Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

He began to write, as rapidly as his thickfingers would permit.

It was just before one when Cobb came upstairs andwalked past the dead butler’s quarters to the dining-room. Acrossthe hall in the billiard-room he could see, through the open door,four of the gentlemen at the card-table, playing whist by the lookof it. He recognized Macaulay, Hincks and Robert Baldwin. Thefourth player was one of the Frenchmen, a cheerful-looking fellow,though none of them seemed overly enthusiastic about the game. Itwas a lot harder to sit and wait anxiously, as they no doubt were,Cobb concluded, than to be actively engaged in finding a killer.Moreover, said killer was likely loose somewhere amongst them.

Marc was not yet in the dining-room. ButPrissy Finch was, fussing with the food on the sideboard. When sheturned and saw who had just come in, she started. Her eyes wentdown to her shoes and, head-down, she tried to scoot past him.

“Not so fast, miss. I got another question toput to you. An’ this time I want the truth.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, herdefiance belied by a trembling lip.

“I know all about the spat you an’ Bragg haddownstairs at quarter to ten last night.”

“Who told you somethin’ like that?”

“Never you mind. Two people heard it, an’they heard you slam yer door an’ they heard Bragg call yousomethin’ that’d make a nun blush.”

Prissy was no nun, but she slowly turnedscarlet. She said nothing.

“So, young lady, you don’t really expect meto believe you an’ Mr. Bragg cuddled together fer a whole nightafter a ragin’ quarrel an’ slammin’ doors an’ foulname-callin’?”

Prissy thrust her trembling lower lip as farforward as she could. “A few minutes later he come down to my rooman’ slipped in real quiet. We — we kissed an’ made up.”

Cobb released a long, sceptical sigh. “Soyou’re stickin’ to yer story, come Hell or high water, are ya?”

“We kissed an’ made up,” she quavered.

“I hope the blackguard is worth lyin’ for,”Cobb said sternly.

Prissy whirled and fled the room.

Cobb’s anger at Bragg and his kind rose upbiliously, and threatened to spoil his appetite. An alibi had beenconcocted and adhered to, but it could — and would — be broken. Hehelped himself to three sweet pastries and sat down at the fancytable to wait for his partner.

After a brief lunch, Marc and Cobb made their way upthe hall to the library. The early-afternoon sun was pouringthrough the big windows. Outside, the air was clear and cold. Ithad not snowed since the squall last night. Following theircustomary practice, they began describing, in turn, theirinterviews, impressions and conclusions. (Afterwards, they wouldread each other’s notes line by line, scanning for small pointsthat might have been overlooked in the give-and-take ofconversation.)

“You first, Major,” Cobb said generously,suspecting he had the best lead and hoping to save it for thefinale.

Marc started in on a detailed account of hisinterviews, in the sequence in which he had conducted them. When hegot to Maurice Tremblay, Cobb arched an eyebrow, but it wasLaFontaine’s story that riveted his attention and elicited a seriesof approving grunts.

“So you see,” Marc finished up, “we now knowa fair amount about what transpired in Chilton’s office. The sherrywas there, unopened, when LaFontaine arrived at midnight. It wasalmost certainly doctored already, some time between nine-thirtyand then, which is the time-span the killer would have had to stealMrs. Macaulay’s laudanum and prepare the sherry for delivery toChilton.”

“Which means it could’ve been anybody in thehouse, providin’ they were sneaky enough,” Cobb pointed out. “An’that medicine bottle could be lyin’ in the snow out there an’ notbe found till spring.”

“Yes, that’s the bad news in all this. ButI’ve felt in this case, as in several of our past ones, that motiveis the most determining factor in an investigation.”

Cobb smiled around his wayward teeth. “You’rethinkin’ of Tremblay, who ain’t too happy about yer economicaladventures an’ might wanta break up yer parlay ?”

Marc had skirted around the political aspectsof the secret discussions, but Cobb was quite aware of their natureand purpose. As a Reform supporter, he heartily approved, though hedid wish the Quebec people would adopt a lingo that ordinary folkcould get their ears around.

“I’m certainly hoping it isn’t Tremblay,” Marc said. “Now what have you got for us?”

“I got us a murderer,” Cobb said, unable tocontain his delight.

“You old bugger!” Marc said, laughing. “Youlet me go on and on, and all the while you’d already fingeredsomebody. Well, then, go ahead. I’m all ears.”

“I’m glad I waited fer you to finish,” Cobbsaid, “’cause what yer French gent told ya about what he’d seen inthe office over there perfectly fits what I’ve come up with.”

He then went straight to the main point: Austin Bragg was their man. Cobb laid out the fellow’s motive,means and opportunity, and then outlined the testimony he’delicited from the various other servants to corroborate his theory.He magnanimously omitted several of the more clever manoeuvres hehad used to get said testimony from servants who were not alwaysforthcoming. The presence of the doctored sherry on Chilton’s deskat or before midnight, along with Chilton’s advanced state ofinebriation, made Cobb’s deductions about how Bragg carried out thecrime not only plausible, but undeniable. Moreover, Bragg had liedand had suborned his own fiancée. For what other reason would hebehave so brazenly than to cover his tracks as a murderer?

Marc looked much relieved: better a servantthan a delegate from Quebec.

“What do we do now?” Cobb asked. “Go toPrissy an’ break that phoney alibi? Haul Bragg in here an’ put thescrews to him?”

Marc thought for a minute, then said, “Ithink we need to see what Bragg himself has to say first. You admityou failed to shake Prissy from her story a few minutes ago. Ithink it wise to let her stew for a few hours, if need be.”

“Maybe Bragg’ll fess up,” Cobb said, thoughhe was not sanguine about the possibility.

Marc got up. “We’ll soon see. I’ll haveGarnet round him up and bring him here. We’ll both take a run athim.”

Cobb rubbed his hands together. “I can’twait.”

Marc walked down the hall towards thebilliard-room. Macaulay must have heard him coming because hepopped out of the doorway and said hopefully, “Any news?”

“We’re on a promising trail, Garnet. I can’tgive you details yet, but Cobb and I need to talk to Austin Braggright away — in the library.”

“I believe he’s upstairs. I’ll get him foryou.”

“Thanks.”

“By the way, Marc. The natives are gettingvery restless. Could we possibly move the seven o’clock meetingwith Louis to six o’clock?”

“All right. Let’s do that. I may have aresult for you by then. If I need to, I can always ask for it to bemoved to a later time.”

“Good, good.” Macaulay, a natural optimist,did his best to smile through his anxiety. Then he dashed offtowards the rotunda.

Austin Bragg was not pleased at being escorted byhis employer into the library and bade to sit down opposite Marcand Cobb. But the setting, his master’s grave demeanour, and theno-nonsense expression on the face of his interrogators did much toundercut his belligerence. He sat grimly silent while Marc thankedMacaulay, who reluctantly left the room.

Marc got right to the point: “Mr. Bragg,Constable Cobb and I have good reason to believe that you did not spend the night with your fiancée, Miss Finch.”