Bruce Alexander - Blind Justice

“Oh, sit down, sit down. Perhaps we shall come back to you again. And if you are still standing. Lord Goodhope, resume your place, too, for having identified the true victim of the crime, we must now seek out its perpetrator.”

“But who?” called out Lady Goodhope. “Who is the victim? I do not understand.”

“Charles Clairmont,” said Sir John. “It was his body that was carted off for burial in Lancashire.”

“It can’t be! How could that be?”

That will be revealed. Mr. Bailey, are we ready to proceed?”

“Not quite, sir.”

The constable had taken a place direcdy behind Clairmont/ Goodhope, who had remained on his feet to that moment. But Mr.

Bailey, placing his hands firmly on his shoulders, forced him down into his chair. There was no resistance, and for the moment no objection.

“Ready, are we?” asked Sir John of no one in particular. Receiving neither confirmation nor objection in the moment’s pause, he declared, “Then let us begin.”

He called another witness in from the sitting room, where the remainder were waiting. This time he used Mr. Donnelly as his messenger, for Benjamin Bailey did not move from his new post behind the impostor. Though by his name-Isaac Whelan-I did not know him, I recognized him immediately as a seaman when he appeared in the library. He was clean and cleanly dressed, yet his clothes were worn; though not tall, he walked with the rolling big-man’s gait that seems common to all of his calling. He looked around the room, spied Captain Cawdor and his hostile glare, then chose a place to stand some distance away from him. He exchanged a nod with Mr. Bailey, and I took him to be one of the constable’s drinking companions of the day before.

Identifying himself by name, Isaac Whelan gave his occupation as common seaman.

“Are you in the crew of the Island Princess?”

“I have been, sir, though I doubt, when I finish what I have to say here, that I shall again be welcome aboard.” He was a well-spoken man for one who made his life on ships. After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “In truth, it was my intention to leave the ship here in London, in any case.”

“To jump ship, as it might be?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“And give up your pay? To break your contract? That is a punishable offense in Marine Court.”

“That’s as may be, sir.”

“Is Captain Cawdor such a hard master?”

“Not to his crew, no, but having made the full voyage once, I determined never to make it again.”

“Be more explicit, man.”

“Well, sir,” said Whelan, “we are intended to proceed with trading goods to the Ivory Coast of Africa, and there to pick up black cargo for sale in Jamaica and the Antilles.”

Sir John frowned. “Black cargo?”

“Human beings, sir, of black hue. They are chained in the hold and not allowed above decks until the long voyage is done. Fed poorly, they are. There is sickness among them. Many die, both men and women. It is an inhuman commerce, sir, and I will no longer have part in it.”

The magistrate was silent for a moment. “I see. It is, however, legal commerce as long as it be conducted away from these shores. Do you object on religious grounds? Are you of some Low Church persuasion?”

“I object on the grounds that human beings is human beings, and they deserve to be treated better than livestock. No sir, cattle and pigs would be treated better.”

“Well,” said Sir John, “I have allowed this digression because it is of interest to me. It may also have some slight bearing upon the matter at hand. But let us return to it, Mr. Whelan, as it regards Mr. Charles Clairmont, the passenger on the Island Princess.”

“Very good, sir. I was on duty at the gangplank the night we docked at Bristol, when a man arrived and said he had an urgent message for Mr. Clairmont. I sent for the captain, and the two of them had a conversation in secret. Captain Cawdor then escorted him to the passenger’s cabin. Some little while later, Mr. Clairmont with this messenger fellow appeared at the gangplank, ready to disembark. I asked him, would he be with us to London, and he told me it was no affair of mine. I asked him this because the big fellow with him was carrying a clothes case belonging to Mr. Clairmont, which was not near all his baggage. The big fellow then gave me a kind of threatening look as he departed.”

“And that was the last you saw of Mr. Clairmont during the rest of the voyage?”

“In a manner of speaking, it was. I saw no trace of him from Bristol to London. To my knowledge neither did any of the rest of my shipmates. It was given out that he was seasick and had confined himself to his cabin, which would ordinarily have been accepted, for he had spent much of the previous route flat on his back, moaning his fate behind his door. Yet though we listened at his cabin door, we heard nothing. Yet though food was left for him, it was not eaten, nor was water drunk.

“Upon our arrival in London, there was then a strange end to this matter. I was not on duty, but neither was I off the ship. I saw what I saw from the ship’s rail. Less than an hour after we had docked, a man and woman appeared on the wharf. They was all bundled up so their faces could hardly be seen. I saw Captain Cawdor meet them and bring them up the plank. And near an hour after that, I saw the woman leave with a man who appeared to be Mr. Clairmont. I saw them only from a distance, but the man had Mr. Clairmont’s strange walk and was dressed as he dressed. But those who saw him up close was sure it was him. Those who heard him speak swore so.”

“Do you see that man in this group tonight?”

“I see the man who left the ship. I would near swear he was Charles Clairmont.”

“You would near swear,” said Sir John, echoing him. “What is your reservation?”

“Well, facts is facts, and the fact is I never saw the man who came on board with the woman leave the ship. Nor did any of my mates. We talked about it much between us, because Mr. Clairmont was not no ordinary passenger.”

“Please tell us what you mean by that.”

“It was generally known on shipboard that he was the vessel’s owner.”

“Mr. Humber,” called out Sir John, “is that correct?”

Alfred Humber pushed himself wearily to his feet, and once again consulting the letter in his hand, he said, “The owner of the Island Princess is listed as The Island Company.” Then he looked around him, shrugged, and returned to his seat.

“And Charles Clairmont,” said Sir John, “has presented himself to me as the principal of The Island Company.” Then, to Mr. Whelan: “Thank you, sir, you have been most helpful. You will be detained as a witness, so there will be no need to give up your wages and go into hiding. But be available. There is but one more matter, then you may go.”

And having so said. Sir John rapped a good hard knock on the surface of the desk where he sat.

That was my signal. I leapt to my task. Having previously marked the place well, I lifted out five books from the shelves next the fireplace, exposing the trigger of the machine. I gave it a stout push, stepped back, and the entire case of books began moving slowly forward. There was sudden interest from all around. As one, they seemed to hold their breath and stare at the widening gap in the wall.

At last Dick Dillon was exposed, head and shoulders. He climbed up the ladder on which I knew him to be perched and entered the room, followed closely by Constable Baker, bearing one of two pistols in his hand. There was a murmur of whispering among many, though not between Clairmont/Goodhope and Lucy Kilbourne. A look of great gravity passed between them, nothing more.

“Mr. Whelan,” spoke out Sir John, “was this the man who came with a message for Mr. Clairmont in Bristol?”