The Painted Cage by Meira Chand Page B

away, man to man. Yet Reggie had never confided in Dr Charles, he had consulted Dr Baeltz and Dr Monroe in Tokyo about his other complaint. Dr Charles, he had said, was not a man to whom one admitted having Venus’s disease.
    There appeared an almost conspiratorial air between Dr Charles and Robert Russell, as if they were merely acting out something long rehearsed. ‘And did he tell you much about his own habits, or were you led to infer for yourself what they were?’ hinted Mr Russell. In the back of the room somebody coughed, bare and hoarse as a crow. People turned at such presumption at a vital moment. Old Mrs Thomas issued a salty ‘ssh’ from beneath her black silk bonnet.
    ‘I was left to infer for myself. He mentioned having been in Singapore and Sarawak, of having lived there, being invalided home to England. I thought he had possibly malarial fever. He talked about living in the jungle and taking immense doses of quinine.’ Dr Charles shifted his weight and looked around the court.
    ‘Did he mention to you about taking arsenic?’
    ‘No, never.’
    ‘During attendance on him prior to October last what did he complain of?’
    ‘He was given to occasional attacks of the liver. He complained of his old liver bothering him. I prescribed a liver tonic at these times.’
    ‘Were you aware he suffered from stricture of the bladder and had for many years?’
    ‘No, I knew nothing. He had never complained of or consulted me for stricture. Since his death I have learned he consulted both Dr Monroe and Dr Baeltz in Tokyo for stricture.’
    ‘When did you first come to know?’
    ‘On the night Mr Redmore died. Between ten and eleven that Thursday night Mrs Redmore told me, “Doctor, there is something I wish to tell you that I suppose I should have told you before. Reggie suffered from stricture and he was in the habit of taking arsenic to relieve it. He asked me to get him a small bottle ofarsenic and some sugar of lead.” I merely said, “It would have simplified matters if you had told me so before.” I do not know anything further.’
    They were like two old courteous birds settling in for a long caged confinement together. The examination would be lengthy, Jack Easely had said when preparing his defence. He sat alone with only a junior assistant, involved with his notes. When he looked up his gaze was that of an uneasy sailor testing the wind for navigation. The honest arrangement of his thoughts was openly upon his broad, bland face. He was a good-looking man, but he did not have that touch of arrogance Amy demanded in a handsome man. He should have been a missionary, not a lawyer, and pedalled the interior of Japan on a bicycle with a Bible; instead he was her defence. His standing in the community and his integrity were legend. There were few more upright, unmoralizing men; she respected, liked and trusted him. Yet one look at Robert Russell made her wish for a reversal of the two men’s roles.
    Dr Charles continued to reconstruct the bare medical bones of Reggie’s last week. The jury listened attentively, five men instead of twelve. Mr. Cooper-Hewitt, roguish as a horse dealer, crossed his arms upon his chest, eyes severe above full, weak lips. Mr Ewart fidgeted, small and soft as a butter ball, his features slippery with perspiration and the need to meet with approval. Mr Figdor controlled his flatulence with a quick pursing of the lips. Mr Read concentrated next to Mr Sharp. The empty seats in the jury box gaped like missing teeth. When called upon to answer their names, the jurors had disintegrated. Nobody wanted responsibility in the Redmore Trial. They fled Yokohama, pleaded deafness or mutely took their fines. There was a sudden flutter of medical certificates impossible to ignore. Judge Bowman, sewn up with responsibility and frustration, had proceeded with the trial. Jack Easely said it was unheard of. Five men were invalid for a verdict and he would protest in London. Yokohama did not