8

 

The Consul is Troubled

 

Commander Comber had telelphoned the office of Avvocato Toscafundi at ten o’clock in the morning, when he was told that the lawyer had not yet arrived; at eleven o’clock, to learn that he was in conference; and at twelve o’clock, to find that he had departed for an early lunch. At two o’clock, and three o’clock, he had not come back from lunch. At four o’clock he was engaged again.

At five o’clock the Commander left a message. He said that he quite appreciated that the lawyer was a busy man, and might not be able to fit him in during business hours. This being so, he had ascertained his private address from the telephone directory, and would call on him, at his home, that evening after dinner.

The secretary who took the message sounded doubtful. She said she would ring back. The Commander smiled grimly and said that it was very good of her. Ten minutes later the telephone in his flat rang again. The secretary said that if he could manage to come round right away, Avvocato Toscafundi would see him.

The Commander said that he would be with him in ten minutes. He carefully fastened the new mortice lock which he had had put on his door, and ran down the steps.

(It was at about this time that Mercurio and Tina were having a little trouble in the café.)

The Commander came straight to the point. He said, ‘When we last spoke together, I said that we had suspicions of a man called Labro Radicelli. He had quarrelled with Broke just before the accident, and offered to sell him important information. This offer he repeated to me, in writing, although unfortunately omitting to put his address on the letter. When I told you this, you advised me to forget about it. Labro, you said, had nothing to do with the case.’

‘That is so. A cigarette? I forgot. You don’t smoke, do you?’

‘You said that Labro was a wild goose and it would be a waste of time tracing him or chasing him.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Then why did you trace him? And not only trace him, but visit him, yourself, yesterday afternoon.’

‘I? You must be imagining things.’

‘Quit stalling,’ said the Commander. ‘Your Maserati coupé was tucked away behind the farm when I got there. I saw it with my own eyes.’

The lawyer had extracted a cigarette from the silver box on the table, and was now fitting it, with great deliberation, into a holder. He said, with an edge to his voice, ‘I am afraid I cannot agree that I am answerable to you for my actions.’

‘Quite so,’ said the Commander. ‘That’s what’s bothering me. Exactly who are you answerable to? Your prime object so far seems to have been to persuade your client to plead guilty. When his friends unearth a witness who might be helpful, you hurry off to him yourself and shut his mouth – don’t interrupt, please. It stuck out a mile that Labro had got more money out of you than he hoped to get out of us. He as good as told me so.’

‘If he said anything of the sort, it was a lie.’

‘So you admit, now, that you did go to see him.’

‘I neither admit it, nor deny it. And you have no right to question me.’

‘I’ve every right to do it. You may be the biggest name in law in this city, but to me you’re just a double-crossing little shyster, who’s sold out his client, because his real backer has paid him to do it.’

‘I won’t listen to this.’

‘You’ll listen and like it. Because I’m going to report you to your professional organization.’

Toscafundi smiled. ‘Do you think,’ he said, ‘that they will believe such a wild story?’

‘Maybe not. But I’ll tell you one man who may believe it, and that’s the Sindaco, who has a certain amount of influence in this town and may have more if the elections swing in a certain direction. He happens to be a friend of Broke’s.’

Toscafundi had got to his feet. There was a red flush across his cheekbones, and the rest of his face was white. He said, ‘You realize that unless this wild and unfounded accusation is withdrawn, I cannot possibly continue with the case.’

‘That’s the best news I’ve heard so far.’

‘You talk of reporting me to the head of the legal faculty. You are mistaken. It is I who will do the reporting. And I should surmise that, when I have repeated to him some of the slanderous statements you have made to me, no other lawyer – no other respectable lawyer – will agree to handle the case.’

‘Better no lawyer than a crook lawyer,’ said the Commander. ‘I’ll show myself out.’

At nine o’clock next morning, in answer to an urgent telephone call, the Commander drove up to the Consul’s house. Turning in at the gateway, he had to brake sharply to avoid another car coming out. He fancied that he recognized the young man who was driving it. A lawyer, he thought, and one of the candidates in the Municipal elections. He had seen his photograph on a poster, but could not remember the name.

The Consul was in his study. He had with him a long, serious-looking man with a brown face and a grey moustache, who reminded the Commander of Mr Badger, in The Wind in the Willows, but who turned out to be an English solicitor called Tom Proctor.

‘We’re all friends of Broke’s,’ said the Consul. ‘So I can speak quite frankly. I’m afraid you’ve made things a bit difficult for us, Commander.’

‘If I’ve done that, I’m sorry,’ said the Commander. He didn’t sound too penitent. ‘What’s happened now?’

‘My telephone has been ringing since eight o’clock this morning. I’ve had the head of the Florence bar, the President of the Institute of Advocates, and the Secretary General of the Ordine degli Avvocati e dei Procuratori di Firenze.’

‘An impressive bunch. What had they got to say?’

‘Their complaint was that you had brow-beaten and insulted one of the most eminent members of the legal faculty in Florence. In one version, you had actually threatened him with physical assault. Since you were a British subject, you were my responsibility. And would I kindly see that you stopped it.’

‘I see,’ said the Commander. ‘And now would you like to hear the truth?’

‘Certainly.’

When he had finished, Tom Proctor said, ‘Did you ask him why he’d gone out to see Labro?’

‘It was perfectly obvious why he’d been to see him.’

‘No doubt. But did you actually ask for his explanation. Speaking as a lawyer myself, if I had the conduct of a case and an outsider – you’ll excuse me putting it so bluntly – came along with a story of a surprise witness, I might easily pooh-pooh the idea. But, equally, I might go and see him myself, to make sure that he had got nothing of importance to say.’

‘It’s possible,’ said the Commander. ‘But it doesn’t account for one thing. Labro had originally got something to sell. He said so to Broke. He wrote as much to me. But when I got there, the auction was over. The lot was no longer for sale. I’d been outbid. And who by, if not by that slimy toad?’

‘Calling him names isn’t going to mend what you’ve done,’ said the Consul. ‘And I hope you realize exactly what it is. We shan’t now get any reputable lawyer in Florence to handle this case.’

‘Oh, come. It can’t be as bad as that. Finding a lawyer is usually a matter of finding enough money to pay for him.’

‘And where are we going to do that?’

The Commander looked a bit blank.

‘There’s no legal aid system in Italy, you know. Can you think of someone who’ll put up, say, five hundred pounds as an advance against costs?’

‘Would it really cost as much as that?’

‘At least. And a good deal more when the case got under way.’

‘Hasn’t Broke got any money?’

It was Tom Proctor who answered that one. He said, ‘Yes, and no. But chiefly, no. If he wasn’t such an altruistic sort of person, he’d have quite a reasonable amount of spare cash. It comes from a trust set up by his maternal grandfather, Leopold Scott, the fashionable artist. His reputation in art circles may be a bit fly-blown now, but there’s no questioning his competence as a financier. He put all his money into projects like the Hudson Bay Company and de Beers, and the investments must be worth ten times what they were when they were first made.’

‘And who has the money?’

‘His mother had a life interest in it. On her death it went to Robert and his sister, Felicia, absolutely. Only Robert wouldn’t take his share. He said it was against his principles to live on unearned income.’

‘So Felicia gets the lot.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Wouldn’t she help?’

‘I don’t know. If Robert is an Edwardian Englishman, Felicia is an early Victorian Englishwoman. Although the money she lives on came originally from painting ennobled aldermen, diamond-spangled dowagers and overfed lapdogs, she has never really approved of the arts.’

‘But if she knew he was in trouble?’

‘The question doesn’t arise. I should need Robert’s permission before I approached her, and he’d never give it.’

‘Hasn’t the Consulate got funds for crises like this?’

‘Very small funds,’ said the Consul sadly. ‘And not for crises like this. I could produce twenty pounds to send a drunken British sailor back to Pompey, but that’s about all it really runs to.’

‘Then we shall have to organize a whip-round,’ said the Commander. ‘I’ll put in a hundred pounds for a start.’

‘I expect we could raise a fighting fund,’ said the Consul. ‘A lot of people would contribute, if I asked them as a personal favour. The only snag is–’ He seemed to experience some difficulty in going on.

‘Well,’ said the Commander.

‘I should have to persuade them that their money wasn’t going to be wasted. Before you say anything more, let me tell you something. I’ve had Risso round here this morning. He’s the Sostituto-Procuratore in charge of the case against Broke. He made no secret of what he wanted. He wanted me to see Broke, and persuade him to agree to a modified plea of guilty.’

‘I see,’ said the Commander. ‘Having lost one ally, now that we’ve got rid of Toscafundi, he comes crawling round to try and get you to do his dirty work for him. I’m quite sure you refused.’

The Consul said, with a suggestion of controlled anger which was curiously effective, ‘I suggest, Commander, that we stop looking at this from a stand-point of sentiments like friendship and personal loyalty, however laudable, and have regard to the facts. Risso showed me the reports from the Forensic Science Laboratory at Rome. Fragments of glass were found in Milo Zecchi’s hair, and, in two cases, actually embedded in his skull. They have been extracted, and fitted back into the other fragments from the fog-lamp on Broke’s car. The microphotographs show, beyond any question, that the fragments fit together. There is therefore no doubt at all that it was Broke’s car which hit Milo. And unless we can suppose that someone else took out his car, later that night, knocked down Milo, and then took the car back to the garage – which seems to me completely incredible – then it was Broke who hit him.’