Bruce Alexander - Smuggler's Moon

“Jeremy has promised to take me for a walk,” said he, ”that I might smell the sea air. Nothing clears a man’s head like the smell of the sea. Don’t you find it so, Mr. Sarton?”

“In half of an hour then, sir. Our guest should be coming along at about that time.”

I wondered at that, but so eager was I to learn Mr. Perkins’s secret that I did not trouble Sir John once we were outside. Having spied our friend at the end of Middle Street, where he had withdrawn, we hastened to him. Yet I noticed that Sir John was having a bit of difficulty keeping up the pace he himself had set.

“Is your hip troubling you, sir?” I asked him.

“A bit, but that is my affair, Jeremy. I’ll not have you nagging at me like Lady Kate.”

“As you say, sir.”

We met Mr. Perkins at a point halfway to the corner of the street. He was as eager to tell Sir John as he had been only minutes before to tell me.

“I’ve no intention of guessing, Mr. Perkins, for you will surely tell me.”

“He offered me a job.”

“He what?”

“Mr. Sarton offered me a place as constable here in Deal.”

“Well,” said Sir John, ”what did you say? Did you accept?”

“I said I would have to think about it. He said that he understood that, right enough, and if I wished to talk about it, he would be available from nine o’clock on. I told him again I’d think about it.”

“Why did you say that? What did you mean?”

“I had no way of knowing what you would want me to do.”

Sir John’s forehead wrinkled in a frown as he considered the matter for a moment. ”In all truth, I do not understand you, Mr. Perkins. You are one of the best, if not the best, of all my constables. I would say as much to any who asked me. Yet I can certainly understand that you might wish to return to these parts since you grew up here. I would in no wise hinder you in that.”

“But that an’t it, sir. That an’t it at all. When I said I didn’t know what you’d want me to do, I meant I didn’t know how it would fit into your plans. After all, you sent me out to gather some information on the owling trade hereabouts. I thought you might want me to keep on finding out what I could, or if not, maybe you’d like me to start acting as your bodyguard, as was originally discussed by us.”

“I must admit,” said Sir John, ”that things have changed a bit.”

“In what way?”

“Well, in a number of ways. Much has happened since you met with Jeremy yesterday noon. What say, lad?” said Sir John to me. ”Shall we bring Mr. Perkins to date?”

Together we tried. Sir John provided the framework, and I filled in the details. We told first of the examination of the body by Mr. Sarton, and of the clever deduction he had put forth regarding the chalk, which proved, to our satisfaction, that the body had been moved from some other place. Then did I provide Clarissa’s tale of the original discovery of the body near the entrance to the chalk mine.

“Ah,” said Mr. Perkins, ”I’d like to see what’s in that mine.”

“So would we,” said I.

“Most curious of all,” said Sir John, ”it seems that they locked Clarissa in her room. I can only suppose that it was done to keep her away from Mr. Sarton after they had moved the body from where she had found it. They do seem to be trying to keep that chalk mine a secret.”

“But of course at this very moment,” said I, ”Clarissa is telling all she knows to Mr. Sarton-and much of what she suspects, as well.”

“It is all quite puzzling,” said Sir John.

“Well, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, it an’t just puzzling; it sounds to me like it’s gettin’ downright dangerous for you people there in the big house. I think you could use a bodyguard, Sir John. I don’t think that I’ve been all that successful as a spy, anyway.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Still, it is possible you would be even more useful to Mr. Sarton. You see, we’re planning a little something on the order of the enterprises we’ve undertaken in London.”

“The Bow Street Runners?”

“Exactly. Yet the Runners number over a dozen and Mr. Sarton has but two constables at his command. Even if Mr. Sarton himself participates, the enemy will still outnumber us. I may be forced to volunteer Jeremy for service, though I have not yet spoken to him of it.”

(Indeed he had not, reader. I quickened at the notion of participating in such a venture.)

Mr. Perkins nodded and took a moment to reflect upon what he had just heard. ”On whose information have you planned it?” he asked.

“Mr. Sarton has a source in whom he puts great trust. I have not yet met the fellow, but I shall later on today.”

“And you feel that he needs me for this?”

“Yes, I do. He is a very young man and needs the sort of guidance you can give him. You may tell him … oh, that you would like to try it out for a period of time. That might work, eh?”

“Well, it might, but I hate lying to the fellow-him having such a high opinion of me and all.”

“I can understand that, but I shall make it right with him. I must eventually explain all to him.”

“All right, sir,” said Mr. Perkins, who clearly had yet some misgivings, ”since it’s what you wish, I’m for it. I’ll drop by his place later today and tell him I’ve decided to accept his offer.”

“Perhaps you’d best make that tomorrow morning. I intend to keep him busy the rest of the day.”

As they had talked on so intently, I had guided Sir John in the direction of the sea. It was not long till we were walking along Beach Street, braced by a good, stiff breeze from off the Channel. When we reached Broad Street, I thought perhaps we had gone far enough. Sir John wished to be gone but a half of an hour. A resolution had been reached in their discussion. It was time now to part company with Mr. Perkins and return to Number 18 Middle Street. I halted Sir John.

“Time to go back?”

“Just so, sir.”

We took our leave of the constable and walked back the way we had come. For the most part, Sir John was silent the entire length of our journey. I can recall but one remark made by him.

“You know, Jeremy,” said he, ”all those grand things said by Mr. Sarton about Constable Perkins?”

“Yes, Sir John?”

“They were all quite true.”

Upon our return to the magistrate’s court and place of residence, I gave three or four sound thumps upon the door with the knocker, and then did we wait. I had noted the door was never opened unless Mr. or Mrs. Sarton was quite sure who it was stood on the outside. Yet they could not know every visitor who knocked. What about those who wished to attend his court sessions? What about witnesses? But I saw what I had not before noticed: just above the knocker, which like so many was cast in the form of a hand, was a spy hole which blended so well into the wood of the door that it was near invisible.

As all this did pass through my mind, my ears told me that there approached from the far back of the house a determined and steady beat of footsteps down the long hall. Then the footsteps halted, and a challenge came from beyond the door.

“Who is out there, please?” The voice was that of Mrs. Sarton.

“It is John Fielding, and with him is his assistant, Jeremy.”

The door came open, and there she stood, a broad smile upon her face. Though her hands were dusty with flour, and a stray lock of her red hair dangled down over one eye, she was not near in the state she was when we interrupted her the day before.

“Do come in,” said she. ”I’ve just made the acquaintance of your lovely daughter, Clarissa, as fine and intelligent a girl as I’ve ever met.”