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Warne heard him out as if he were interested. Finally he held up his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Knight. I think this is sufficient for us to have the idea that these sums of money, added together, amount to a very considerable total. You have mentioned dates, but possibly in all the figures, we missed them, or we’ve forgotten. Will you give us the total sum for the year ended last 31 December?”
“Yes, sir. Two thousand, four hundred and twenty-seven pounds, fifteen shillings and sixpence.”
“Is that typical of a year? How does it compare, for example, to the year before?”
“It increases slightly every year, sir, by about a hundred pounds, or maybe a hundred and fifty.”
“So always sufficient to purchase several very agreeable houses?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And is this year set to reach a similar amount?”
“If it continues like this, more, sir.”
“And is it made up of similar random amounts?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gavinton stood up wearily. “My lord, the defense will stipulate to the amounts mentioned being the sums donated by the parishioners to the charitable endeavors of Mr. Taft’s Church. I think it is something to be proud of, not a cause for shame.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gavinton,” Rathbone said drily. “I imagine Mr. Warne is establishing the amount, and its source, in order to pursue exactly where it ended up, not to question your skill in assessing it.” He turned to Warne. “Please come to your point, before we are so numbed by these figures we forget that they represent the life savings of many people.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Gavinton’s face, but he sat down again.
Warne inclined his head in acknowledgment. “My lord.” He turned to Knight. “Those sums must represent pennies and shillings collected over every week of the year, to have reached such an amount.”
“Yes, sir,” Knight agreed.
Gavinton rose again. “My lord, this is pointless. We agree that many people gave generously. It is a waste of the court’s time, and these gentlemen’s indulgence.” He waved to indicate the jury, who all looked bored and impatient.
“Mr. Warne, is there some point you wish to make?” Rathbone asked. “So far you have not shown us anything a simple statement of account would not have done.”
Warne smiled bleakly. “My point, my lord, is that these individual figures show a pattern.” He turned to Knight, who was looking more and more wretched, as if Gavinton’s objections were his fault. “Mr. Knight, what conclusion did you draw from these figures, sir?”
Knight swallowed yet again. “That these people had given money to Mr. Taft every week, sir. The amounts are random, often including odd pennies, as if they had turned out their pockets and given all they had. And because the number of donations every week corresponded pretty clearly with the number of adults attending the service, it seems as if they all gave … sir.”
“Thank you,” Warne said with a bow. “Your witness, Mr. Gavinton.”
Gavinton rose to his feet. The satisfaction still gleamed in his face.
“Mr. Knight, do you go to church, sir?”
“Yes.”
“And do you give an offering?”
“I do.”
“And does it compare roughly to any of the amounts you found in these records?”
“Yes, sir. I give what I can.”
Gavinton smiled. “I imagine everyone in your congregation does. And in every other congregation in London, indeed in England.” He looked a little wearily at Warne. “I don’t understand your point. And forgive me, Mr. Knight, I haven’t any idea what you think you are testifying to! Other than the perfectly obvious fact that Mr. Taft has a more generous flock, and perhaps a larger one, than most congregations of rather more orthodox faith!”
Knight leaned forward in the witness stand, his plump hands gripping the railing. “You could if you understood figures, sir,” he said distinctly. “These people are giving all they can, pennies and ha’pennies, whatever they have left at the end of the week. All of them-every week.”
