Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“Of course,” said I. “Why should it not be so?”

“No reason.”

I sped ahead the last few steps and announced him at the door. Sir John was standing, his hand outstretched in a welcoming gesture. Mr. Slade came forward quickly and grasped his hand warmly, pumping it for all he was worth.

“I’m very happy to meet you at last, Sir John. You’re famous far and wide.”

“Truly? And where was it you did hear of me?”

“Perhaps in Jamaica, Trinidad — or was it the Ivory Coast? All three, no doubt.”

“My fame spans continents — good God! What a thing to consider! But please do sit down, Mr. Slade, and tell me what I can do for you.”

“I thought it well that we meet, since I am new to London. I have heard that you and Mr. Bilbo, whose gaming estabhshment I now own, were on very good terms. I sincerely hope that we may be, too.”

“I sincerely hope so, too.”

Somewhat nonplussed by Sir John’s brief and ambiguous reply, Mr. Slade eased himself down upon the chair I had provided him. I retreated to a place near the open door, where I might keep one eye upon the long hall and the other on Mr. Slade.

“There was, however, a particular reason that I’m calling upon you,” said he.

“And what is that, sir?”

“A business associate of mine is missing.”

“Oh? And how long has he been — as you say — missing?”

“Not long, a little over a day and a night.”

“Well, that’s hardly — “

“I know, I know,” said Mr. Slade, interrupting Sir John, “yet I am worried for his safety, for he often carried great sums of money with him late at night and was perhaps a bit too confident in his ability to protect himself.”

“I see,” said Sir John. “Well, that does change things a bit, I suppose. ‘

“He was more than a business associate. He and I have worked for years together in various ways. Indeed, we were to meet at noon to discuss changes that might be made at the gaming establishment. He failed to appear, and that was when I first missed him.”

“Did you send someone to his residence to make certain he had not simply overslept?”

“There was no need. As I said, he was more than a business associate. He shared that large house with me and one or two others whom I trust completely. I simply went to his room and saw that his bed had not been slept in. Thus I knew that he had never arrived at home.”

“What is the man’s name?”

“Isaac Kidd.”

I can’t say that I was surprised, reader. Nevertheless, to hear the Duke named as William Slade’s missing associate left me indeed fearful that I had unintentionally taken part in a crime of some

sort — abduction at best and murder at worst. And having spent some time with George Burkett, I naturally feared the worst.

“Isaac Kidd? Did you get that, Jeremy? Do make a note of that, won’t you?”

Though I had no need to do so as an aid to memory, I did as Sir John asked and wrote the name down on a small pad of paper, which I kept always with me.

“Now, Mr. Slade, ” said Sir John, “we shall initiate a search, but what can you tell us to help?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Information, sir — information to help us in our search. Has he a lady friend? Has he enemies? What places does he frequent? Any sort of names, facts, et cetera, that may be of some aid.”

“Ah yes, I see,” said Mr. Slade. “Well, there is a place which he frequents. Indeed he is there most every night. And that is the King’s Pleasure in Bedford Street. As for lady friends, he has none, for most of his lady friends are men — if you get my meaning. And I can’t give you names there, for I myself do not travel in such circles. As for enemies, yes, Mr. Kidd had a few, for he is a gambler, as I am myself. Those who lose blame the dealer, or him who backs the game. And so each night someone, or two, or three are added to the list of enemies. I fear I can add little to that. Perhaps those at the King’s Pleasure can provide more.”

Having said that, he rose from the chair and prepared to depart. Sir John then did also rise.

“We shall do what we can with what you have provided us with, Mr. Slade. Who knows? Perhaps we shall prove lucky. Jeremy, will you see our visitor to the door?”

They shook hands once again, and I led William Slade out of Sir John’s chambers and down the long hall.

“Your Sir John is a remarkable man,” said he. “His blindness seems to bother him little. But … can he truly get by as a proper magistrate outside his courtroom?”

“If you mean by that, can he take an active role in investigations, the answer is emphatically yes.”

“Yet can he see the details which I should think are so important to every criminal inquiry?”

“Indeed he can, for I, sir, am his eyes.” That may have sounded a bit impertinent, but I wanted him to understand that Sir John was at no disadvantage.

He took it as no impertinence. He threw back his head and laughed as one might when told a most delicious joke.

“Well, I meant no disrespect,” said he as we parted at Bow Street.

“Nor did I.”

He waved and went on his way.

I then hurried back to Sir John and revealed to him my fears that I had myself unwittingly collaborated in the disappearance, or worse, the death of Isaac Kidd. I told him nearly all — from my sally to Burkett that the entire burglary plot had been hatched in the King’s Pleasure; to naming the principals in that plot — Skinner and Ferguson, Isaac Kidd, and Arthur Lee. Yet I did withhold all mention of Burkett’s angry threat against Mr. Perkins. That, it seemed to me, was the constable’s to tell.

“And you told me, did you not, that this man Burkett had already been by Arthur Lee’s place of residence to inquire after him.”

“That’s right, sir, and he found that Lee had already left for America.”

“We may assume then that he will go after Skinner and Ferguson.”

“Or Dr. Franklin.”

Sir John heaved a deep, despairing sign.

“I blame myself,” said I. “If I had not been quite so free with names and locations, then Kidd might …” I did not finish the sentence, for I was loath to pronounce Isaac Kidd dead.

“Well, Jeremy, you should not feel guilt in this, for the Lord Chief Justice himself did instruct us to give Burkett whatever help he might need in finding those who had burglarized Lord Hillsborough’s house and murdered his manservant. No indeed, Jeremy, you are not at fault — nor in all likelihood is Lord Mansfield. He himself was no doubt duped.”

“Lord Hillsborough then?”

“I fear so,” Sir John observed a somber silence. “What could have led Lord Hillsborough to hire such a man? What sort of thief-taker could Burkett be?”

“Not a thief-taker at all,” said I. “He revealed to Mr. Perkins and me that he is the leading slave-chaser of Georgia.”

“A slave-chaser? Oh, my God, that damned institution raises its head once again. Well, we deserve it. We send our trash off to the colonies, and what do they send us in return? The likes of Burkett and — what is his name? — William Slade.”

“Slade?” I echoed. “How does he figure into this?”

“Didn’t you catch what he said? That I was famous across oceans and continents? Specifically he had heard my name in Jamaica and Trinidad and the Ivory Coast. What sort of merchant visits such places?”

Of a sudden, was it quite plain to me. “Why, a slaver!” said I.

“Precisely. When a man comes to London, suddenly wealthy, yet very mysterious about the sources of that wealth, you can bet that he was engaged in some unsavory trade; and in my mind, at least, there is no trade more unsavory than the slave trade.”