Bruce Alexander - The Price of Murder

“Jeremy? Is it you?”

“Indeed it is, sir. And though it be a sorry tale, I’ve come to tell you of all that came to pass in Newmarket.”

Which I did, more or less, though I admit that I held back a bit. I said nothing of the good fortune Mr. Patley and I had had in wagering what we had on Pegasus and Mr. Deuteronomy to win. Sir John must have guessed that something was missing from the story I told, for at about the time I had done with Newmarket, he stopped me with a question or two that were directly to the point.

“What I do not quite understand,” said he, having heard me through, “is why, when Alice Plummer was in hand, you and Patley did not simply take her immediately to the nearest post coach and bring her here to London that I might question her.”

“Uh, yes, well, had we done that, Sir John, we should have missed the King’s Plate race.”

“Ah!” said he, as if he had made a considerable discovery.

“We felt the least we could do for Deuteronomy Plummer was to see how he and Pegasus fared in the big race. After all, he had given us the tip that had enabled us to find her.”

“Oh yes, of course, I recall well enough-the stable and the fellow named Stephen, all of that.”

“Yes sir.”

“But you stayed for the race, did you? Then tell me, how did it come out? That is, who won? Charade was the favorite, as I believe I heard from Mr. Baker. Was Charade the winner?”

“Uh, no sir, Pegasus was the winner.”

(I had the distinct feeling that Sir John was once again toying with me.)

“You don’t say so,” said he. “Truly? How nice for Mr. Deuteronomy, winning such an important race on a horse running his first race.”

“Second.”

“All right, second. All the same, quite an accomplishment, eh? You didn’t happen to have something wagered on Pegasus, did you?”

“Oh, a little something, a few shillings, not much more.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

And that, reader, was the extent of his comments. He left it all hanging in the air, for then I told him of what I had just learned from Mr. Patley. Sir John was most truly disturbed by the news.

“Good God,” said he, cursing in dismay, “was that Alice Plummer who was involved in that nasty attack in Bedford Street? Mr. Bailey told me about it in his report this morning, yet at the time he knew only the name of the man. Walter Hogg, wasn’t it?”

“It was, and when I heard that, I understood what earlier had eluded me. You’ll recall, sir, that when Katy Tiddle was dying she called for water so insistently that I ran out and brought some to her and, I then thought, missed her dying words. Well, ’twas not so at all. She named her murderer to me-not water; you see, but Walter.”

“And how did you come to this conclusion?”

“From what Patley and I were told by Alice Plummer. She said that she had entrusted her daughter Maggie to a man named Walter at Katy Tiddle’s urging. He had promised to find her a home with a couple who were unable to conceive.”

“But how did she learn what had become of her daughter?”

“That, I fear, she learned from me,” said I.

“Oh, Jeremy,” said he, truly mourning what he had just heard. “One of the most important rules in interrogation is never to let the one you are questioning know just how much you know. She acted on your information. You do understand, don’t you?”

At that I sighed. “Yes sir, I do understand.”

“Now if this fellow Walter Hogg was acting as an agent for another, as we both suspect, then we have lost our chance to get the name of that other. Truly, you should have brought her straight to me whilst she was in your hands.”

“Yes sir, you’re right, I know. If only. .”

“Ah yes, ‘if only’-that covers a multitude of sins, does it not? He was then silent for a time, brooding upon the news that he had got from me. Then did he say, “This is specially painful to me, for I confess that I reached a complete impasse with the one they call Mother Jeffers.”

“I did notice that the strongroom was empty,” I ventured timidly.

“What could I do? I could not hold her for further questioning on the evidence we had, much less could I pass her on for trial in Old Bailey.”

“Then you do not believe the testimony of Elizabeth Hooker, sir?”

“Indeed I do not. Do you? Clarissa told me of that awful muddle in the garret room in which Elizabeth claimed to have been held prisoner. ‘It’s all been changed,’ said she. Well, it could not have been changed so much in so little time, as I understood it from Clarissa. Do you agree with her?”

“Oh, indeed I do, sir. And there was also the matter of the frock, which Elizabeth claimed as her own. It would have been much too large for her, and would have fit the daughter quite well. So you believe Mrs. Jeffers when she says that she had never before seen the girl?”

“I did not say that.”

“What then?”

“In all truth, Jeremy, I do not believe either one.”

Again, it was Constable Patley who had brought the word to me. Whilst on his rounds, he had encountered Mr. Deuteronomy who announced to him that he had just returned from Newmarket and would be happy to receive me at any time-“but the earlier the better.” We both knew, of course, what he would be happy to receive.

“He wrote down where to find him. Let’s see now, I’ve got it here somewheres.” And, so saying, he began going through his pockets.

“Save yourself the trouble,” said I. “I believe I know the place. Would it be up above the Haymarket Coffee House?”

“So it is, so it is. Hurry along, lad, and bring the lally. I’ll take you there safe.”

I had already divided it into two separate bags, both of which were stowed beneath my bed. I grabbed them, gave the smaller to Clarissa, who had let Mr. Patley into the kitchen and had summoned me.

“Be careful,” said she. “Don’t do battle for it, Jeremy, for when all is said and done, ’tis only money.”

With that caution, she opened the door and sent us on our way. Yet, thinking ahead, I remembered that I, in a sense, did yet owe Mr. Deuteronomy a pistol-the one that I had taken from Katy Tiddle. And so I did stop off for it and got no argument in the matter from Mr. Baker.

“You brought it in,” said he, “so it’s yours to take back.”

“Good,” said I. “I’ll not be bringing it again.”

“As you wish. Just remember that it’s loaded.”

And so at last we headed out, Mr. Patley and I, moving swiftly through the city streets. Though it was not late, there were not many about. We kept our silence through most of the journey, and only toward the end did I speak up.

“Mr. Patley, when you saw Deuteronomy, did you tell him about his sister, Alice?”

“I did, yes, Jeremy.”

“Well, thank goodness. I would not want that burden upon me.”

“Indeed, I can understand that. But, truth to tell, lad, he took it right well. Almost too well, it seemed to me, like it really didn’t matter to him much at all. He’s a strange sort, ain’t he? She was his sister, after all.”

I had no response handy for that, and so I simply held my tongue. Ahead of us were the lights of the Haymarket. There seemed always to be a crowd thereabouts, as indeed there was that evening. They were women, mostly, prostitutes and the like, though a few seemed to be moving swiftly through the crowd as if on their way to some destination. To what that might be I had no notion.

We went direct to the coffee house, which was there on the far side of the square. Still open it was. And I realized, to my surprise, that often as I had been there, I had never been there after dark.

“Ever been up there?” Mr. Patley asked.