Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

“Oh, you may be sure of it. They been growlin’ at each other right strong. The butcher won’t back down. Says it was his right to go off when and where he liked — had no need to ask permission.”

“They been at it half an hour at least,” said Constable Baker.

“Is his wife in there with him?” I should not have wanted her to hear details of the murder of Elizabeth Tribble and of the brutality that had been inflicted upon her dead body. To hear the man she had just married was suspect in such a crime would surely be more than she could bear.

“No,” said Constable Langford, “and ain’t that strange? When I went upstairs to tell Sir John I’d detained his man for him to question, Lady Fielding come down with him and invited Mrs. Tolliver up for a cup of tea — all friendly like, she was. ‘Call me Kate,’ she says. I tell you, the butcher looked at her right grateful. The two women are up there in the kitchen right now, I reckon.”

“It would probably be best then if I stay here,” I ventured.

“Prob’ly would,” Mr. Baker agreed.

I had not long to wait. As I listened to Mr. Langford’s proud report, the voices from the rear had quietened considerably. While they could still be heard, they seemed no longer to be raised in strife. That I felt to be encouraging.

Eventually the two appeared. Neither spoke to the other as they approached us, and yet they gave the impression that all had been said. There was evidently naught of anger between them, nor for that matter did either of them smile.

“Constable Langford,” said Sir John, “I have just had a frank exchange of views with Mr. Tolliver. I hold him at fault for failing to be available for further questioning and to testify at the inquest into the death of Nell Darby. He holds me at fault for failing to be specific in this and failing to emphasize the importance of this duty I placed upon him. In any case, he produced the letter that brought him to Bristol and read it to me. He has returned a married man, truly, so there can be no doubt of the nature and success of his mission. He has left the letter with me for further study. And so there is no need to detain him further. Therefore I ask you to accompany him and his good wife to their residence in Long Acre. And you might this time give him a hand with his baggage.” Then, turning to Mr. Tolliver: “There. That should satisfy you.”

“It does, completely. You are a gentleman, sir.”

“Of course I am,” said Sir John, a bit snappish. “That is what the ‘Sir’ before my name is meant to denote. Now, who will go up and fetch Mrs. Tolliver?”

“I will. Sir John,” said L

“Oh? Jeremy? You’re back? Good. You should no doubt find her tete-a-tete with Lady Fielding in the kitchen.”

With that, I marched up the stairs, reflecting that all I had got from Mr. Tolliver was a sullen nod of recognition. Surely he could have done better. Pausing at the door, I decided to knock out of respect to Lady Fielding’s guest. I received from the other side the door a cheery invitation to enter.

After my introduction to Mrs. Tolliver, which I acknowledged with a polite bow, I announced that Sir John and Mr. Tolliver had concluded their conversation.

“You see?” said Lady Fielding to her as she rose. “It lasted no time at all. Jack simply wanted to talk to him. I do hope you can come sometime and visit the Magdalene Home soon. We’re so proud of our work there.”

Mrs. Tolliver, who in Constable Langford’s just estimation was pleasant-looking, rather than pretty, smiled gratefully. “Perhaps a Sunday. I’ve said I would help in the stall during the week, at least for a little while.”

“Perhaps a Sunday then.”

There were further urgings and thanks until at last she made for the door. I volunteered to show her down, for the stairs were dark and steep.

She left on her husband’s arm, twittering happily at Lady Fielding’s kindness to her. Constable Langford followed, struggling under the weight of the larger of the two portmanteaus.

When he heard the door slam after them. Sir John turned to Constable Baker and me and said with obvious annoyance: “He is the most disputatious fellow ever I met. Should have been a lawyer, I daresay. Still, I could not lock him up in the strong room simply because of that, now, could I?”

Next day it was made plain that despite the fact that Sir John had sent Mr. Tolliver on his way, he had not completely surrendered his suspicions. In the morning, he invited me down to his chambers and asked me to reread to him the letter which had brought Mr. Tolliver to Bristol. It was a rather prim response to his advert (“object: marriage”) which he had placed in the Bristol Shipping News, precisely the sort one might expect from a respectable widow in slightly straitened circumstances. She was frank to say she had not much to offer as a fortune but she did have something. Since the death of her husband, a shipping clerk, two years past, she had managed to support herself as dressmaker to some of the fashionable ladies of the town. She had no children, as both of hers had died in the smallpox which took her husband. She was not young but neither was she old and had no reason to believe she was barren. Although she, too, was interested in marrying again, she would not consider it without some period of acquaintance. If Mr. Tolliver were willing to come and stay a decent length of time, he might come ahead and present himself. There were many inns and lodging houses in the town of Bristol, it being a great seaport. She signed the letter, “Respectfully yours,” rather than in some more ornate or personal manner.

“I see nothing wrong in this. Sir John.”

“No, but just see when the letter is dated — a full ten days before the Tribble murder — no, eleven. It does not take so long for a letter to reach London — two days, three at the most. His explanation for this discrepancy is that his bride carried the letter about near a week before posting it, so unsure was she that she wished to engage in this venture. He claims to have found it under his door when he reached his dwelling after my interview with him at the scene of the Darby homicide. He said he was so eager to get on to Bristol that he gave no thought to his responsibilities to me but packed his portmanteau in a great hurry and caught the night coach to Bristol at ten.”

“But I fail to see — ”

“Don’t you? If he had indeed caught the night coach, that would have put him on the road at the time of the Tribble murder. Note that his landlord said he left in the direction of Covent Garden. The coach house lies in the opposite direction — but King Street is on the way to Covent Garden, and King Street is where the Tribble woman was murdered and so horribly butchered. Now do you see?”

“Well, yes, but did Mr. Donnelly not put the time of her death hours later than ten o’clock?”

“Exactly! He must have left for Bristol next day in the morning.”

I sighed. It seemed unusual for Sir John to build so ingenious a construction of supposition and contingency. Yet was his ingenuity perhaps bom of desperation? I knew him to be in profound anxiety that the second murderer be apprehended before he could kill again.

“And so, sir, by your way of thinking, Mr. Tolliver’s guilt or innocence hinges upon whether or not he took the night coach to Bristol or traveled next day.”

“That may be putting it a bit strong, but if he did not take the night coach, as he says, then I would have good reason to suspect him instead of reaching as I am now. If I catch him in a lie, I will have the truth out of him.”

“How do you propose to do that. Sir John?”

“I have thought of another likely flaw in his story. Tell me, have you been by his stall since his disappearance?”