Free Dead Ringer by Roy Lewis Page B

sporting fraternity who were present. The ladies in particular leaned forward to get a better view of the witness. There was a certain amount of fan- fluttering and sighing, amid a great deal of cat-calling from the mob.
    Cockburn took Goodman through his evidence quickly. Goodman stated that the colt had been bred in Ireland where it had been trained by one Sam McGuire. Mr McGuire was presently in Ireland and was unable to be present at the hearing. Goodman had bought the animal as a one year old and had trained it. The man he had employed as trainer was one Joseph Bartle….
    I ground my teeth, feeling a premonition again: Joe Bartle, the missing witness.
    Goodman stated he had bought the animal at Malton in Yorkshire. He had run it at York and Chester before selling it for personal reasons to Ernest Wood. He was able to present Mr Wood with a full pedigree for the animal. He himself had placed certain bets on
Running Rein
for the Derby, but he agreed he had also placed bets on other horses. He was aware of the enquiry into the horse’s age by the Jockey Club and fully supported their conclusion: he had provided them with reports and they had confirmed that the animal was indeed a two-year-old colt. He had no connections either with Mr Wood or Colonel Peel beyond those he had stated. He had no financial interest in the case itself: his own bets had been settled as matters of honour. He smiled when the crowd hissed at the implication: the Prime Minister’s brother was not a man of honour.
    ‘Give it to ‘em, Goody!’ someone yelled at the back of the courtroom as his evidence was concluded. There was a further brief outburst of cheerful pandemonium before the ushers restored order. Two members of the swell mob were expelled, as I recall.
    The Solicitor General rose, tugging at his gown, and shuffling the sheaf of papers in his hand. He paused for a little while, allowing the air of expectation to grow about him: I liked that touch. Fitzroy Kelly looked up finally, puffed out his pigeon chest and gave the witness a thin smile.
    ‘Your name, sir?’
    ‘Lewis Goodman.’
    Kelly frowned, made a play of consulting the sheets in his hands. ‘Lewis Goodman … But here I have … surely it is Levy Goodman?’
    Goodman’s eyes hardened. ‘No, sir.’
    ‘You’ve changed your name, then.’
    ‘I have not.’
    Fitzroy Kelly affected a puzzled frown, and shook his head doubtfully. ‘Perhaps I have been misinformed … Mr Goodman, you are of the Christian persuasion?’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘Not of the Jewish faith?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You don’t owe allegiance to the synagogue rather than the—’
    Alexander Cockburn rose almost lazily, uncoiling himself from his seat. ‘My lord, I must protest this line of questioning. In seeking to ascertain the identity of a horse it can be of no relevance whether or not Mr Goodman is a practising member of the Church of England – or any other, for that matter.’
    The Solicitor General waved a dismissive hand at the objection . ‘It is a matter of veracity, rather than religion, that I seek to place before the court, but no matter … Mr Goodman, do you have any interest in a club called Rouget’s, in Castle Street?’
    ‘I do. But it is an eating house, not a club.’
    ‘Whereas the premises in Panton Street are best described as a … night house?’
    Goodman paused, a thin smile on his lips. The diamond pin sparkled on his vest. He remained at ease when he replied, ‘A place of entertainment.’
    There was a drumming of feet from the mob and approving laughter.
    ‘A place of entertainment … of a certain kind. Are you aware the night house in question is normally referred to as Goody Levy’s?’ Kelly displayed a feral smile. ‘A distinctly Jewish name, would you not agree? A name derived from your own, as proprietor ?’
    ‘My lord—’ Cockburn began to rise once more to his feet.
    Fitzroy Kelly beat him to it. ‘I am merely attempting to sketch for the benefit of the