Night Over Water by Ken Follett Page B

dreadfully embarrassing, but I shall go round and apologize immediately to all concerned and get the whole thing straightened out without delay ...” He pretended to remember suddenly that he was wearing evening dress. “That is, as soon as I’ve changed.”
    The old codger said: “Are you saying you didn’t intend to take twenty pounds and a pair of cuff links?”
    His tone was incredulous, but nevertheless it was a good sign that they were asking questions. It meant they were not dismissing his story out of hand. If they had not believed a word of what he was saying they would not have bothered to challenge him on the details. His heart lifted: perhaps he would be freed!
    He said: “I did borrow the cuff links—I had come out without my own.” He held up his arms to show the unfastened cuffs of his dress shirt sticking out from the sleeves of his jacket. His cuff links were in his pocket.
    The old codger said: “And what about the twenty pounds?”
    That was a harder question, Harry realized anxiously. No plausible excuse came to mind. You might forget your cuff links and casually borrow someone else’s, but borrowing money without permission was the same as stealing. He was on the edge of panic when inspiration rescued him once again. “I do think Sir Simon might have been mistaken about how much there was in his wallet originally.” Harry lowered his voice, as if to say something to the magistrates that the common people in the court ought not to hear. “He is frightfully rich, sir.”
    The chairman said: “He didn’t get rich by forgetting how much money he had.” There was a ripple of laughter from the people in the court. A sense of humor might have been an encouraging sign, but the chairman did not crack a smile: he had not intended to be funny. He’s a bank manager, Harry thought; money’s no joking matter. The magistrate went on. “And why did you not pay your bill at the restaurant?”
    “I say, I am most awfully sorry about that. I had the most appalling row with—with my dining partner.” Harry ostentatiously refrained from saying who he was dining with: it was bad form, among public-school boys, to bandy a woman’s name about, and the magistrates would know that. “I’m afraid I sort of stormed out, completely forgetting about the bill.”
    The chairman looked over the top of his spectacles and fixed Harry with a hard stare. Harry felt he had gone wrong somewhere. His heart sank. What had he said? It occurred to him that he had displayed a casual attitude toward a debt. This was normal among the upper classes but a deadly sin to a bank manager. Panic seized him and he felt he was about to lose everything by a small error of judgment. Quickly he blurted out: “Fearfully irresponsible of me, sir, and I shall go round there this lunchtime and settle up, of course. That is, if you let me go.”
    He could not tell whether the chairman was mollified or not. “So you’re telling me that when you have made your explanations the charges against you are likely to be dropped?”
    Harry decided he ought to guard against appearing to have a glib answer to every question. He hung his head and looked foolish. “I suppose it would serve me bally well right if people refused to drop the charges.”
    “It probably would,” the chairman said sternly.
    You pompous old fart, Harry thought; but he knew that this kind of thing, though humiliating, was good for his case. The more they scolded him, the less likely they were to send him back to jail.
    “Is there anything else you would like to say?” the chairman asked.
    In a low voice Harry replied: “Only that I’m most frightfully ashamed of myself, sir.”
    “Hm.” The chairman grunted skeptically, but the military man nodded approvingly.
    The three magistrates conferred in murmurs for a while. After a few moments, Harry realized he was holding his breath, and forced himself to let it out. It was unbearable that his whole future should be in the