"It will probably be sufficient to bring an action against him."
"What for?"
I said that I wasn't a legal authority, but that it seemed to me that
Terry would have a good case if he took the matter to court. "As a
matter of fact," I added, "I rather wanted your advice about it."
"My advice is never to expect to win an action because you've got a good
case."
"No?"
"The case doesn't matter. It's the lawyer that counts. That's my
experience, as a man who's won hundreds of bad cases and made other
people lose hundreds of good ones."
"It sounds rather terrible."
He laughed again; I think he would have purred if he had been able.
"Shall I tell you," he said, "what I would say if I were defending
Karelsky in an action brought against him by Terry?" He paused for a
moment, and then, with gleaming eyes and the old professional note in
his voice, continued: "Gentlemen of the Jury,--my client is a scientist
of world-wide reputation. His honour is assailed by a man of whom none
of you, I am sure, have ever heard before. Let me tell you something
about him. He was formerly in the employ of my client. After being
granted full access to all the privacies of the Professor's
laboratories, he left suddenly, breaking his signed contract and leaving
behind him not even a word of explanation. Since then he has done no
work of any kind, but has been content to live mainly on the charity of
friends.... And this is the man who, according to the prosecution, has
made a discovery to rank with those of Kelvin and Lister!"
"There are the note-books and papers to prove it," I interjected
sharply.
"Ah yes--the so-called evidence of the prosecution. Gentlemen of the
Jury--what is it you are asked to believe from this _evidence_? I will
tell you. That this man--a failure--penniless--unemployed--an
unsuccessful applicant for dozens of jobs in all parts of the
world--that this man kept in his possession a secret which any day, if
he had disclosed it, would have made his pocket full and his name
world-famous! ... No, gentlemen, the idea is _too_ absurd. I suggest
that this action is entirely malicious. I suggest that it is the
plaintiff, and not his illustrious employer, who did the thieving. I
suggest that while the plaintiff was in Karelsky's employ in Vienna he
made copies of his employer's private records, and then, nearly a year
later, when he read Karelsky's speech, realized the significance and the
possible value of them.... It was a silly, futile scheme, my friends,
but was it not the sort of one that a man of good education, crazed by
failure and disappointment, might devise?"
"This is absolutely monstrous!" I protested. "Do you really mean that
the truth could be so diabolically twisted round----"
"The truth," he interrupted cheerfully, "can always be diabolically
twisted round, or how else would lawyers get their living? ... Mind you,
I'm only telling you the particular twist that _I_ should give it if _I_
were handling the case.... As a matter of fact, there are one or two
points in Terry's favour."
"You do think that?"
"Oh, yes. There's his breakdown in health, and the rather shabby way
Karelsky treated him about his money--we should require evidence from
your friend Mizzi about that.... And then there's Karelsky's general
reputation, which isn't too high amongst the sort of people who don't
believe all they read in the newspapers. And of course he's a
Russian-born Jew naturalized an Austrian--that can always be made to
sound rather terrible to a jury...."
"And the note-books and papers--wouldn't they count?"
"Undoubtedly, though we should have to be damned certain of every detail
beforehand. For instance, how did Karelsky make the theft? Did he get
hold of Terry's books and make copies? Or were there duplicates left
behind in the Vienna laboratories? ... And also--a rather important
matter--what exactly were the relations of Karelsky and Terry in Vienna?
Supposing that Karelsky, when the action is tried, should say blandly:
'Oh, yes, it was this man who kept my records and looked after my mice
and generally made himself useful. But he was under my supervision, and
it is outrageous that he should claim credit for doing things that I
expressly told him to do... What should we say to that, eh?"
"Surely we could bring witnesses to prove that Terry was an independent
research-worker?"
"Could we? I doubt it. And, in any case, Karelsky could bring other
witnesses to say he wasn't."
"The disgracefully low wages that Karelsky paid would show the jury what
sort of a man he was."
"Not at all. They would show what kind of a man Terry was. Karelsky
would say--'These are good wages for a mere laboratory assistant--a man
who takes temperatures and cleans test-tubes.'"
I said (and regretted it immediately afterwards); "It seems a pity Terry
ever had anything to do with Karelsky."
He replied instantly: "It is. And, of course, it's my fault in the first
place. Fortunately I've no conscience. If I troubled about all the
thousands of things in the world that are my fault, I should never have
a minute's peace."
We talked on until after tea, and he was (or seemed to me) most
irritatingly cheerful about it all. There was even a faint undertone of
admiration in his voice when he spoke of Karelsky; and my own
indignation grew with his calmness. Couldn't something be done, I
implored him. Was Terry to stand by helplessly and do nothing at all?
He remarked that Karelsky was clever--_damned_ clever.
"I daresay he is," I retorted, "and I believe you admire him for that,
whether he's a rogue or not!" He laughed then. "I'm afraid it's a shade
more subtle than that, Hilton. You see--I like things that make me
happy. Being interested makes me happier than anything. And Karelsky
interests me.... Therefore--you follow? ... I'm sorry if it seems to you
rather callous."
"It's Terry I'm thinking about," I replied. "It's terrible to think that
there's nothing really that can be done. Surely there's
_something_--some law or other----"
"Oh, there may be--I certainly don't say there isn't. All I want to make
clear is that if he goes into battle against a man like Karelsky he'll
have to fortify himself with something more than a few note-books and an
immense quantity of moral virtue. Do you think you understand?"
I thought I did. I thought that Severn had made up his mind to stand
aside, an amused and cynical spectator of a drama so rare as to be
especially worth the seeing. Severn, I decided, was going to be neutral,
being bound to Karelsky no less than to Terry by ties of 'interest'. It
was a disappointment, but, in any case, what _could_ he have done?
Beyond advice (which he had already given freely enough) there was
little that could reasonably be expected from a man unable to move out
of his chair without skilled assistance. He had done and was doing his
best, and it was perhaps too much to wish that he had shown my own
particular brand of indignation.
And yet in most of those thoughts I was entirely wrong. That night, as I
was working late in my room, one of the End House servants brought me a
note that showed me how wrong I was. Written less than an hour before I
broke open the envelope, it was as follows:
"MY DEAR HILTON,--June arrived about half-an-hour ago, and told me over
again most of what I already knew from you. She happened to have some of
Terry's papers locked up in her room (she had been copying them out at
home), and a glance at them convinced me far more (if you will forgive
me for saying so) than the combined oratorical efforts of you and June
from now until Domesday. I am sorry to appear so distrustful, but the
fact is that temperamentally and from experience, I never _really_
believe extraordinary yarns until I get proof.
"Not that anything I've seen so far is _legal_ proof; it isn't that at
all, but it shows me pretty clearly that K. has been up to his tricks. I
doubt if we shall be able to trap him; indeed, I reckon that he wouldn't
do a thing like this unless he had a good many safe cards up his sleeve.
But even if we don't _win_ the action, there's no reason why we
shouldn't _have_ it, provided we go about it in the right way.
"See what I mean? First of all, we'll work up a damned great newspaper
campaign; I'll have the _Messenger_ editor to dinner next week and see
what I can do with him. It's my belief that an anti-Karelsky campaign is
just what the country is _subconsciously_ ready for; the 'great man'
stunt has been overdone lately. Then, too, there's the psychological
value of Terry himself--he's young, handsome, and English. All that will
count.
"Eventually, of course, we shall begin the action (unless K. frustrates
us by a libel charge, which is what I would do in his place). I don't
think we shall win, but we'll fight like hell. Besides, if once the dear
old British public takes Terry to its ample bosom, it doesn't matter
whether we win in the courts or not. Anyhow, I shall take up the case
for Terry; and it'll be fearfully impressive when they wheel me into
court. By God, it gives me a thrill to think of it! William Pitt the
Elder did something rather similar, I believe, in 1778, but that was in
the House of Commons. Won't it make a grand subject for next year's
Academy--'The Last Speech of Geoffrey Severn'--purchased for the nation
by the trustees of the Chantrey Bequest! The really perfect thing, if
only Providence could be prevailed upon to oblige, would be to die just
after the last word of my final speech. I'd give at least ten years of
my life to die at that particular moment.
"June goes to Hindhead to-morrow to talk over the whole matter with
Terry. After that, things ought to move quickly. Can't you imagine how I
feel, with the prospect of being drawn so soon out of the Lake of
Existence into the Whirlpool of Life? In great haste, yours,
"G.S."