Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

“So what’re we lookin’ for?” Cobb said amidthe shambles of the room.

“The torn part of the murder-note if we’relucky. It didn’t show up in the alley, so it might have been lefthere. I don’t think we’re dealing with a sophisticated assassin.”Though that would not do poor Dick any good.

But a thorough search of the trash anddetritus did not turn up a torn sheet of Melton Bond. “If it waswhite, it’d sure show up in here,” Cobb muttered.

“Do you notice what we haven’t found?” Marcsaid.

“Besides the bit of paper?”

“Yes. There is no paper of any kind inthe room. Even his stove’s been lit with wood shavings. No ink, nopens. No religious pamphlets, no newspapers.”

“You ain’t suggestin’ – ”

“I am. It’s possible that Reuben Epp isilliterate.”

“Then he couldna written out that awfulword.”

“Certainly not with the calligrapher’s touchI’m sure was used.”

Cobb took a deep breath. “You’re not sayin’that Epp isn’t our man?”

“Don’t look so worried. I do think he did it.But it looks as if he may have had an accomplice.”

“Somebody he got to write that one ugly wordin red ink on some fancy paper?”

“He must have. Unless we entertain theunlikely possibility that someone happened along, spotted Dick’smutilated body and decided to make matters even worse.”

“An’ that ain’t likely, is it? But if Epp didget help writin’ the note, then that person was in on the murder,wasn’t he?”

“Not necessarily. It’s not hard to imagineEpp finding someone around St. James to write that damning word ona handy sheet of paper. Epp would know a lot of the parishioners.And many of them felt as strongly as the Archdeacon about Dick’ssupposed sins. Epp might have said that he intended to stick it upon the door of Dick’s cottage to embarrass him. It wouldn’t be thefirst time such nonsense has been perpetrated.”

“So this person may turn out to be assurprised as anybody that his writin’ ended up on Mr. Dougherty’sback?”

“That seems the most likely possibility tome. It’s hard to picture a fellow like Epp conspiring with a personwho would otherwise treat him with disdain.”

“I hope it don’t turn out to involve one ofthem vicars. We got enough on our plate as it is.”

“That would complicate matters, I agree. Butyou have to admit that either vicar might have been motivated toplease the Archdeacon by assisting Epp in what was assumed to be anasty prank of some sort against the so-called ‘sodomite’.”

“Well, all this palaver may turn out to bewasted on the air if Epp is ready to confess his trans-aggressions at six o’clock.”

Marc murmured assent, but was now busyrummaging amongst the empty butter-boxes tossed in a far cornernear the stove. “What’s this?” he said to himself.

“What’ve you got there, major?”

Marc was holding a tin box in his hands.“This was wedged partway under the floorboards behind the stove.And it’s locked.”

“Ya want it open?” Cobb said. Marc nodded,and Cobb gave the flimsy container a calculated rap against theedge of the stove. It flew apart at the seams. But it was what flewout that caught their attention.

“Dollar bills!” Cobb said, and one by one hepicked them off the floor and brought them up into the arc of lightfrom Marc’s lantern.

“U.S. paper money,” Marc said. He let Cobbhold both lanterns while he examined the bills. “Five of them.Ten-dollar denomination. Not part of the same batch, andwell-thumbed.”

“Now where in the world would a geezer likeEpp come up with this kinda cash?” Cobb said, not sure he wanted tohear Marc’s reply.

“I don’t know,” Marc said, to Cobb’s evidentrelief. “I could speculate, but I think I’ve done enough of thatfor one day. Let’s take this back to the Chief and wait for themagistrate to return from Port Hope. Only Reuben Epp can provide uswith the answers we need.”

“Let’s do that, major. All this speck-u-latin’s got me as muddled as a eunuch in ahooer-house.”

***

Robert Baldwin found the manager of The AmericanHotel in his office and most happy to be of service to a member ofone of Toronto’s first families, even if he were a notoriousReformer.

“You’re referring to Mr. Joseph Brenner andMr. Lawrence Tallman, I presume,” he replied to Robert’s openingquestion.

“That’s right.” Robert committed the names tomemory.

“They arrived on Saturday evening, tookbreakfast here yesterday morning, then were not seen again untildinner was served at six. Kept very much to themselves. Unusual,wouldn’t you say, for a pair of American gentlemen here on somesort of business? Unless it was a secret affair?”

“I have been told that these gentlemen werein town to assist the Law Society in their deliberations thisweek.”

The manager’s jaw dropped. “Oh, but thatwon’t be possible now.”

“Why? Have they left?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, they have. They signed outof here about ten o’clock this morning. Without notice. Headed forthe ten-thirty steamer to Burlington – so the cabbie told me whenhe got back.”

Robert was taken aback by this news, butmanaged to say, “Had word about Mr. Dougherty’s death reached herebefore that?”

“Of course. It was all over the hotel bynine-thirty or so. They say Nestor peck saw the whole thing: eyeplucked out, ‘sodomite’ written in blood on the fellow’s back – allthe grisly details.”

Now what did all this mean? Robertthought. It looked now as if the New Yorkers were guilty of some thing. But what? He was glad he was an attorney and notan investigator.

After delivering the U.S. banknotes to Sturges at theCourt House, Marc returned home, emotionally exhausted. He had hadto force his mind to work while grief and anger contended withinhim. Everything now hinged upon the interrogation of the accused.If the tentacles of this crime and its commission reached into thepoliticized salons of the gentry or up into the cloistered chambersof the Anglican Church, so be it. The full extent of those involvedin the unspeakable slaughter of a flawed but brilliant man must beruthlessly exposed. The Archdeacon’s prompt – if that is what itturned out to be – must not be downplayed or explained away. Epphad most assuredly been the would-be bishop’s pawn: the poisonedatmosphere of St. James had, one way or another, contributed toDick’s death.

Marc wanted to pour all these thoughts andfeelings upon Beth, but he found himself unexpectedly in a parlourfull of females at Briar Cottage. Surrounding and comforting CeliaLangford were Beth, Dora Cobb, Jasper’s mother from next door, andCharlene. Brodie was out consulting the undertaker about thefuneral.

Some minutes later, alone with Beth in thekitchen, Marc began to summarize the day’s events.

“You don’t haveta talk now,” Beth said,interrupting him, but she could see he had to.

When he had finished his sad summary, shesaid quietly, “You need to rest. There’s nothin’ you can do tillThorpe gets back.”

Marc smiled his gratitude, then said, “Howare the youngsters holding up?”

“Dr. Withers come by an’ give Celia somelaudanum. She just woke up a little while ago. She’s feelin’dreadful about her uncle, but she’s also feelin’ guilty – and, as Iknow from experience, that’s not a healthy combination.”

“Guilty about what?”

“She confessed to me that she’s been in lovewith a young man named Matthew Burchill fer the past month. Shekept it secret from Dick – ”

“Because the lad’s father despises him,” Marcsighed.

“You saw that letter in the Gazette ,then? Well, it seems the young man kept the affair from his parent, too, so the lovers’ve been meetin’ in secret. An’ Celia nowfeels she neglected her uncle and, in a way, betrayed histrust.”