Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

As Constable Perkins went to fetch him. Sir John leaned close to me and spoke in a low tone: “Jeremy, describe him to me, would you?”

“Certainly,” said I. “He is a small man, a bit over five feet tall, though not much — less than ten stone, nearer nine — and reasonably well-dressed.”

“Mmm,” he grunted. “That will do. Thank you.”

A moment later the man was before us. I marveled that one of his diminutive proportions could have set up such a roar.

“Tell the magistrate your name,” said Mr. Perkins.

“Sebastian Tillbury, sir.” He spoke up loud and clear.

“And what is your trade, Mr. Tillbury?”

“I’m an ostler, sir. I’ve a way with horses, if I do say so myself. And if you wish to know my place of employment, it is the Elephant and Castle on the Strand.”

“Ah,” said Sir John, “a very respectable inn it is indeed.”

“No better address for travelers in Westminster.”

“That’s as may be, but tell me, Mr. Tillbury, how did you come to find the corpus of this unfortunate woman? Had you made passage through the alley from Duke’s Court?”

“No, sir, that way is right dangerous near dark. I came upon her quite natural, going home, I was. I live in a room off the yard. It ain’t much, but it does me. I came down the passage from Broad Court and near stumbled over her. Just her feet was sticking out from under the stairs.”

“You immediately assumed murder and raised the cry. Why was that? I understand that the body was still warm.”

“I thought just so because nobody would lie in such a place l^jr a rest, no matter how drunk or tired. There is rats and all manner of vermin down under there.”

“I see. Did you see or hear anyone else when you came upon her?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

Then a call came from Mr. Bailey. He and Mr. Cowley had advanced in their investigation toward the perilous alley.

“What is it, Mr. Bailey?”

“We’ve something for you, Sir John.”

“Good. Take me to them, Jeremy. And you, Mr. Till-bury, please wait a bit. We’ll be through with you, directly.”

At Mr. Bailey’s direction we circled wide to reach them. The lantern was held high to show the way.

“What is it then, Mr. Bailey?”

“Just this. Sir John, there was no signs of dragging, and as you said, it was well trod up to those stairs where the body was found, but Constable Cowley did note that one set of footprints in the dirt was deeper than the rest.”

“As would be if a man were carrying a heavy load.”

“Just so. Sir John. So we tracked them back through the dirt to this spot here, which is where the alley begins and the cobblestones start. There’s no following them beyond.”

“I understand, but do carry on through the alley and look for any signs along the way — drops of blood, buttons, anything of the sort that might fix the exact scene of the murder.”

“That we will, sir.”

Together we returned. Sir John and I, to Mr. Tillbury. On our way, he did make this observation: “It sometimes happens, Jeremy, particularly in matters of arson and murder, that he who reports the crime has himself committed it. He wishes attention called to it, and believes he may push suspicion from himself by caUing the alarum. I had considered this possibility with Mr. Tillbury, but I can no longer. It might just be possible for a ten-stone man to drag a twelve-stone woman, but it would be highly unlikely that so small a man could carry one such. I believe we may safely allow the osder to go about his business.”

He did, however, have a few last questions to offer.

“Sir,” said he, touching the black silk band covering his eyes, “as you see, I have lost my power of sight. You say you have a room here. I take it that your door opens onto the yard? You have a window?”

“Yes, sir, just as you say, sir.”

“How many neighbors have you?”

“Here in the yard?”

“Just so.”

Mr. Tillbury thought a moment. “Well, sir, let me consider. There is the old woman lives next me. She is near blind herself, howsomever, so near-sighted is she. Then up above is a sturdy fellow named Jaggers who works as a porter at the post-coach house. I seldom sees him, though.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“He works noon to midnight.”

“And would consequently have been at his place of employment at the time the woman was murdered.”

“I suppose he would. And then also up above, is old Joshua, the beggar — him who plays pennywhistle all round Co vent Garden.”

A pause then. Sir John’s expression did not alter. “I regret to tell you, Mr. Tillbury, word has come to me that Joshua died today on the street. A seizure of some sort, it was.”

A longer pause. “Sad I am to hear that. Him and me shared many a bottle and told many a story. But his age caught him up, I reckon. There was times of late when he could scarce struggle up the stairs.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”

“Perhaps. In any case, you may go with my thanks. I would ask only that you take my young assistant here and present him to your near neighbor, the old woman, so that he might ask her a few questions. Even if she could not see, she may have heard something of importance.”

“Most happy to oblige, sir.”

Sir John turned to me and nodded. Then, as I started off with Tillbury, I heard the magistrate call out, “Mr. Perkins, I believe you have one more witness for me.”

I should have liked to hear him question that witness, for I was always quite fascinated to listen in those situations, but I liked even better that I should be entrusted to do such work myself. It had never fallen to me thus before. I only hoped that I might extract from her some worthwhile titbit of information.

Tillbury led me to her door and knocked upon it.

“Some relation keeps her so, or has provided for her,” said he in a low tone. “A lad from a lawyer’s office comes by each month with some shillings for her — enough to pay the rent and keep her alive.”

A voice came from behind the door: “Who is there?” The tone was querulous, a bit suspicious.

” ‘Tis Tillbury, your neighbor, Mrs. Crewton.”

Something was grunted. A bolt was thrown back, and then the latch popped, and the door swung open. She stood, gaunt and wrinkled, dressed in a tattered frock once quite fashionable. Though I had no true idea of her age, had Tillbury told me she was a hundred, I should have accepted it.

“Missus,” said he to her, “this young man has some questions for you.”

“Is it then about the murder?”

“You knew of it, then?” I asked, trying my best to maintain a grave and severe manner in the style of Sir John.

“Of course I knew,” said she. “With Tillbury here shouting it so loud, how could I not? They must have heard him clear to St. Paul’s.”

“Did you see anything of the crime, madam?”

“I see very little at all,” said she. “I sit by the windows. Shapes pass by, mere phantasms they are. Yet what should they matter to me? I am old, you see. And at night, in the dark, I am able to see nothing at all.”

“I’m … I’m sorry.” And knowing not what else to say, I kept my silence and waited.

“Ah, but I can hear!” From her lips, that simple statement took the form of great dramatic utterance. “And often I have the power to see with my ears.”

“Could you be more specific?” I asked. “What, for instance, did you hear just before Mr. Tillbury gave his cry of murder?”

‘“Noi just before — let us say, not long before that I heard an argument, a most bitter disagreement it was, between a man and a woman. Her voice was shrill and strident, most disagreeable, and his, rumbling and rasping, was equally so in its way.”