Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“What do you suppose is in those letters, Jeremy? “

“In truth, Sir John, I have no idea,” said I.

“Oh, come now, you must have some notion. Let us go over what little we know, and perhaps between us we can work out some sort of hypothesis on the nature of their contents. What did he tell us about them — about what they were, and what they weren’t? “

I thought about that for a moment. “Well,” said I, “he said they were not of monetary value.”

“Yes, he declared that they would only be of value to a very few men in London. Notice that — ‘in London.’ What does that suggest to you?”

“Why, the implication might be that the letters would be of value elsewhere, perhaps to many, in some other place.”

“Exactly.”

“Nor did they contain anything of a personal nature — according to him — the sort of material that would reflect badly upon him. He claimed there was nothing that could be used to extort money from him. He was very emphatic about that. And you, I noticed, accepted that without hesitation.” I frowned at him. “Why was that. Sir John? Is he known to be of such exemplary character that such was quite out of the question?”

He laughed at that. “No, quite the contrary. He is of such notoriously bad character that there is naught that would be put past him. He has, so they say, left no commandment unbroken, and cares not who knows. But now, Jeremy, what more do we know about those letters? “

“That Lord Hillsborough was neither the sender nor receiver of them.”

“Excellent. So what justification would he have to hold letters that were not his?”

“Well, as you pointed out to him, sir, the letter could only have been in his possession by reason of his position as secretary of state for the American colonies. And he said himself that the government attaches great importance to the letters and to their recovery.”

“And so we find we have actually learned more about this packet of letters than I was at first willing to admit, do we not?”

“Yes, Sir John.”

“Then in the light of all this, let me put to you again the question which started us out: What do you suppose is in those letters? Who do you think sent them and to whom? What are they about?”

“Just as an hypothesis? There is no right or wrong response to be made?”

“Just as an hypothesis,” he agreed. “There could be no right or wrong to it. There can be only what is reasonable or unreasonable.”

“Indeed now,” said I, “let me consider.”

And consider I did. I know not how long I took, for, after all, there was much to consider. For his part. Sir John kept silent. There was no impatient throat-clearing, no prompting, and certainly no call to get on with it.

He gave me time enough to form my hypothesis, and at last I came out with it.

“I would say that the key element, of course, is Lord Hillsborough’s position as secretary of state. They may be of value to only a few in London, but could be of profound interest and therefore valuable to those in the American colonies. To say that the government attaches great importance to the letters and to their recovery is to say that the letters contain material that would be embarrassing to the government.”

At that point, I halted briefly that I might think through what must come next. Then did I continue: “All who follow the news from those American colonies know that there has been much turmoil in that part of the world of late. There have been riots, and British soldiers have fired upon the rioters. The colonists have gone so far as to call one of these incidents the Boston Massacre.’ Feelings, as I have read, run strong on both sides. Members of Parliament frequently accuse colonials of sedition and even treason. Nothing has been done to try any individual so far on such charges. But perhaps these letters, which Lord Hillsborough neither sent nor received, have to do with that.”

“Oh, dear God, I hope not!” cried Sir John. It was as if the words had leaped from his mouth of their own volition. I had not even considered that possibility.

“But go on, Jeremy. Do go on, please.”

“All right, to conclude then,” said I, “let me offer this as an hypothesis. The stolen packet of letters are from some member of Parliament or, more probably, from a member of the cabinet, not Lord Hillsborough, to the Lord Chief Justice, asking him what might be done within the law to silence those loudest voices of rebellion in the colonies. There may have been a reply from Lord Mansfield, further inquiry on details raised by the reply — and so on. Three or four letters would constitute a ‘packet,’ wouldn’t you say so, sir?”

“At this point, young Jeremy, all I can say is that you have frightened me quite to death, for who but I — “

Sir John was then interrupted by a knock upon the door below. He seemed almost relieved at the interruption.

“You get that, will you?” said he to me. “I shall sit here and consider the awful implications of what 4you have just suggested.”

“But Sir John, ‘tis just an hypothesis.”

“Never mind. Go and answer the door.”

The knocking had ceased soon as it began, which meant to me that either Molly or Clarissa had answered and ‘were now considering whether or not the visitor were important enough, or the matter he brought urgent enough, to merit disturbing Sir John. The women of the house tended to be quite protective of him, his time, and his attention.

When I arrived in the kitchen, I saw that it was as I had supposed. Constable Perkins had penetrated no farther than just inside the door. There, Molly stood her ground, preventing him from going beyond that point by force of her considerable will. Clarissa was there behind her, fussing fruitlessly, offering to carry whatever news he had up to Sir John.

” ‘Course I remember you,” Molly declared to Mr. Perkins as he attempted to push past. “You’re the one-armed gentleman sat at my own table in Deal and celebrated with us all the downfall of that villainous baronet. And of course I’ll let you up to see him soon as he says it’s proper.”

“I’ll go!” declared Clarissa. “I’ll go right up and tell him now what your news is.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said I, as loudly and confidently as I was able. “Mr. Perkins is expected. Sir John sent me to fetch him up and save you the trouble — isn’t that so, Mr. Perkins?”

“Oh, indeed so, Jeremy.”

“And have you the answer to that puzzle we put before you earlier?”

“Yes, I have it right here.” And, so saying, Mr. Perkins tapped his head with a great show of certainty.

Reluctantly, Molly stepped aside and left the way clear for him to join me. Clarissa, knowing me better, followed him suspiciously with her eyes as he crossed the kitchen and made his way to me at the foot of the stairs. The last I saw of her, she was looking dubiously directly at me.

I whispered to Mr. Perkins once we were out of sight and earshot: “There are times when a good lie, well told, serves better than the truth.”

“It can save a good deal of time,” said he.

Sir John who, I believe, had the keenest sense of hearing of any man alive, was chuckling with great delight when we entered his darkened study, as if to say to us that he had heard all. Yet he made no comment upon it.

“Jeremy, light a candle for Mr. Perkins, will you? You’re the only one who’ll abide my habit of sitting in the dark. I’m sure he’d rather a bit of light.”

I reached for the tinderbox but was restrained by Mr. Perkins’s hand upon my wrist.

“Don’t bother,” said he. “This should not take long and besides, I like sitting in the dark. It’s restful is what it is.”