Bruce Alexander - The Color of Death

Mr. Burnham had been rather forthcoming up to that point, but w r hen Sir John asked to know where he went on “these occasional rides which took place three, even four times a week and always on Sunday,” he was answered with absolute silence. “Who do you see?” Silence. “What is the purpose of these rides?” Silence.

Then did Sir John take it upon himself to explain in quite reasonable terms why it was in Mr. Burnham s own interest to answer these questions in order that he might establish an alibi for himself to counter the accusation put against him by Mr. Trezavant.

“You see,” said he to him, “we know that your tale of remaining at home that night and running about the house to read bits and pieces of Mr. Goldsmith’s book to all who would listen was simply a fabrication got up quickly to satisfy us. You insult us with such poppycock, sir, for you see, we know that you went out riding in the late afternoon and did not return until near midnight. That was how you spent the evening in question, was it not? A long ride to some undisclosed location, to visit some undisclosed person for some undisclosed reason. You see, sir, why you must tell us what we wish to know? Without the missing facts, it all sounds a bit like a child’s tale, does it not? Tell us what we wish to know, Mr. Burnham. Your very life may — ”

Here Sir John had broken off, for he heard the door to Bow Street slam shut and footsteps begin in the hall.

“Uh, that will be all for the time being, sir,” said he. “Mr. Fuller, return him to the strongroom, if you will.”

“You wish me to persuade him my way?” the jailer asked.

“No, it’s a bit early for that. I’m sure he will cooperate before extreme measure need be taken. Jeremy? Are you here? Come in and help me get into that thing, will you?”

It was a long walk from the street door to Sir John’s chambers — and a good thing, too, for I had no sooner managed to guide his arm into the sling and get it over his head than did the familiar figure of Mr. Donnelly appear in the doorway, a smile upon his face and his bag in his hand. “Well, Sir John, Jeremy,” said he, “I congratulate you. You just did manage to get the thing on, did you not?”

Mr. Gabriel Donnelly’s visit to change the dressing was short and unmemorable, except for a warning he issued to Sir John. “Let me tell you, sir,” said he, “that if you do not take the wearing of that sling seriously, then that arm will bother you for the rest of your life. There can be no doubt of it.” Though Sir John dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand, Mr. Donnelly’s words proved prophetic.

When the surgeon had departed, I expected Sir John to send me to Mr. Fuller that he might bring back the prisoner. In fact, I went so far as to suggest it to Sir John. He considered the matter for a moment, then shook his head in the negative, a dour expression upon his face.

“No, I think not,” said he. “I’ve explained his situation to him. And while he showed no willingness to respond to my questions in any substantial way, I think perhaps after he has spent the night in the strongroom, in the company of whatever the night may bring, he may be a bit more talkative.”

“But Sir John,” said I, “what was this matter that passed between you and Mr. Fuller about ‘extreme measure’? Surely you’re not — ”

“Going to torture Mr. Burnham? No, I daresay we are not. We thought only to put the possibility in his mind. That should give him something to think about, eh?” He pondered the situation further. “No, I believe that what I should most like from you, Jeremy, is a report upon what happened to you in the area of St. James today.”

And so I told him, deleting most of what passed between Crocker and me, saying simply that the outing yielded nothing. He responded with a shrug. I told him, however, that I had learned the significance of Mr. Robb’s mention of the King’s Carabineers.”

“Oh? What was that?”

“Well, I found out, to my surprise, that Arthur Robb had served with the regiment some time before.”

“Truly? A butler who was once a soldier? That is indeed most singular. Ah, but Jeremy? “

“Yes, Sir John?”

“I fear I must correct you. You said — if I may quote you back to yourself — that you had ‘learned the significance of the butler’s mention of the King’s Carabineers.’ But really, you’ve done no such thing.”

“I haven’t?”

“Indeed no. All you learned was the regiment’s significance to him. What we have yet to discover, and perhaps never will, was why he mentioned it when you asked him what he saw when he opened the door and made it possible for the robbers to enter the Trezavant residence. Why did he mention the King’s Carabineers? And what significance did they have to him in relation to the robbery?” He paused at that point and rubbed his chin. “You see my point? Interesting, eh?”

“Well,” said I, “perhaps he saw someone who reminded him of — ”

“No,” said he, interrupting, “guessing won’t do. It simply won’t do in this case. But … perhaps that bit of information will ultimately be of use. Now, however, Jeremy, I trust you can set me to rights on that question of Frank Barber’s escape from the mob which pursued him. I fear he carries with him a reputation for exaggeration and self-promotion.”

Needing no more explicit command than this one from Sir John, I set about to do just that. I was determined to tell the whole truth in this instance because Frank had made such a botch of it. This was in spite of my certainty that Sir John would disapprove of the part played by firearms in my tale. And so I told it just as it had happened, pistols and all. Nor did I scant the key role played by Constable Patley in driving away the mob.

“You say that he saved both you and Frank Barber?”

“I would say, Sir John, that that would not be overstating the mat-ten

“And then he did simply disappear before you could thank him properly?”

“That is correct, sir,” said I.

“And you did not see into which house he went?”

“Well, no, but I suppose he could have drifted down to Pall Mall.”

“Not likely, though?”

“No, not likely.”

“Hmmm. Still, I must say I’m glad to hear a good report on this fellow Patley: something, at any rate, to counter the bad things I have heard up to now. But answer me this, lad.”

“Yes sir, whatever you wish to know.” (I knew very well what he wished to know, and I dreaded what lav ahead.)

“Are you in the habit of carrying loaded pistols with you wherever you go on the streets of London?”

“Oh, by no means, sir.”

“Then how did it come about that you happened to have them with you during the afternoon in one of the grandest sections of London?”

“It was that the night before Mr. Baker had given me pistols for my protection on the way to St. Bartholomew’s.”

“Ah well, it’s true that the area round St. Bart’s and the Old Bailey is not a good one. But tell me, why did you not return these firearms upon your return? “

“Because Mr. Baker had gone off duty, sir.”

“Ah, so he had. You did not return till morning. Had quite a row with Kate about that, did you not?”

“Well, I … I …”

“You could have turned them in to Mr. Fuller, could you not?”

This question was perhaps the most difficult of all to answer. Perhaps foolishly I resorted to evasion. “I could have, yes,” said I, “but I feared he might disapprove of my earning loaded pistols about and lecture me on the matter.” (The truth was, reader, that I disliked Mr. Fuller and had decided to have as little as possible to do with him.)

“Well,” said Sir John, “perhaps you thought I approved of carrying loaded pistols about?”