usher told me, ‘Our judge wants to see you in his room, Mr Rumpole.’ So, going behind the scenes, I knocked on His Lordship’s door and walked in to find the Mad Bull ducking and diving and throwing punches at the reflection of himself in a mirror fixed to a cupboard door. I watched this, fascinated and in the faint hope that he might land a blow on his own reflection. Then he caught sight of me in the mirror.
    â€˜Shadow-boxing, Rumpole. Keep fit, mustn’t we? The women expect it of us.’
    â€˜Which women exactly?’ I was finding it hard to follow His Lordship’s drift.
    â€˜The lovely Hilda.’ I remembered then that the Bull had suggested that She Who Must ought to divorce me