Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

Well, Cobb mused, if the fellow was lying – an unlikely event – he could have heard the very beginningof the altercation between Brodie and Duggan as he was descendingthe stairs, grown curious, and hid in the shadows near the alleyuntil the other gents passed by onto Front Street, then slipped outand used Brodie’s walking-stick on the blackmailer. And Dora mightget her girlish figure back!

Fullarton was next. He was eager to quiz Cobbabout Brodie’s situation, the concern clearly visible in his face,but Cobb gently reminded him that the best way to help his youngprotégé was to state exactly what he saw and heard as he wasleaving the clubroom.

Fullarton took a deep breath. “Right you are,constable. Well, as I was reaching for my cloak, I heard voicesraised in anger – coming from the alley below. I looked out and sawtwo figures grappling.”

Cobb stared at the banker. “But you told MarcEdwards this mornin’ that you saw nothin’ when you left themeetin’!”

Fullarton sighed, and looked down at thecarpet. “I am sorry about that. I told Mr. Edwards the truth – in away. I said I didn’t see anything that would help my young friend.I was upset and confused.”

“Then you better tell me the whole truth. Right now. You seen two men grapplin’, you say. Was Brodieone of em?”

“That’s just the point, constable. I wasn’tsure. Their faces were not in the beam of moonlight, but for aninstant I thought one of the two might be Brodie. Then I thought:it couldn’t be because Brodie had left fifteen or twenty minutesbefore and would be halfway home by now. I assumed – and I havespent a sleepless night regretting it – that it was a pair ofdrunks brawling in the alley, a not-uncommon occurrence around thattavern. Had I gone back to assist the lad, none of this tragedymight have happened.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. When I got to the bottom of the stairs,the voices had stopped or become inaudible. I just continued ondown to Front Street.” He stared down at the carpet again. When helooked up, he said, “But you don’t really believe Brodie Langfordcould kill a man?”

“It don’t matter what I believe, sir.Duggan was beaten to death with Brodie’s walkin’-stick.”

Fullarton paled. Marc Edwards had not givenhim this damning detail. “I see. But there must be some plausibleexplanation – ”

“I hope so.” Cobb felt his own voicebeginning to wobble. “Thank you, sir, for yer help.” He wanted tooffer Horace Fullarton some comfort, but knew that his duty lay inbeing calm and objective.

Fullarton slumped out.

Cobb did not have to reflect very long beforerealizing that, so far, he had not uncovered any evidence toexonerate Brodie. Dutton had seen nothing. Fullarton had heard thebeginning of the altercation, but was unable or unwilling toidentify Brodie as one of the participants (though Brodie himselfhad already done so in his ill-considered “confession”).Shuttleworth had seen someone (possibly the killer) running away upthe alley. What they needed was a witness who had seen Brodie punchDuggan once and immediately take flight, without his cane. CyrusCrenshaw was the last hope.

Crenshaw was not terribly forthcoming. Heappeared to resent Cobb’s intrusion into their gentlemanlyfrivolities. But, then, Brodie Langford was hardly known to him,and as a Legislative Councillor and self-appointed Tory, he mayhave felt little sympathy for the Yankee émigré and former ward ofthe much-maligned Richard Dougherty.

“You left the meetin’ shortly after a quarterto ten?” Cobb began.

“I don’t keep track of the time, sir. But I suspect my fellow club-members have already supplied you withsuch details.”

“So you don’t really know?”

Crenshaw grimaced, but said nothing.

“Did you look out the window when you wentfer yer coat?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What did you see?”

“An alley, lit up by moonlight.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Cobb was losing patience. “I want ya to tellme, Mr. Crenshaw, what you seen an’ heard there. Mr. Langford’slife may depend on what you have to say.”

This stern reminder had an immediate effect.“I’m sorry, constable. I’ve been distracted all evening. But I seenow the seriousness of your questions. Still, I’m afraid what Ihave to tell you may do Langford more harm than good.”

Which might explain his initial reluctance,Cobb thought. He braced himself.

“I saw two men in the alley. It was too darkto see their faces. One was lying on the ground and the other wascrouched over him.”

“Doin’ what?”

“My impression was that there might have beena punch-up between them – two fellows from the tavern with too muchdrink in them. But the crouching one seemed concerned, the way hishands were moving gently over the other one, who was knocked out, Ibelieve.”

“You didn’t think to go out an’ help?”

“Not really. I’m a respectable citizen andmember of Her Majesty’s colonial parliament. I do not go intoalleys where brawls are taking place.” His whole bodystiffened.

Cobb was neither surprised nor shocked. Itwas exactly the sort of behaviour he expected from the gentleclasses and their hangers-on.

“But I could not swear – and would not – thatBrodie Langford was one of the men down there,” he said, as if toundercut the callousness of his previous remark.

That wouldn’t matter, Cobb sighed to himself.Brodie’s own statement not only put him there, it placed him in acrouching position over Duggan, whom he had just punched.

“You didn’t see the fella run away,then?”

“No. He was still hunched over the fallen manwhen I headed for the stairs and carried on out to FrontStreet.”

That was not what Cobb hoped to hear. “Thankyou, sir. That’s all,” he heard himself say.

Crenshaw left quickly. Cobb sat for severalminutes in a near stupor. He had failed to uncover the single pieceof evidence he needed to get Brodie released. No-one had seen thelad strike once with his fist and leave. Cobb could not bringhimself to reassemble the pieces he had turned up. He’d letMarc do that depressing work later.

By the time Cobb re-entered the “theatre” theShakespeareans had gathered once more around the long table. Theywere studying their scripts, or pretending to.

“Constable,” Sir Peregrine said heartily fromhis position at head of table, “we are about to start a secondread-through of our playlet. If you wish, you’re welcome to have acup of tea and a pastry in the dining-room. You must have had along day.”

What the hell, Cobb thought: I’m thirsty andhungry. He nodded his thanks to the baronet, tipped his helmet atthe ladies, and walked slowly into the dining-room. He sat down atthe table, where he was plainly visible to Sir Peregrine, andpicked out an apple tart. A smartly dressed servant arrived to pourhim a cup of tea. The rich were certainly experts in pamperingthemselves.

Sir Peregrine leaned forward, and his troupereadied themselves for any directive aimed their way. But hesurprised them by saying, more to Lady Mad at his side than to theothers, “I believe we have solved the matter of who to cast asBottom.”

Lady Mad’s startlement spoke for them all.“Whatever do you mean, Perry?” she said. Then she followed hisgaze, swallowed hard, and looked back at her husband indisbelief.

“Well, just look at him. That red nose wouldilluminate a pantry. And that exquisitely ugly face! He’s a naturalBardolph or Dogberry. And what a belly! It looks as if he’s wrappeda bolster ‘round his middle. All we’d have to do is pad out thebuttocks – pardon my French, ladies.”

By now everyone realized who the object ofhis attention was, and as one they craned around to stare at Cobb,who was bent over sipping his tea – unaware of their interest, andastonishment.