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  Travis knew Kenny must be breaking the law somehow, but he had neither the staff nor the resources to follow it up. And Kenny might have continued to milk this particular cow indefinitely had a complaint from a leading company on the stock exchange not landed on the Chief Inspector’s desk.

  A Mr Cox, the company’s financial director, reported that he had received an invoice for £500 for an advertisement his firm had never placed.

  The Chief Inspector visited Mr Cox in his City office. After a long discussion, Cox agreed to assist the police by pressing charges.

  The Crown took the best part of six months to prepare its case before sending it to the CPS for consideration. They took almost as long before deciding to prosecute, but once they had, the Chief Inspector drove straight to Chester Square and personally arrested Kenny on a charge of fraud.

  Mr Duveen appeared in court the following morning, insisting that his client was a model citizen. The judge granted Kenny bail, but demanded that he lodge his passport with the court.

  ‘That’s fine by me,’ Kenny told his solicitor. ‘I won’t be needing it for a couple of months.’

  The trial opened at the Old Bailey six weeks later, and once again Kenny was represented by Mr Duveen. While Kenny stood to attention in the dock, the clerk of the court read out seven charges of fraud. On each charge he pleaded not guilty. Prosecuting counsel made his opening statement, but the jury, as in so many financial trials, didn’t look as if they were following his detailed submissions.

  Kenny accepted that twelve good men and women true would decide whether they believed him or Mr Cox, as there wasn’t much hope that they would understand the niceties of the 1992 Data Protection Act.

  When Mr Cox read out the oath on the third day, Kenny felt he was the sort of man you could trust with your last penny. In fact, he thought he might even invest a few thousand in his company.

  Mr Matthew Jarvis, QC, counsel for the Crown, took Mr Cox through a series of gentle questions designed to show him to be a man of such probity that he felt it was nothing less than his public duty to ensure that the evil fraud perpetrated by the defendant was stamped out once and for all.

  Mr Duveen rose to cross-examine him.

  ‘Let me begin, Mr Cox, by asking you if you ever saw the advertisement in question.’

  Mr Cox stared down at him in righteous indignation.

  ‘Yes, of course I did,’ he replied.

  ‘Was it of a quality that in normal circumstances would have been acceptable to your company?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘No “buts”, Mr Cox. It either was, or it was not, of a quality acceptable to your company.’

  ‘It was,’ replied Mr Cox, through pursed lips.

  ‘Did your company end up paying for the advertisement?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Mr Cox. ‘A member of my staff queried the invoice, and immediately brought it to my attention.’

  ‘How commendable,’ said Duveen. ‘And did that same member of staff spot the wording concerning payment of the invoice?’

  ‘No, it was I who spotted that,’ said Mr Cox, looking towards the jury with a smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Most impressive, Mr Cox. And can you still recall the exact wording on the invoice?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Mr Cox. He hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘“If you are dissatisfied with the product, there is no obligation to pay this invoice.” ’

  ‘“No obligation to pay this invoice,” ’ repeated Duveen.

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Cox replied. ‘That’s what it stated.’

  ‘So you didn’t pay the bill?’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘Allow me to sum up your position, Mr Cox. You received a free advertisement in my client’s magazine, of a quality that would have been acceptable to your company had it been in any other periodical. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ began Mr Cox.

  ‘No more questions, m’lud.’

  Duveen had avoided mentioning those clients who had paid for their advertisements, as none of them was willing to appear in court for fear of the adverse publicity that would follow. Kenny felt his QC had destroyed the prosecution’s star witness, but Duveen warned him that Jarvis would try to do the same to him the moment he stepped into the witness box.

  The judge suggested a break for lunch. Kenny didn’t eat – he just perused the Data Protection Act once again.

  When the court resumed after lunch, Mr Duveen informed the judge that he would be calling only the defendant.

  Kenny entered the witness box dressed in a dark-blue suit, white shirt and Guards tie.

  Mr Duveen spent some considerable time allowing Kenny to take him through his army career and the service he had given to his country in the Gulf, without touching on the service he had more recently given at Her Majesty’s pleasure. He then proceeded to guide Kenny through the evidence in brief. By the time Duveen had resumed his place, the jury were in no doubt that they were dealing with a businessman of unimpeachable rectitude.

  Mr Matthew Jarvis QC rose slowly from his place, and made great play of rearranging his papers before asking his first question.

  ‘Mr Merchant, allow me to begin by asking you about the periodical in question, Business Enterprise UK. Why did you select that particular name for your magazine?’

  ‘It represents everything I believe in.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it does, Mr Merchant, but isn’t the truth that you were trying to mislead potential advertisers into confusing your publication with Business Enterprise, a magazine of many years’ standing and an impeccable reputation. Isn’t that what you were really up to?’

  ‘No more than Woman does with Woman’s Own, or House and Garden with Homes and Gardens,’ Kenny retorted.

  ‘But all the magazines you have just mentioned sell many thousands of copies. How many copies of Business Enterprise UK did you publish?’

  ‘Ninety-nine,’ replied Kenny.

  ‘Only ninety-nine? Then it was hardly likely to top the bestsellers’ list, was it? Please enlighten the court as to why you settled on that particular figure.’

  ‘Because it is fewer than a hundred, and the Data Protection Act 1992 defines a publication as consisting of at least one hundred copies. Clause 2, subsection 11.’

  ‘That may well be the case, Mr Merchant, which is all the more reason,’ suggested Mr Jarvis, ‘that to expect clients to pay £500 for an unsolicited advertisement in your magazine was outrageous.’

  ‘Outrageous, perhaps, but not a crime,’ said Kenny, with a disarming smile.

  ‘Allow me to move on, Mr Merchant. Perhaps you could explain to the court on what you based your decision, when it came to charging each company.’

  ‘I found out how much their accounts departments were authorised to spend without having to refer to higher authority.’

  ‘And what deception did you perpetrate to discover that piece of information?’

  ‘I called the accounts department and asked to speak to the billing clerk.’

  A ripple of laughter ran through the courtroom. The judge cleared his throat theatrically and demanded the court come to order.

  ‘And on that alone you based your decision on how much to charge?’

  ‘Not entirely. You see, I did have a rate card. Prices varied between £2,000 for a full-colour page and £200 for a quarter-page, black and white. I think you’ll find we’re fairly competitive – if anything, slightly below the national average.’

  ‘Certainly you were below the national average for the number of copies produced,’ snapped Mr Jarvis.

  ‘I’ve known worse.’

  ‘Perhaps you can give the court an example,’ said Mr Jarvis, confident that he had trapped the defendant.

  ‘The Conservative Party.’

  ‘I’m not following you, Mr Merchant.’

  ‘They hold a dinner once a year at Grosvenor House. They sell around five hundred programmes and charge £5,000 for a full-page