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  ‘I needed to obtain a warrant before I could search his house.’

  ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Grace. ‘Because surely you could have arrested Mr Amhurst the moment he’d stepped off the train at Dagenham East, taken him to the local police station, and obtained a Section 18 authority from the senior officer on duty, and then searched his home that same day.’

  William knew she was right, but couldn’t admit he’d made such a basic mistake, so he remained silent.

  ‘Can I presume, constable, that you have read section eighteen of the 1984 Police and Criminal Evidence Act, which grants you the power to search a suspect’s address following an arrest?’

  Several times, William wanted to tell her, but still said nothing.

  ‘As you seem unwilling to answer my question, constable, can I assume that you had no fear that my client might destroy any evidence or absent himself before you returned the following morning?’

  ‘But I was confident he hadn’t seen me,’ said William, trying to fight back.

  ‘Were you indeed, constable? Can you remember what Mr Amhurst said when you and a colleague arrived the following day with a warrant to search his home?’ Grace held on to the lapels of her gown, readjusted her wig and stared at her brother, giving him the same disarming smile, before saying, ‘Would it help if I reminded you?’ She prolonged William’s embarrassment by waiting a little longer, before turning to face the jury. ‘He said, “Would you like a cup of tea?”’

  A few people in the well of the court began to laugh. The judge frowned at them.

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree that doesn’t sound like the response of a guilty man, fearful of being arrested and thrown in jail?’ said Grace.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘If you could stick to answering my questions, constable, and not offering personal opinions, it would be much more helpful.’

  William was stunned by the ferocity of her attack, and certainly wasn’t prepared for her next question.

  ‘Are you an expert in recognizing forged signatures, or did you just take it for granted that my client was guilty?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I had written statements from nine booksellers to whom Mr Amhurst had offered complete signed editions of Churchill’s history of the Second World War.’

  ‘None of whom, sadly, including the manager of Hatchards who made the original complaint, were able to find the time to come to court and give evidence today. Were you by any chance in Hatchards on Saturday morning?’

  ‘No,’ said William, puzzled by the question.

  ‘If you had been, Constable Warwick, you could have obtained a copy of Graham Greene’s latest novel The Tenth Man, because the author signed over a hundred copies before going on to sign even more books at several other bookshops in the West End. Now, as Sir Winston was a politician, I don’t suppose he was shy about signing the odd copy of his works.’

  One or two of the jury nodded.

  ‘But we found several other books,’ spluttered William, still trying to fight back. ‘Don’t forget the first edition of A Christmas Carol, signed by Charles Dickens, for example.’

  ‘I’m glad you raised the subject of the Dickens,’ said Grace, ‘because my client has long treasured that particular family heirloom, left to him by his late father, so he would never have considered selling it. Indeed, the court may be interested to know that my client is in possession of the original receipt for the sale of the book, dated 19 December 1843, price five shillings.’

  Mr Hayes was quickly on his feet. ‘My Lord, I must protest. This document has not been offered in evidence by the defence.’

  ‘There’s a simple explanation for that, Your Honour,’ said Grace. ‘My client has been searching for the receipt since the day he was arrested, but Constable Warwick and his colleague left his home in such a mess that he only came across it this morning.’

  ‘How convenient,’ said Hayes, loud enough for the jury to hear. The judge scowled but didn’t rebuke him.

  Once again, the jury took their time studying the receipt.

  ‘I hope, Constable Warwick,’ said Grace after William had looked briefly at the receipt, ‘that you’re not going to suggest my client forged that as well?’

  Several members of the jury began to chat among themselves, while Hayes made a note on his pad.

  Grace smiled up at her brother and said, ‘I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honour.’

  ‘Thank you, Ms Warwick,’ said the judge. ‘Perhaps this might be a convenient time to adjourn for lunch.’

  ‘We’re not beaten yet,’ said Hayes, enjoying a Caesar salad in the canteen.

  ‘But I didn’t exactly help our cause,’ said William, unable to eat. ‘I should have reminded my sister about the pages of Churchill signatures we found in Amhurst’s house.’

  ‘Fear not,’ said Hayes. ‘Once Amhurst steps into the witness box, I will remind the jury about the fake signatures again and again.’

  ‘And I’m puzzled about that receipt,’ said William. ‘Why didn’t we find it when we searched the house?’

  ‘Because I suspect it wasn’t there. Amhurst probably bought it quite recently to cover himself. A point I shall put to him under oath.’

  William glanced across at his sister, who was having lunch on the other side of the canteen with her instructing solicitor, who he suspected was Clare. But neither of them once looked in his direction.

  When the court reconvened, Mr Justice Gray asked defending counsel if she would like to call her first witness. Ms Warwick rose from her place and said, ‘I shall not be calling any witnesses, Your Honour.’

  A murmur went up around the court. William leant forward and whispered in Hayes’ ear, ‘So if Amhurst isn’t going to testify, won’t that make the jury assume he’s guilty?’

  ‘Possibly. But don’t forget your sister will have the last word. And if I’d been representing Amhurst, I would have given him the same advice.’

  The judge turned his attention to prosecuting counsel.

  ‘Are you ready, Mr Hayes, to sum up on behalf of the Crown?’

  ‘I am indeed, Your Honour,’ said Hayes, who rose and placed his summation on the little stand in front of him. He coughed, adjusted his wig and turned to face the jury. ‘Members of the jury, what a fascinating case this has turned out to be – although perhaps you might feel that you are attending a performance of Hamlet without the prince. Let me begin by asking you, why defending counsel never once in her cross-examination of Detective Constable Warwick mentioned the pages of Winston Churchill signatures that were found in the defendant’s home, written on pages torn from a 49p W.H. Smith lined pad. I think we can assume that they weren’t signed by the great war leader, and not least because he died before decimalization.

  ‘We also know that DC Warwick found a complete set of Churchill’s The Second World War in the defendant’s home, of which three of the six volumes were signed and three unsigned. So I’m bound to ask why the other three weren’t signed.’ Hayes paused. ‘Perhaps they were next on his list?’

  One or two members of the jury rewarded Hayes with a smile.

  ‘And next, you must consider the signed copy of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Defending counsel would have you believe that it is a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. Did you not find that a little too convenient? Isn’t it more likely that Mr Amhurst bought an unsigned copy of A Christmas Carol, along with its original receipt, on one of his many visits to bookshops all over London? You might also ask yourselves why two Scotland Yard detectives, having carried out a comprehensive search of Mr Amhurst’s residence, didn’t come across that receipt.

  ‘I am quite happy for you to decide,’ continued Hayes, his eyes never leaving the jury, ‘if you prefer to believe the more romantic version, as suggested by my learned friend, or the more likely version, as supported by the facts. I feel confident that common sense will prevail.’

  When Hayes resumed his place on the