Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“What will you, Sir John?” he asked. “There is but little of the night left, and I should like to use it to sleep.”

“This should not take long,” said the magistrate.

“Well, let’s get on with it.”

Nevertheless, Sir John was not to be rushed. Yet finally did he speak up: “This room has been described to me as being in a great state of confusion. Have you any notion who might have visited this upon you?”

“None at all. But then I have not many burglars or suchlike criminals in my circle of acquaintances.”

“I suppose you do not. But you might have one or two who were so eager to have something of yours that they would hire men of that sort to get it for them. Now, I realize that it will take you quite some time to go through the contents of this desk — which, as I am told, are littered over the floor. Nevertheless, you may be aware of something in your keeping which is important to keep secret. You may have gone immediately to the place where it was hid just to see if it were still there.”

“There was no such secret document or documents,” said Lord Hillsborough, “and therefore no hiding place.”

“Nothing of a personal nature?”

“No, nothing.”

“Nothing that might be used to embarrass you? Or extort money from you? “

“Nothing at all, I tell you!”

“Well and good, well and good,” said Sir John in the manner of a peacemaker.

“There is another matter, however. I know that you are a member of His Majesty’s government.”

“That is correct.”

“I fear, however, that I know not which position you hold. Could you perhaps inform me in that matter?”

“I am secretary of state for the American colonies.”

“Is that it indeed? Why, you must be kept busy these days, what with all of the trouble caused by the more quarrelsome of those colonists.”

“That is so,” said Lord Hillsborough.

“Could you then have had something in your possession to do with these colonial matters? Something, that is, which might invite a burglary such as this?”

“For the last time, I know of nothing that is missing. If, in making my inventory of the contents of the desk, I discover something missing, I shall notify you immediately.”

“Please do. And Lord Hillsborough?”

A deep sigh, then: “Yes? What is it?”

“One last question: How did you learn of the burglary? I take it you were asleep?”

“Yes, I was. The butler, Carruthers, woke me to tell me.”

“And how did he learn of it?”

“That you will have to ask him.”

“Thank-you. That will be all I require of you for the time being.”

And at that, Lord Hillsborough stamped out the door of the study, making no effort to disguise his annoyance at Sir John’s rather direct interrogation.

Mr. Benjamin Bailey, as chief constable, had visited many such scenes as this one in the company of Sir John. And, having made his own investigations and asked a few questions, was ready and waiting with the butler, Carruthers, who had admitted the party from Bow Street; there was also another man, big and burly, who looked to be a footman, as well as he on the floor in the study.

Sir John and Clarissa went into the hall to talk with these men, and at that time the magistrate requested that the study be closed until the body therein could be delivered to the medical examiner for the City of Westminster (i.e., Gabriel Donnelly). The butler told them that he had learned of the burglary and the murder from the second footman, whose name was Will Lambert, waiting to be interviewed. It was the butler who sent word to Number A Bow Street to report the matter to Sir John. But that was about all that the butler told them. He had behaved well in an emergency, and he had done what needed to be done.

Mr. Lambert, however, had a good deal of significance to tell. It was he, after all, who had discovered the body of Albert Calder on the floor of the study and noted the chaos left behind by the burglars. It seems that Calder and Lambert had been charged with guarding the interior of the house each night for the past month; they were to be specially watchful round the master’s study. When Calder had failed to wake up Lambert, the latter woke of his own accord and, noting the late hour (near three in the morning), believed something was amiss. He armed himself and -

That, as it happened, reader, was as far as Clarissa got with her narrative of the night before, for just then we heard heavy steps upon the stairs which led up to the kitchen where we were sat round the table. They were unmistakably those of Sir John. He reached the door, and without a pause threw it open. He marched into the kitchen. We all sat dumb before him. Thinking it only proper to offer some greeting, I rose from my chair.

“Good evening to you, Sir John,” said I. “Mr. Donnelly and I have just — “

“Good evening?” he interrupted me. “Good, you say? I see nothing good in this evening. I’ll be damned if I do.” And so saying, he marched on past us, up the stairs and into the bedroom which he shared with Lady Fielding.

Within minutes, Mr. Donnelly had departed, and Molly had banked the fire. It was time for us in the kitchen to climb the stairs and proceed to our beds. I had seldom, if ever, seen Sir John in a mood so foul. It would not do for him to hear us buzzing and whispering there in the kitchen.

Weary in spite of the long nap I had had in the coach, I lay in bed in my small attic room high above them all. From the floor be-low, I could hear the voices of Sir John and Lady Fielding — his deep and rumbling in anger, and hers lighter, higher, and in a sort of pleading tone. I could hear the voices but not the words that were spoken. What might they be saying?

Next day, the three of us met once again in the kitchen. I was, as usual, the first to arrive. With shoes in hand, that I might not disturb Sir John and Lady F, I came quiet and knelt down to kindle a blaze in the fireplace; such had been my task as long as I had been there at Number 4 Bow Street. Having done thus much, I put on the water for a pot of tea. At about that time, Molly and Clarissa appeared, still groggy with sleep.

Tea was brewed. The loaf of soda bread baked for dinner, still fresh and light, was put out by Molly with a crock of butter. We ate and drank our fill and gradually came full awake as we whispered round the table.

“What do you s’pose has gotten into him?” asked Molly.

“Oh, it’s to do with Black Jack Bilbo,” said I, “of that I’m sure.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Clarissa.

“And it’s all because of that woman, isn’t it? I’ve little use for her myself. It’s not personal, mind you now — simply because she took away my livelihood and turned me out of a place which had been my home for a good five years or more. Ah, no, for had she not brought her cook from France and sent me packing, I would not have met and married Albert Sarton. We were not together but a year — not even that — yet it was the best time of my life, so it was. So no, I don’t see that I can blame her for personal reasons.”

“What then?” said I.

” ‘Twas the way she set her hat for Mr. Bilbo there on the boat. She saw him as one who might rescue her from the god-awful situation which she found herself in. I’ve seldom seen a more bold and barefaced attempt to ensnare a man for reasons of personal salvation.”

At that, Clarissa and I exchanged quick looks but said naught. From what we had seen there on shipboard on our return from Deal to London, the attraction between Bilbo and Marie-Helene had been both real and mutual.

Molly caught the glances that passed between us and would not let that moment go unnoted.