A Twist in the Tale

Mr. Scott opened the third morning as gently as he had begun the second, but he repeated so many questions from the previous day that it became obvious he was only steadying his client in preparation for prosecuting counsel. Before he finally sat down he asked Menzies for a third time, “Did you ever have sexual intercourse with Miss Moorland?”

“No, sir. I had only met her for the first time that day,” Menzies replied firmly.

“And did you murder Miss Moorland?”

“Certainly not, sir,” said Menzies, his voice now strong and confident.

Mr. Scott resumed his place, a look of quiet satisfaction on his face.

In fairness to Menzies, very little which takes place in normal life could have prepared anyone for cross-examination by Sir Humphrey Mountcliff. I could not have asked for a better advocate.

“I’d like to start, if I may, Mr. Menzies,” he began, “with what your counsel seems to set great store by as proof of your innocence.”

Menzies’ thin lips remained in a firm straight line.

“The pertinent entry in your diary whi

ch suggests that you made a second appointment to see Miss Moorland, the murdered woman”—three words Sir Humphrey was to repeat again and again during his cross-examination—“for the Wednesday after she had been killed.”

“Yes, sir,” said Menzies.

“This entry was made—correct me if I’m wrong—following your Thursday meeting at Miss Moorland’s flat.”

“Yes, sir,” said Menzies, obviously tutored not to add anything that might later help prosecuting counsel.

“So when did you make that entry?” Sir Humphrey asked.

“On the Friday morning.”

“After Miss Moorland had been killed?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know.”

“Do you carry a diary on you, Mr. Menzies?”

“Yes, but only a small pocket diary, not my large desk one.”

“Do you have it with you today?”

“I do.”

“May I be allowed to see it?”

Reluctantly Menzies took a small green diary out of his jacket pocket and handed it over to the clerk of the court, who in turn passed it on to Sir Humphrey. Sir Humphrey began to leaf through the pages.

“I see that there is no entry for your appointment with Miss Moorland for the afternoon on which she was murdered?”

“No, sir,” said Menzies. “I put office appointments only in my desk diary, personal appointments are restricted to my pocket diary.”

“I understand,” said Sir Humphrey. He paused and looked up. “But isn’t it strange, Mr. Menzies, that you agreed to an appointment with a client to discuss further business and you then trusted it to memory, when you so easily could have put it in the diary you carry around with you all the time before transferring it?”

“I might have written it down on a slip of paper at the time, but as I explained that’s a personal diary.”

“Is it?” said Sir Humphrey as he flicked back a few more pages. “Who is David Paterson?” he asked.

Menzies looked as if he were trying to place him.

“Mr. David Paterson, 112 City Road, 11:30, January 9, this year,” Sir Humphrey read out to the court. Menzies looked anxious. “We could subpoena Mr. Paterson if you can’t recall the meeting,” said Sir Humphrey helpfully.