Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders (24 page)

So he mooned off and I went back to the mansion flat in the Gloucester Road, knowing it would be empty because it was the night when Hilda and her schoolfriends had planned their visit to the theatre.

 

It was almost eleven o'clock, just as I was contemplating sleep, when they came back and filled the kitchen. Dodo Mackintosh transferred her talent for preparing cheesy bits to scrambled eggs and I opened bottles from my private store of Château Thames Embankment. Once again the conversation turned to the question of who had been guilty of starting the rumours about Miss Bigsby, the mistress in charge of science and biology, and the school janitor, known as ‘Dunc the hunk'.

‘I'm sure it was Hilda who spread that story around.' One of the Gage twins made the accusation and I challenged her, on Hilda's behalf, to prove the charge beyond reasonable doubt.

‘Rumpole has finished his memoirs,' Hilda told them by way of causing a diversion.

‘I have,' I assured them. ‘The world can now learn the truth about the Penge Bungalow Murders.'

‘Learn the truth?' I think it was Sandy Butterworth who asked the question.

‘Who knows?' I wondered. ‘After any trial, who knows what the whole truth was exactly. All I know is that I won it. Alone and without a leader.'

‘And did it make you famous?' This from Dodo Mackintosh.

‘Not really. I sat in chambers and didn't get another brief for about a month. And then it was one of the Timsons receiving stolen fish.'

‘You should have gone into commercial law, Rumpole.' Hilda shook her head sadly. ‘Turned your talents to big companies suing each other. I could have made something of you if you'd been a commercial barrister.'

‘I'm sorry.' I had to confess that I'd devoted myself to a life of crime and was now beyond redemption. Then I filled a glass and lifted it. ‘I would like to propose a toast,' I raised my voice against the gossip from the schooldays, ‘to the person who supported me during the Penge Bungalow trial, who encouraged me from the public gallery and who stopped her learned daddy from kicking me out of my room in chambers. So, will you all charge your glasses and drink to She Who Must.'

‘To whom?' My wife looked puzzled.

‘To you, Hilda.'

‘I thought you might want to drink to that dreadful Daisy Sampson.'

‘Don't you remember? She married Reggie Proudfoot. No, I was drinking to you, Hilda. Entirely to you.'