Bruce Alexander - The Color of Death

Yet when Mr. Collier next spoke the nature of his response surprised me with its sudden change in tone and temper.

“Yes,” said he, “well … I … uh … did hear something about that. How is he? I hope … he — ”

“He will survive,” said I.

“I am greatly relieved to hear it.”

Looking round me, I saw that the audience, which had grown by one or two, was now similarly overcome with pious sympathy. Their faces had lengthened; their heads were bowed. But why not? These were servants, were they not? — as indeed so also was Mr. Collier. If I had spoken rudely because of my feelings for Sir John, then I had also spoken to him with the voice of authority. And he, as a servant, responded best to expressions of authority.

I took a step forward and leaned over him in a manner somewhat threatening. “I have questions for you,” said I to Mr. Collier. “Will you answer them?”

“Absolutely, young sir, to the best of my ability.”

“Very well. Had you anyone on the household staff by the name of William Waters?”

“Nooo, no indeed we had not.”

“William Walters? William Walker?”

“Nothing like that. No one by any such name was employed at Lord Lilley’s.”

Having had Burley’s information confirmed, I went on to the next question: “As butler of the Lilley residence, you presided over the staff. When you knew that the robbers had gone, who did you send to summon help? To bring a constable? To notify the magistrate?”

Mr. Collier looked at me, blinked a couple of times and said, “Why, I’m not sure.”

“Give it some thought.”

That he did quite visibly, screwing his face into a mask of concentration, shutting his eyes to exclude all distractions. He held this pose for a minute or more, quite impressing me with the intensity of his concentration. Only then did he relax sufficiently to say: “I did not send anyone.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Well … yes. I was dealt such a blow to my head when the robbers came through the door that I was incapable of collecting my thoughts when they had gone. It… it must have been someone else sent for help.”

“Or someone had taken it into his head to go.”

“Yes, I suppose that could be, too.”

“Mr. Collier,” said I, ” you gave Sir John quite a detailed report regarding what happened prior to the entry of the robbers — and I’m sure quite an accurate one, as well. I wonder if you would now put your mind to what happened afterward.”

“Afterward? But… as I said, the blow to my head from the door left me a bit addled, I fear.”

“I know, but I fear you must try.”

He did try, no doubt to the best of his ability. First he told how he had been dragged through the house, then taken down the back stairs and dumped upon the kitchen floor. That, in any case, was where he came fully conscious. The staff — all except for Pinkham (who was later to join them) and the coachmen (who awaited Lord and Lady Lilley at the ambassador’s residence) — had been gathered together in the kitchen, where they were held prisoner by a threatening black man with a ring in his ear, a pistol at his side, and a cutlass in his hand. Mr. Collier then explained that from that point on, all that he could glean of the robbers’ activities within the house had come to him through his ears. He heard the footsteps of more men above them as they entered through the rear of the house. How many? He could not be sure; perhaps three in addition to those who had come through the front — perhaps more. In any case, the robbers were very well organized, for they did not stay long. How long? Only minutes — as many as fifteen, though perhaps ten would be more accurate.

“And in that time,” I put it to him, “when was it Pinkham joined the rest in the kitchen?”

“Only toward the end,” said Mr. Collier. “That would have been in the last few minutes.”

“How many minutes?”

He seemed to take offense at my persistent questioning. “I have a timepiece, but I did not consult it. I can be no more accurate than I have been.”

“We shall let it stand then at a,few minutes.”

Something had occurred to him. That was evident from the vague expression that of a sudden appeared in his eyes.

“What is it?” I asked. “What are you now thinking?”

“I am now thinking that perhaps I can say with some certainty that it was just at the very end that she was brought down to the kitchen, for he who brought her had a conversation in whispers with him who had been standing guard over us.”

“Have you no idea what was discussed?” I pressed him thusly.

“Oh yes, indeed I have, for it was then that they selected Walter Travis out and took him away.”

“Walter Travis?” I knew I should know the name, but…

“The man they murdered.”

“Ah yes,” said I. (Glad I was that Sir John had not been present to hear me make such an error.) “Was he simply grabbed out of the crowd and taken away? Was nothing said?”

“Yes, there was a good deal said. A great threat was made by the one who brought Pinkham down. He said that they were leaving and none should follow. And if we was to do that, he would kill this fellow who was now their hostage, as well as any who followed. Now I can’t swear to it, because all these blackies look alike to me, but from the sound of his voice I’d say he was the same one tricked me into opening the front door for him and his fellows.”

“Are you saying then, Mr. Collier, that Walter Travis was slain because some of those in the kitchen trailed the robbers out the back?”

“No, no such thing,” said he with great certainty, “because just as soon as they were upstairs and out the back, we heard the shot, and we knew somehow that poor Travis had been killed. For some time afterward, we waited there in the kitchen. Burley, the other porter, was the only one of us who showed any eagerness to get upstairs. He got on well with Travis. You might even say as how they were friends. I cautioned Burley, held him back till there was no point holding him back further. And then he was first one up the stairs. He found the body where we expected it would be — right there in the back garden.”

“And you saw it there yourself? ” I asked.

“Well, yes, eventually. First thing I did was go through the house room by room to see all that was missing. I got to credit those black boys. They stole a lot in a very short time.”

“How much did they steal? What sort of cash value could you put upon it?”

“That would be difficult to say, but with the paintings, the silver plates, the Chinese vases, and all, I’d guess it at thousands of pounds — maybe close to ten. God knows what the jewels were worth — perhaps an equal amount, but likely more. I made up a list for my master — or former master.

Mr. Collier s listeners were brought somewhat aback by these estimates of his. There was a groan of appreciation, a whistle, and eyebrows shot up right and left.

He then added: “I suppose it was because I was so deeply involved in assessing the extent of Lord Lilley s loss that I failed to send out for a constable. Just all of a sudden, not long after the robbers left, there was a constable at the door. I suppose that you know the rest.”

I supposed that I did, for I had not then learned a tenet held by all interrogators: No matter how many times a turnip has been squeezed dry, you can always get more water from it. And so, upon ascertaining that I might reach him again through the staff of the Zondervan residence (“I’ll make sure they always know where I’m at”), I took my leave of them all, thanking Mr. Collier for his cooperation.

My patient waiting paid handsomely when word came from Lady Fielding that Sir John was at last awake, and that upon waking he had asked to see me. As the three women puttered joyfully about the kitchen preparing a dinner tray for him who had not eaten for twelve hours or more, I hurried up the stairs to his bedroom, eager to tell him all.