Bruce Alexander - Death of a Colonial

“Mr. Bailey,” said Sir John, “is this the fellow who came to Bow Street to report the corpus which had been found here?”

“No, sir, it ain’t.”

“I sent the kitchen boy to you,” said Mr. Templeton. “It was easiest to spare him. Uh, will you be needing me further? I ought really to return to my duties downstairs.”

“We may wish to speak to you again, but as for now, you may go. I do ask, however, that you take Constable Bailey with you, that he may learn the room of Eli Bolt.”

“Eli Bolt, sir? I know of no one by that name who — “

“Elijah Bolton? This fellow of whom I speak goes by a number of different names.”

“I fear not, Sir John — unless one with such a name came to be registered during the day.”

“Well, if that be the case, Mr. Bailey has a description of the man. Perhaps between the two of you, there can be some agreement on just who he is and what name he is using. He is suspect in a matter of homicide.”

“Oh, dear me,” said Mr. Templeton, “suicide and now this.”

“Go with him, Mr. Bailey. Explain matters to him.”

The two departed, leaving us alone with the porter, who continued to rub away at the shoe he held tight in one hand.

“What is your name, sir?” Sir John asked.

“Alfred Simmons,” said the porter as he continued to buff the black leather; he barely raised his eyes to the magistrate. There was something insolent in his manner. “What will you from me?”

“Your full attention, for a start,” said the magistrate. “Leave off that brushing, stand up, and address me respectfully, as you did in my court five years past.”

“So you remembers me, do you? I’m surprised at that.” He laid aside shoe and brush and rose to his feet.

“Yes, I remember you quite well, but I also recall that you went by the name of Simon then. Albert Simon, was it?”

“It was, but you brought ruination upon that one, and I had to alter it a bit.”

“It was you ruined your name, and not I, sir. Lucky for you that you restrained yourself and stole no more than a pound. It was your respectful attitude and your convincing promise to make restitution and never again to steal that won you a light sentence.”

“A light sentence served in Newgate is heavier than most men can bear.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“But should you wonder, sir, though I changed my name a bit, I kept my promise. I paid back the pound as soon as I was able, and I’ve not stole since.”

“Glad I am to hear that, particularly since here you are in a situation in which you have ample opportunity for theft.”

“I’ve no doubt you will change that.”

The brow above the silken band which covered Sir Johns eyes wrinkled in a frown. “What do you mean? I don’t quite understand.”

“Surely after you’ve heard what I can tell you, you will go to the night manager and tell him of our meeting five years past.”

“Not necessarily,” said Sir John. “Though I admit I shall have my ears set sharp for any reports of theft from this hostelry.”

“Fair enough. You’ll hear of none involving me.”

It was then as if both men had stepped back and taken the other’s measure. A slight space of time passed. When they resumed, the air between them seemed, metaphorically, to have cleared a bit. They were notably less guarded than before.

“Now, tell me, sir,’’ said the magistrate, “how did it come about that you found the corpus? ‘’

“Well, I had not much more than come on duty, which would put it a little past six, when this young fellow come up the stairs and past my station, and he stops and turns back to me, and he says, ‘I’m checking out early. I wonder, would you give my coat a good brushing? Get to it when you can. I’ll be leaving in about an hour.’ That’s as near exact as I can make what he said to me. And right then and there he takes off his coat and hands it to me, then goes to the room at the end of the hall — the one to the right — lets himself in with his key. Now, that was, I daresay, a bit unusual, him takin’ off his coat and handing it over in that way — but a long way from the most unusual I’ve seen since I’ve been working here.”

“Had you seen the man before?’’

“No, but remember, I said I’d just come on duty. It would not be at all the sort of thing I’d remark upon if half the rooms on my floor had changed tenants during the day.’’

“I see. Go on, please.”

“There were a few other things for me to attend to, so I didn’t get to brushing the coat for a time, and in the meantime, an old gent went on down the hall and lets himself into the room next to the first fella’s, the young one. And he’s not in there more than a minute or two, and he comes out, and says there is a great commotion in the room next to his. ‘What sort?’ I ask. ‘Why, it sounds like there is a fight going on there,’ says he. ‘You mean, with a lot of yelling and cursing and such?’ ‘No,’ says he, ‘it sounds like a couple of big men are in there trying to kill each other — thumping and bumping about.’”

“What, then, did you do?”

“What could I do? I am certainly not a big man myself, and the old man who come to me with the complaint wouldn’t have been any help, and so I ran for aid — downstairs, to the stable. On my way I told the night manager what was afoot. I returned with the ostler and the stable boy, and the ostler carried his pitchfork along with him. We numbered quite a party as we made our way back. We listened outside at the door — but there was naught to hear. At last we got up our courage and proceeded inside — the door was unlocked.”

“Describe the scene as precisely as you can, please, “ said Sir John.

“Well, at first there wasn’t anything to describe, for there was no light in the room at all.” The porter thought again about that. “Now, that ain’t quite true, for I remember a bit of dim light from a single candle burning off in one corner. The room was all tore apart, though — chairs overturned, one had the legs broke off, a table all flattened, dents in the wall. It looked just as the old man had said: Two men were trying to kill each other in that place — and one of them managed to do just that to the other one. We didn’t find the body right off, for it was off on the other side of the bed. “

“Could you be more specific?”

“It was between the bed and the windows.”

“Go on, then. What was the condition of the body?”

“All battered and bloody, it was, but not like it had been cut with a knife, just beat hard with fists, a chair leg, anything that was handy.”

“In your opinion, had he been beaten to death?”

“Oh, no,” said the porter most emphatically, “not a bit of it. There was something like a rope round his neck, been pulled tight, it had.”

“You say something like a rope. What did it look like? How was it not quite a rope?”

“I’d never seen one like it before. It wasn’t out of hemp, or any such stuff. No, it was woven leather, so it was, just as tough and tight as it could be. There was no question in my mind but that he had been strangled with it. His tongue was sticking out in a manner most hideous, and his beard was all soaked with puke and blood, and — “

“What? Repeat that, please.”

“Puke and blood.”

“No, no, before that you said his beard, did you not?”

“Why, yes, I did, because he certainly does have one. He — “

“Then, sir, you must take us at once to the room. Jeremy?”

Together the three of us fairly flew to the door at the end of the hall, Sir John held fast to my arm, pushing me forward, urging me onward. We stopped before the room, and the porter felt hastily in his coat pockets for the key. He produced it and, explaining that he had thought it best to secure the room while waiting for Sir John’s arrival, he unlocked the door.