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Lydiate lifted his chin and stared back. “If you think that Beshara was in the Princess Mary just before it blew up, and that Gamal Sabri is innocent in this atrocity, then yes, I believe you did,” Lydiate replied. “At least I hope you did. I would prefer not to believe that you are knowingly trying to free the man who murdered almost two hundred people.”
There was an instant’s absolute silence, and then a rush of sound from the gallery as Pryor swung around to the judge.
“My lord!”
His voice was drowned.
Antrobus spoke above the roar. “I will have order! If there is not order restored immediately I will clear the court. You will not attend the rest of this trial! Is that understood?”
The gallery held its peace, angry, rumbling, but too fascinated to risk being banished.
Pryor was shaking with fury, either real or very well assumed. “My lord, this is outrageous!” he said furiously. “Sir John knows better than to make such an—an appalling breach of all etiquette and …”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Antrobus agreed. “But you did rather open the door for him, Mr. Pryor, by asking if you had misunderstood. Perhaps you might find a more fortunate question for him? Unless, of course, you have no more to say?” A faint flicker of hope crossed his face, heavily laced with amusement.
Hester found herself liking Antrobus. He reminded her of Henry Rathbone.
“I do not wish to further embarrass him,” Pryor said a little waspishly. “We cannot afford to have our police and judicial authorities held in less than the highest respect. Justice and the rule of law that all men may equally rely on is the cornerstone of our civilization.” He turned to Brancaster, frowning heavily. “Your witness.”
Brancaster rose to his feet. “Thank you,” he said politely. “May I echo your sentiment? We must both be right, and be seen to be right.” He looked at the jury, and then briefly at the crowded gallery where men and women were sitting so tightly packed many seemed barely able to move.
“We all are fallible,” Brancaster observed. “Sometimes we make mistakes, even though we believe we have been meticulously careful. When emotions are deep and grief is numbing us, fear waits in the darkness, then—”
Pryor rose to his feet. “My lord, my learned friend seems to have the misimpression that I have concluded my case for the defense, whereas in truth I have barely begun! If—”
Antrobus nodded. “Mr. Brancaster, we are all aware that you are attempting to show that there has been a previous error that you are now able to correct. You do not need to explain that again. Please allow Mr. Pryor to do his best in assuring us that we were, in fact, correct the first time. If he has concluded his questions for Sir John Lydiate, then you may cross-examine him … without speeches, if you please.”
Pryor sat down, his dislike for Antrobus sour in his expression.
“I apologize, my lord,” Brancaster said humbly.
Hester wished she could tell him to be careful. Antrobus might have a degree of tolerance toward him, but if he strained it, the result would come back on him very harshly. Had Rathbone not warned him of that?
Brancaster turned to Lydiate. A complete hush fell over the courtroom again.
“If I understand you correctly, Commissioner, you were given the case urgently, for political or diplomatic reasons. You did not request it?”
“That is correct,” Lydiate agreed.
“You believed you had the guilty man when you charged Habib Beshara?”
Again Lydiate agreed.
“Beshara was tried and convicted. Then some time later, further evidence emerged that brought that verdict into question, at which point the case was reopened and placed with the Thames River Police.”
“Yes.”
“With whom you cooperated fully?”
“Of course.”
Hester was sitting forward, her hands clenched in her lap. Please heaven, Brancaster would have the sense to stop now! Don’t open the door for Pryor! Rathbone must be aching to pull on his coattails and warn him!
Brancaster smiled charmingly. It lit his dark face.
“Thank you, Sir John.”
A rustle of relief sighed through the whole room.
