Whitechapel Conspiracy

“I think we can all understand that,” Gleave said expansively. He too smiled, at the jury. “Nothing better tests a man’s true worth, his courage, his loyalty and his honor in battle than the threat to his own life, or perhaps something worse, the fear of maiming without death, of being left crippled and in permanent pain.” An expression of great grief filled his face. He turned slowly so the gallery as well as the jurors might see it. “And did you hear anything ill of John Adinett among all your fellows at the Services Club, Mr. Birkett? Anything at all?”

“Not a word.” Birkett still treated the matter lightly. There was no amazement or emphasis in his voice. To him this seemed all a rather silly mistake which was going to be cleared up within a day or two, possibly less.

“But they did know Mr. Adinett?” Gleave pressed.

“Oh, yes, of course. He had served with particular distinction in Canada. Something to do with the Hudson Bay Company and a rebellion of some sort inland. Actually, Fraser told me about it. Said Adinett was more or less co-opted in because of his courage and his knowledge of the area. Vast wilderness, you know?” He raised fair eyebrows. “Yes, of course you know. Up in the Thunder Bay direction. No use for a man unless he has imagination, endurance, utter loyalty, intelligence and courage beyond limit.”

Gleave nodded. “How about honesty?”

Birkett looked surprised at last. His eyes widened. “One takes that for granted, sir. There is no place whatever for a man who is not honest. Anyone may be mistaken in one way or another, but a lie is inexcusable.”

“And loyalty to one’s friends, one’s fellows?” Gleave tried to look as if the question were casual and he did not know the answer. But he was in no danger of overplaying his hand. No one else in the room, except Juster, Pitt, and the judge, was sophisticated enough in courtroom histrionics to be aware of his tactics.

“Loyalty is more precious than life,” Birkett said simply. “I would trust John Adinett with all I possess—my home, my land, my wife, my honor—and have not a moment’s concern that I stood in danger of losing any of it.”

Gleave was pleased with himself, as well he might be. The jury were regarding Birkert with admiration, and several of them had looked up at Adinett squarely for the first time. He was winning, and he tasted it already.

Pitt glanced at the jury foreman and saw him frown.

“Did you know Mr. Fetters, by any chance?” Gleave enquired conversationally, turning back to the witness.

“Slightly.” Birkett’s face darkened and a look of sadness came into it that was so sharp no one could question its reality. “A fine man. It is a bitter irony that he should travel the world in search of the ancient and beautiful in order to uncover the glories of the past, and slip to his death in his own library.” He let out his breath silently. “I’ve read his papers on Troy. Opened up a new world for me, I admit. Never thought it so … immediate, before. I daresay travel and a passionate interest in the richness of other cultures were what drew Fetters and Adinett together.”

“Could they have had a conflict of any sort over it?” Gleave asked, and the certainty of the answer shone in his eyes.

Birkett was startled. “Good heavens, no! Fetters was a skilled man; Adinett is merely an enthusiast, a supporter and admirer of those who actually made the discoveries. He spoke very highly of Fetters, but he had no ambition to emulate him, only to take joy in his achievements.”

“Thank you, Mr. Birkett,” Gleave said with a slight bow. “You have reinforced all that we have already heard from other men of distinction such as yourself. No one has spoken ill of Mr. Adinett, from the highest to the most humble. I don’t know if my learned friend has anything to put to you, but I have nothing further.”

Juster did not hesitate. The jury was slipping away from him, and Pitt could see that he knew it. But the shadow of indecision was in his face for only a moment before it was masked.

“Thank you,” he said graciously, then turned to Birkett

Pitt felt a tightening of anxiety in his chest; Birkett was unassailable, as all the character witnesses had been. In the last two days, by association with the men who admired him and were willing to swear friendship to him, even to appear in a court where he was accused of murder, Adinett had been placed almost beyond criticism. To attack Birkett would alienate the jury, not convince them of the few slender facts.

Juster smiled. “Mr. Birkett, you say that John Adinett was absolutely loyal to his friends?”

“Absolutely,” Birkett affirmed, nodding his agreement.

“A quality you admire?” Juster asked.

“Of course.”

“Ahead of loyalty to your principles?”

“No.” Birkett looked slightly puzzled. “I did not suggest that, sir. Or if I did, it was unintentional. A man must place his principles before everything, or he is of no value. A friend would expect as much. At least any man would that I should choose to call friend.”