The Willows in Winter (29 page)

“Ahem!” coughed the Clerk once more.

“Yes, Clerk! Have you anything to say? Should I
have put on my black cap already, is that it?”

“My Lord, there are the depositions on the
plaintiff’s behalf.”

Nothing, not even an earthquake, could have had
more effect on the seven Judges than this simple reminder from the excellent,
and orderly, Clerk of the Court.

Yet the High Judge retained his composure
(though the others gasped for air, and mopped their brows, and undid their
legal collar studs and, in two cases, removed their heavy wigs) and said with
admirable understatement, “Depositions in the plural?”

“Three, My Lord, or rather, as I am given to
understand, two associated pleas on the plaintiff’s behalf, and a query
concerning his identity.”

“Are they ready?”

“And bound in leather, Your
Lordship.”

A last tome was brought in, this one so light
and thin, so inconsequential-looking in all respects, that it was carried by
the Under Assistant to the Clerk’s Assistant.

“Just for the record, Your Lordship,” said the
Clerk, to cover himself.

The Judges eyed the slim volume with distaste
till one of them, with an “I suppose we must at least glance at it”, opened it,
and glanced.

“But
— !
” he declared,
visibly nonplussed at what he read inside.

“But
— !
” said
another, passing it to the third.

“But,” said he,
“this
deposition from no
less a personage than —”

The clear and mighty lettering at the head of
the thick white notepaper of the document that had caused such a stir was
unmistakable, and put awe into all their hearts, for it was from the Editor’s
office of that newspaper so august and mighty that it could be said that it was
to truth what the Bank of England was to sterling.

“Need there be more than
this?”
it asked
of the seven rhetorically.

The deposition was read, followed by the two
other documents, and Toad was astonished to hear two names whispered by the
Judges, in the same breath as that of the Editor of the greatest newspaper in
the world. One of the names was Badger, and the other was Mr Prendergast.

“Impressive indeed,” muttered the High Judge.
“Things are beginning to look good,” whispered the Clerk into Toad’s astonished
ear, “and there could be a turn—up.”

Toad stared, his future now in the balance once
more. “It comes down to the issue of identity then,” said the High Judge
finally “Though is he not Toad and therefore guilty? Has he not said as much?”

“Ahem!”

“Yes, Clerk, speak if you will.”

“The last document by the aforesaid Prendergast
is ill-writ, but it does say, if I may paraphrase for Your Lordships, that the
plaintiff is more than a Toad, he is more even than a pilot. He is
the
pilot.
He is —”

Seven pairs of beady eyes examined the
last-named document once more, seven pairs of lips pursed, seven pairs of brows
knitted, seven pairs of eyes narrowed and, having read whatever it was that was
ill-writ, looked up and gazed on Toad.

“Is this witness Prendergast to hand, and ready
to identify the prisoner?”

“He is, My Lord. He awaits your order.”

“Well then,” said the High Judge almost
indifferently, “our hands are tied, and sentencing cannot and should not commence
till this matter is cleared up. But then, if the plaintiff proves to be the
Toad we think him to be, well, that will as it were put the seal on his fate,
will it not? Eh, Clerk?”

“Yes, My Lord, I think it will.”

Bemused and bewildered, and yet caught once
more upon the carousel of hope, Toad was unshackled and made free, his body
given up to the four gaolers who had brought him there, and dragged off.

“It’s to be a parade then, like I said,” said
his gaoler. “Couldn’t they have done it before?” asked Toad. “Due process, Mr
Toad, due process,” said his friend, as if that explained all.

Toad was taken down some steps and up some
steps, and round one corner, and back round another, then along and down and up
and between, each step of the way involving the opening and closing of gates
and barred doors, till he was ushered forth into a courtyard.

“Stand in the line!” he was harshly told.

The line was of eleven other brutal, hardened,
desperate criminals much like
himself
, except that all
were much bigger of leg, arm, back and foot than Toad, though their heads were
not so swollen as his. He did his best, which was not much, to raise himself
up, to puff himself out and to generally make himself look as much like them as
he could, for plainly, it would be better not to stand out. He feared that if
he was identified, he was done for.

Then another door opened and in came two
policemen accompanying a tall man in a morning coat: the butler Toad had not
only duped, but endeavoured to bribe. Whatever hope Toad had dared harbour was
gone in that moment.

“Have pity on me!” he cried in despair.

“Prisoners
be
silent!”

“Do not choose me!” cried Toad in the very vale
of self-pity and terror, falling to his knees and grasping his hands together
as if in prayer. “I never meant it! I got carried away.”

“Sir,” said one of the
policeman
to the butler, “is there anyone present whom you recognise? You need say
nothing — merely raise your hand and point. Take as much time as you wish.”

Slowly the butler’s hand came up, slowly his forefinger
was extended, and slowly and unerringly it pointed at Toad.

“O!” cried Toad, swaying in his distress, and
swooning into the arms of the brutal felon who stood next to him.

Toad awoke in the loathsome chair once more,
but this time he was not manacled, chained or restrained, and someone had
thoughtfully placed a cushion or two under him, and behind his back.

“To help me face the worst,” he thought.

“Prisoner,” began the High Judge, “the scales
of justice have rarely had to weigh so wretched and hopeless-seeming a case as
this. Where do we begin when so many laws have been broken, when so many
precedents for wrong-doing and malfeasance set? First —”

He droned on, and on, so long that Toad grew
weary, and could not even react when finally he said, “For which the sentence
is in each case that you be taken from here to a place of execution and there
—”

But Toad no longer cared. He was, he now
believed, a lost cause. His life was run, his time nearly over. He would —

“— but on the other side, upon the other scale
as it were, we must put the fact, indubitable in the face of the evidence of a
witness so full of sobriety as His Highest Lordship’s Butler, that this
extraordinary Toad, this master criminal, was also the hero of that flight upon
which the fate of thousands was to turn.”

Toad’s ears pricked up.

“Alone, ailing, with nothing but his own
courage and intelligence to rely on, faced by a choice of his own life or
others’, he wrestled with that flying machine and succeeded — we may say
triumphed — where all others would surely have failed. Leaping from it only
when he was sure others were safe and no damage would be caused, he —”

Toad sat up, enthralled.

“—
he
who is a hero
yet made no claim to be one.
Modest, retiring, risking his
life a second time, and a third, and a fourth, he sought to escape public
notice by a series of brave escapes and stratagems the like of which we have
rarely seen.
Then, when this brave hero was brought before us here, did
he lose his composure? Did he strive to wriggle free and escape in body, spirit
or intellect? He did not! He successfully pretended to the part of vile
criminal and felon.”

“Yes!” cried Toad, truthfully.

“But friends who knew him well came forward and
pleaded for him, knowing he was too good and honourable to plead for himself.
Of the Editor of the august organ whose letter we have seen we shall say no
more: that great citizen demands a veil of secrecy and we shall respect it, and
we need not ask from what source of truth and rectitude he first heard of Mr
Toad’s connection with flying, and so pursued the enquiries whose happy outcome
we now know Yet, since crimes
have
been committed, the law of the land
demands a surety in such a case as this, and by good fortune we have it on the
good name of the wise and retiring Badger, than whom we understand there is
none to be held in greater respect. That detail satisfied, we can rest assured
that Toad will return to a good home. Therefore the scales are in balance, and
his evil crimes are exactly matched by the greatness of his actions. He shall
go free and our judgment is that, unheralded before, he shall go unheralded
now,
just as he himself would wish it —
”

“But —” protested Toad, who was beginning to
wonder whether to bring the charge of wrongful prosecution right there and
then, or bide his time till he had retained the best counsel he could find, and
had enjoyed his triumphant procession through the Town, where he might find a
suit of clothes to replace his prison garb —”Therefore,” continued the High
Judge, “take him hence beyond the city walls, put him upon the high road that
leads back to where he came from, and let no man or woman pursue him more.

“I am free?” whispered Toad, utterly exhausted.

“Free to go, but not to come,” was the reply
“Commit no more crimes, or all those sentences of execution eternal will be put
back on the list from which they have not been fully expunged, and can never
be, and we fear there will be no second chance.”

Toad was escorted from the courtroom, bundled
into the black and windowless automobile once more, and taken far beyond the
Town walls, where he was put out upon the road beneath a road sign pointing
south.

“There!” said his gaoler.
“Duty
done!”
With that he placed a shilling in Toad’s hand and said, “From His
Lordship’s
Butler
, sir.
Says he never had so much fun in his whole
professional career as serving Toad of Toad Hall in the Master Guest Bedroom.”

“He knew me!” gasped Toad.

“Moment he saw your headgear and goggles, sir.
With that his gaoler climbed into the automobile, which turned and left.

Toad stared after it, utterly nonplussed.

Then he looked about him, just to see if there
were any Bishops, or Lords, or policemen, or Judges, or butlers about. But
there were none.

Just the last of the winter wind, a
grey sky, an endless road and a sign which pointed southwards.
It read: TO THE RIVER.

Toad said not a word. He put one foot in front of the other, and set off
home without a backward glance.

XII

Winter’s End

Winter returned to the river and all along the bank, and into the very
heart of the Wild Wood, and with it harsh winds, long days of snow that quite
swallowed up every snowdrop and aconite that had showed and other nascent signs
of spring, and replaced them with that bitter cold which sends all animals back
into their homes once more.