It need not be true, Alan told himself fiercely; everyone, whatever his background, took time to adjust to new environments. Besides, the principle was what mattered most: personal liberty, the freedom of an individual. Once, glancing around the courtroom, he had found the eyes of Edgar Kramer upon him. Well, he would show this smug civil servant that there were processes of law more powerful than arbitrary administrative rulings.
The focus of arguments before the court had switched. Temporarily, A. R. Butler had resumed his seat, and now Alan sought to reopen old ground: the matter of the Immigration Department appeal following the special inquiry. At once A. R. Butler objected, but the judge ruled that the subject could be raised, then added casually, 'When convenient to counsel, I believe we might recess briefly.'
About to agree politely with the judge's suggestion, Alan had seen an expression of intense relief cross Edgar Kramer's face.-He had noticed, too, that for the past several minutes the civil servant had been moving, as if uncomfortably, in his high-backed chair. A sudden memory… instinct… made Alan hesitate.
He announced, 'With Your Lordship's permission, before recess I would appreciate completing this single portion of my argument.'
Mr Justice Willis nodded.
Alan continued to address the court. He examined the appeal proceedings, critici2ing the composition of the appeal board with its three members – including Edgar Kramer -fellow immigration officers of the special inquiry officer, George Tamkynhil.
Rhetorically he asked, 'Can it be anticipated that a group, so constituted, would nullify the findings of a close official colleague? Moreover, would such a group reverse a decision already announced in the House of Commons by the Minister of Immigration himself?'
A. R. Butler interjected heatedly, 'My friend is deliberately misinterpreting. The board is a board of review…'
The judge leaned forward. Judges were always touchy about administrative tribunals… It was something Alan had known. Now, his eyes on Edgar Kramer, he realized why he had delayed. It was a vicious impulse – a stroke of malice which, until this moment, he had not admitted to himself. Nor had it been necessary; he knew the case was won. Uneasily, he waited.
Through a tortured mental haze Edgar Kramer had heard the last exchange. He waited, pleading silently for it to end, praying for the recess the judge had promised.
Mr Justice Willis observed acidly, 'If I am to understand it, this so-called appeal from a special inquiry is nothing more than a department rubber stamp. Why in the world call it an appeal at all?' Fixing his gaze on Kramer, the judge continued austerely, 'I say to the representative of the Department of Citizenship and Immigration that the Court harbours grave doubts…'
But Edgar Kramer was no longer listening. The physical pain… the urge begun earlier and now intensified, was all consuming. His mind, his body could encompass nothing else. Brokenly, with anguish, he pushed back his chair and hurried from the courtroom.
'Stop!' It was the judge's voice, sharply commanding.
He paid no heed. In the corridor, still hastening, he could hear Mr Justice Willis bitingly addressing A. R. Butler. '…;
Warn this official… disrespect… any further occasion… contempt of court…' And then, abruptly: 'Court recessed for fifteen minutes.'
He could envisage the eager, crackling press stories which, in a moment or two, would be telephoned or written: Edgar S. Kramer, senior Immigration Department official, today was threatened with contempt of court proceedings during the British Columbia Supreme Court hearing into the case of Henri Duval. Kramer, while being addressed critically by Mr Justice Willis, walked out of court, ignoring an order by the judge…
It would appear everywhere. And it would be read by the public, colleagues, subordinates, seniors, the Minister, the Prime Minister…
He could never explain.
He knew that his career was over. There would be reprimands; and afterwards he would stay a civil servant, but without advancement. Responsibilities would grow less, respect diminishing. It had happened to others. Perhaps in his own. case there would be medical inquiries, early retirement…
He leaned forward, putting his head against the cool toilet wall, resisting an urge to weep bitter anguished tears.
Chapter 4
Tom Lewis asked: 'What comes next?'
'If you want to know,' Alan Maitland answered, 'I was just wondering myself.'
They were on the steps of the Supreme Court Building. It was early afternoon, warm, with unseasonal sunshine. Fifteen minutes earlier a favourable verdict had been handed down. Henri Duval, Mr Justice Willis ruled, could not be deported to a ship. Therefore Duval would not sail with the Vastervik tonight. There had been spontaneous applause in court, which the judge had subdued sternly.
Alan said thoughtfully, 'Henri isn't a landed immigrant yet, suppose eventually he could be sent directly to Lebanon where he boarded the ship. But I don't think the Government will do it.'
'I guess not,' Tom agreed. 'Anyway, he doesn't seem to be worrying.'
They looked across the steps to where Henri Duval was surrounded by a knot of reporters, photographers, and admirers. Several women were among the group. The former stowaway was posing for pictures, grinning broadly, his chest thrown out.
'Who's the sleazy character in the camel-hair coat?' Tom inquired.
He was watching a florid man with sharp, pock-marked features and oiled hair. He had a hand on Henri Duval's shoulders and was including himself in the pictures being taken.
'Some sort of night-club agent, I understand. He showed up a few minutes ago; says he wants to put Henri on show. I'm against it, but Henri likes the idea.' Alan said slowly, 'I don't quite see what I can do.'
'Did you talk to Duval about the job offers we have? The tugboat thing sounds good.'
Alan nodded. 'He told me he doesn't want to start work for a few days.'
Tom's eyebrows went up. 'Getting a little independent, isn't he?'
Alan answered shortly, 'Yes.' It had already occurred to him that certain responsibilities concerning his protege might prove an unexpected burden,
There was a pause, then Tom remarked, 'I suppose you know why Kramer went out of court the way he did.'
Alan nodded slowly. 'I remembered from the other time -what you told me.'
Tom said quietly, 'You rigged it, didn't you?'
'I wasn't sure what would happen,' Alan admitted. 'But I could see he was ready to blow.' He added miserably, 'I wish I hadn't done it.'
'I imagine Kramer does too,' Tom said. 'You fixed him, but good. I was talking to A. R. Butler after. By the way. Butler's not a bad guy when you get to know him. He told me Kramer is a good civil servant – hard-working, honest. If I may quote my learned friend, "When you consider what we pay civil servants, the Kramers of this country are a whole lot better than we deserve."'
Alan was silent.
Tom Lewis went on, 'According to Butler, Kramer already had one reprimand over this business – from the Prime Minister, no less. I should think what happened would be good for another, so you can probably figure that you managed to break him.'
Alan said slowly, 'I feel ashamed about the whole thing!'
Tom nodded. 'At least that's two of us.'
Dan Orliffe had left the group around Henri Duval and came towards them. He had a folded newspaper under his arm. 'We're going back to Henri's room,' he announced. 'Somebody has a bottle and there seems to be an urge to start a party. Coming?'
'No, thanks,' Alan said. Tom shook his head.
'Okay.' About to turn away, the reporter handed Alan the paper. 'It's the noon edition. There's a little about you, there'll be more in the final.'
As Tom and Alan watched, the group with Henri Duval moved away. The energetic centre of it was the man in the camel-hair coat. One of the women had her arm through Henri's. The former stowaway was beaming happily, enjoying the attention. He did not look back.
'I'll give him his head for now,' Alan said. 'Later on today I'll sort him out. I can't just leave him, turn him loose.'
Tom grinned sardonically. 'Good luck.'
'He may be all right,' Alan argued. 'He may turn out fine. You can never tell, and you can't prejudge – ever.'
'No,' Tom said. 'You shouldn't prejudge.'
'Even if he doesn't do well,' Alan persisted, 'the principle is more important than the man.'
'Yeah.' Tom followed Alan down the courthouse steps. 'I guess there's always that.'
Over steaming spaghetti, at the Italian restaurant near their office, Alan broke the news about their fee. Surprisingly, Tom seemed almost unconcerned.
'I'd probably have done the same,' he said. 'Don't worry; we'll get by.'
Alan felt a surge of warmth and gratitude. To hide his own emotion, he opened the newspaper Dan Orliffe had given him.
On page one there was a story of the Duval hearing, but written before the verdict and the Edgar Kramer debacle. An Ottawa CP dispatch disclosed that the Prime Minister would make 'a grave and significant announcement in the House of Commons this afternoon'; the nature of the announcement was not given, but speculation tied it to worsening international affairs. The late news box contained race results and another single item:
Senator Richard Deveraux died suddenly this morning, reportedly of a heart attack, at his Vancouver home. He was seventy-four.
Chapter 5
The door to the house was open. Alan walked through.
He found Sharon in the drawing-room, alone.
'Oh, Alan!' She came to him. Her eyes were red from crying.
He said softly, 'I hurried as soon as I heard.' He took her hands gently, steering her to a settee. They sat down side by side.
'Don't talk,' he told her. 'Unless you want to.'
After a while Sharon said, 'It happened… about an hour after you left.'
He started guiltily. It wasn't because…'
'No.' Her voice was low but firm. 'He had two heart attacks before. We'd known for a year that one more…'
'It seems inadequate,' he said. 'But I'd like to say I'm sorry.'
'I loved him, Alan. He took care of me from the time I was a baby. He was land, and generous.' Sharon's voice faltered, then went on, 'Oh, I know all about politics – there were mean things, as well as good. Sometimes it seemed as if he couldn't help himself.'
Alan said softly, 'We're all like that. I guess it's the way we're made.' He was thinking of himself and Edgar Kramer.
Sharon raised her eyes. She said steadily, 'I hadn't heard… with everything else. Did you win your case?'
He nodded slowly. 'Yes, we won.' But he wondered what he had won and what he had lost.
'After you'd gone this morning,' Sharon said carefully, 'Granddaddy told me what had happened. He knew he shouldn't have asked you what he did. He was going to tell you so.'
He said consolingly, 'It doesn't matter now.' He wished, though, that this morning he had been more gentle.
'He would have wanted you to know.' Her eyes were brimming, her voice unsure. 'He told me… that you were the finest young man… he had ever known… and if I didn't grab and marry you…'
The voice broke. Then she was in his arms.
Part 19 The Act of Union
Chapter 1
It was 3.20. Forty minutes left.
At 4 PM, simultaneously in Ottawa and Washington, the Act of Union would be announced.
In the House of Commons tension was growing. This morning the Prime Minister's office had allowed it to be known that a 'grave and significant announcement of national import' would be made. No details had been given, but on Parliament Hill speculation had been growing hourly.