Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

Macaulay sighed. “Half of Toronto. I made nosecret of it. I might even have told people in town when he wasexpected, more or less.”

“And that he was named Chilton?”

“I suppose so. Elizabeth and I socialize alot in town and I do business there most weeks. Everyone askedabout Alfred and how ever was I to replace him. Many of my Toryacquaintances would have known about Chilton, that’s for sure. Infact, knowing as I did that we were going to have our conferencehere this week, I went out of my way to suggest that everything outhere was normal. The last thing I wanted to do was to appearsecretive.”

“I understand,” Marc said. “But we’ve gotnothing concrete to go on here. The perpetrators of this fraudcould be anyone opposed to our views and plans.”

“An’ how are we gonna find the spy’s killerif we don’t know who he is or who he’s been workin’ for?” Cobbsaid.

“We’re assuming he was a spy,” Macaulaycontinued, “but I don’t for the life of me see how this phoneybutler could have determined what was being said in this room overthe past few days.”

“I can speculate how it was done,” Marc said.“The entrance-way to this room is recessed. The impostor could havestood within it with his ear pressed to the door and not have beenobserved by anyone farther down the hall or anyone crossing therotunda. And since the butler was the only servant allowed in hereto serve coffee or tea, there was little chance of his being takenby surprise from behind. If he did hear someone coming up the hall,all he had to do was bustle across to his office directly opposite- a perfectly natural action that would arouse no suspicion.”

“But a lot of our discussion was in Frenchand not always translated,” Macaulay pointed out.

“It’s entirely possible that the impostorunderstood French and kept that fact well hidden,” Marc said.

“So what do we do?” Cobb said, suppressing ayawn.

“Always begin with what you know or have inhand,” Marc said. “We can be pretty sure that Chilton wasintercepted between here and Kingston. My instinct suggests that itwould be even closer to Toronto than Kingston. Chilton wrote Garnetthat he was going to be travelling on Weller’s stagecoach. He wouldhave had fellow passengers. He would have been aboard no earlierthan Tuesday of last week and no later than Thursday, the day theimpostor arrived here in his stead. The real Chilton, a completelybald Englishman of slim build, would have been noted by passengersand driver, and certainly by the hosts of various inns where thesleigh stops en route. Following the usual schedule, the passengersdisembark at Cobourg and stay there overnight.”

“So what’re you sayin’?” Cobb inquired,beginning to sense the possibility of some positive action in lieuof this endless palaver.

“I believe we can discover exactly how farthe real Chilton got on that trip. At some point he vanishes, andanother chap pops up in his place. That can’t have happened withoutsomeone noticing when it occurred, even if nothing sinisterwas suspected at the time. With luck we’ll be able to pinpoint theprecise location.”

“Where there might be a body?’ Cobb said.

“And possible witnesses to whatever happened.Even if we don’t find the body, we need to determine who theimpostor was. Until we do, we won’t be able to track down theperson or persons who collaborated with him.”

“That may be the way to catch Chilton’s killers,” Macaulay said, “but we’ve got a biggerproblem right here and now: to charge somebody with the impostor’s murder before Monday morning.”

“I can’t believe they are not connected,”Marc said. “And I don’t want to speculate how until we havemore hard facts.”

“But how can we get the facts we need beforeSunday night?”

Marc looked at Cobb. “By retracing theitinerary of Weller’s stagecoach, all the way to Kingston ifnecessary.”

“You want me to hit the road?” Cobb said withobvious delight.

“I do, old friend.” Marc turned to Macaulay.“Could you provide Cobb with a fast horse and cutter for a coupleof days?”

“Certainly. I’ll give him Ben. He’s not fastbut he can trot for miles without tiring or complaining.”

“Good. I think also that you should go inplain clothes,” Marc said to Cobb. “You have no jurisdiction as aconstable outside of Toronto anyway.”

“Alfred’s clothes will fit,” Macaulay said,eyeing Cobb’s muscled belly. “They’re in a trunk in my room.”

“What d’ya expect me to do once I get ontothe Kingston Road?” Cobb asked.

“Stop at every inn or wayside hutch you seeand simply say you have been hired by friends to find a missingman, one Graves Chilton. Find out if they happened to have spotteda bald English butler on board the stage when it stoppedthere — a week ago Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. At some point heis bound to have been noticed and then to have disappeared. Whenyou find that point, use all your investigative skills to determinewhat might have happened.”

“You said a couple of days?”

“Yes. I’d like you to get back here by Sundaynight, if you can, and no later than Monday afternoon. I’m hopingthat Angus will grant us a day’s extension, given these newdevelopments.”

“But I couldn’t get much past Cobourg an’ beback by Sunday night,” Cobb said.

“Right. But I really don’t think you’ll haveto go any farther.”

“So we just wait,” Macaulay said, “andtry to keep our guests amused?”

“I’m sorry, but I think that’s what we haveto do. If we can confirm that the impostor was a deliberate plant,then we can reasonably assume that the motive for his murder was anattempt to silence him.”

“But that means — ” Macaulay stoppedhimself.

“Yes. One of our guests becomes the mostlikely candidate.”

“Christ,” Macaulay sighed, “this is gettingworse by the second.”

“But we must not get ahead of ourselves.Cobb, I’d like you to leave at five tomorrow morning. With luck youcould reach Cobourg by late afternoon or early evening. And, ofcourse, you’ll need a place to sleep here tonight.”

“You can take the butler’s quarters,”Macaulay said to Cobb. “I’ll have Struthers fetched and tell him tohave the horse and cutter ready. I’ll have Finch pack you somelinens and toiletries for the journey, and Mrs. Blodgett canprepare some food for you to take along.”

“Thanks, Garnet,” Marc said. “You’ve been atower of strength all day, and I appreciate it.”

“So, if this imposin’ fella really wasa spy,” Cobb said, “then we got an explanation fer them three pagesbein’ ripped outta the lead-ger an’ carted off before theyfell inta the wrong hands.”

“I just wish we could be absolutely sure he was a spy,” Macaulay said.

Marc’s face lit up. “I think we can determine that, Garnet. Right now.” He jumped to his feet. “Thosepages may be missing and long burned, but the killer didn’t realizehe may have left behind a trace element for us to read. Followme!”

With that, Marc dashed out into the hall,veered to his left, entered the parlour, scooted over to thefireplace, ran both hands across a charred log in the hearth, andthen brushed past his astonished colleagues still in the doorway.They turned in time see him enter the butler’s office, and followedhim in. There they were further astonished as he began to rub hisblackened fingers across the open pages of the ledger, which layexactly where they had left it this morning.

“You gone an’ flipped yer wig?” Cobb said,coming up beside him.

Then he saw what Marc was doing, and chuckledappreciatively. As the charcoal was rubbed gently across the blankpage, the impressions left by a pencil having been pressed firmlyupon the page above it (now missing) began to emerge.