Bruce Alexander - The Color of Death

“There was no need,” said he to them, “for by the time they were pertinent, that fool, Trezavant, had already mistakenly identified Constable Rumford as leader of that band of thieves. When I introduced Mr. Burnham to him as the man he had earlier accused, I was able to say, thanks to you both, that he is alibi for the entire evening in which the Trezavant residence was robbed.”

“But couldn’t you have proven his innocence by reading our declarations aloud to one and all?” asked Dido.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “couldn’t you? Such a shame not to.”

“Oh, I suppose I could have read them out, but I fear Lord Mansfield would not approve the association of your two names with this matter, most specially now as he sits in judgment on this Somerset case.”

With a sigh, Dido agreed: “I fear you are correct, Sir John.” And then to Elizabeth: “I fear also, coz, that we must be on our way back to Kenwood.”

“Ah yes, Uncle will need his coach.”

The two, who seemed for all the world like visitors from some distant star, called out their goodbyes and farewells, then poised for their flight back through the ether.

“But where is Robert?” asked Dido of the other, as she looked round the room.

“Oh, there he is! See him? Sulking in the corner?”

They ran to Mr. Burnham, who, though not truly sulking, might indeed have looked a bit happier, considering the circumstances.

“Robert!” said Dido. “We have saved you from the hangman. Can you not at least give us a smile and a sweet farewell?”

Though it seemed to take a bit of effort, he managed to provide both. Encouraged, Dido went up on her tiptoes (for Mr. Burnham was quite tall and she was not) and gave him a buss upon the cheek. Then did she and her cousin hasten to the door to the long corridor which led to the street. Yet there, blocking their way, stood Annie and Clarissa. Annie, wide-eyed, looked astonished, hurt, completely crushed. Clarissa simply looked sad. They had seen all. I felt like calling out to them, “Be not so downcast. The cousins may be beautifully dressed, pert, and (within limits) clever, but they are no more than silly girls.” Yet even as I imagined that, it did occur to me that it was only a short time ago that I had thought the same of Annie and Clarissa. Station mattered little: There was no end to silliness among girls of that age.

It was not long after their departure that the impromptu celebration in Sir John’s chambers came to an end. Frank Barber and Robert Burnham left Number 4 Bow Street together, giving encouraging evidence that all was once again well between them. That left me alone with Sir John and gave me the first opportunity I had had to present my report to him. I reminded him of this.

“Yes, yes, by all means, let us sit down that I may better give it my attention.”

“You have read the letter from Mr. Humber, I take it?” I posed it as a question to Sir John, hoping to learn something of its contents.

“Oh certainly,” said he. “Clarissa read it me as soon as you set off for Mr. Trezavant’s. No doubt you are curious as to what it said. Well, it was precisely the sort of letter one would expect from him — full of facts about ships — departure dates, cargoes, that sort of thing. Indeed, Jeremy, I believe I should perish of ennui if my life were taken up with such tedious matters.”

“When I visited him earlier,” said I, “he indicated that we might well be suspicious if a ship were insured considerably beyond the value of the vessel and its stated cargo. Was any such discrepancy discovered?”

Sir John did not immediately respond. He pouched his cheeks and hunched his shoulders in such a way that he actually appeared to be pouting — though of course I discounted that possibility immediately.

“Mmm … well, he mentioned something about that,” said he. “But you, Jeremy, I believe you said that you had information from Mr. Martinez that you thought quite important.”

“Well, yes I do have something.”

“Tell it to me then, lad. I am eager to hear.”

It was clear to me that I would hear no more from Sir John regarding Mr. Humber’s letter. And so, for the time being, I put it from my mind and concentrated upon the task of remembering in detail my conversation earlier that day with Moses Martinez. Considering that so much had happened during the intervening hours, I believe I gave a good account of my questions and his answers — up to a point. I reached that point when I repeated to Sir John the reply Mr. Martinez had given me when I asked him the name of the villainous Dutchman. Then did Sir John become the interrogator and I his respondent.

First he asked me to repeat what Mr. Martinez had told me.

“He said, sir, ‘Oh, I could not tell you that.’ “

“But why? What reason did he give for withholding the name?”

“Well, I asked him a number of things. Did he fear retribution? He said he did not. Did he not trust you or me to keep the name secret? He said that he trusted both of us. But I persisted, and he explained at last that it was his religion prevented him.”

“His religion! Sir John seemed truly vexed. “What could he have meant by that? “

“He cited the ninth of the Ten Commandments. And he said that we should understand his reluctance, for Christians and Jews alike did honor the Ten.”

“Let me see,” said he, “which is the ninth?” And having put the question to himself, he began marking them off on his fingers. ” ‘No other gods before me’ — that is the first. ‘No graven image’ is the second.” And so on. He mumbled on until he came to the ninth, and then did he speak forth in full voice: “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor? What could he mean by that? I would not have him bear false witness against anyone, certainly not his neighbor.”

“Well, sir, this is how he explained it,” said I. “In some way, this had been extended to mean that we ought also to say of someone else only what we know from experience to be the truth — what we ourselves have seen; what we may have heard from the person in question. Since he could not give any such guarantee, he declined to name the individual.”

“Hmmm. Did he say who it was gave such a broad interpretation to the ninth? Not that it matters greatly.”

“No … simply … well, he used a phrase. What was it? Something to do with ‘commentary.’ ‘According to commentary,’ it may have been.”

Sir John gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Simply a matter of Jewish scruples, I suppose,” said he. He thought a moment thereon, then did he surprise me with a chuckle. “Or perhaps God is a better lawyer than ever I had thought. What this amounts to, Jeremy, is a prohibition against speaking hearsay. As a magistrate I must accept that, nor could I contemn Mr. Martinez for abiding by this higher standard.”

“That may be,” said I to him. “Nevertheless, the man he described fitted to the life one on the periphery of this case. I fear I take it ill that he refused to supply a name.”

“Do you mean it?” said Sir John. “To the life, you say?”

“Well, perhaps I overstated a bit. I have never actually seen the individual in question.”

“Then how can you make such a claim? In point of fact, if you reported correctly, Mr. Martinez gave no physical description of the man at all. What is the name of your fellow?”

“Zondervan,” said I. “What his Christian name is I do not know.”

“Oh?” Just that, yet I could tell that the name had struck a chord of some sort. “And what makes you think that the man described by Mr. Martinez is this — what is his name? — Zondervan — is that it?”

“Yes, Zondervan. Well, first of all, he is Dutch. And he is a merchant.”