An Experiment in Treason

by Alexander, Bruce

  Yes, I remembered all that Mr. Perkins had said, and that day I was fortunate in that all the conditions were right. I stayed behind Arthur Lee for a good many streets. There was, however, one wor-risome matter: Lee turned round a number of times. At first I thought he had spied me and was looking back a second time and a third simply to confirm his fears. But no, it became evident that he was looking beyond me and into the street. It was not until we came to Half Moon Passage, a favorite spot for hackney coaches to wait for fares, that I understood. He had been looking all the while for a hackney open for hire. Of a sudden he broke into an awkward jogtrot, leaving me behind in a quandary. Should I run after him, thereby showing myself as his pursuer, or risk losing him by — And then I saw him stop and take a moment to bargain with the driver. They came to an agreement, and he jumped inside. My heart sank as the hackney coach pulled away. Yet just then another pulled up to take the place of the first. I ran to it, giving the driver no time to climb down from his perch.

  “Hi, up there, do you see that hackney just pulled away?”

  “‘Course I sees it,” said the driver. “I ain’t blind.”

  “Well, follow it, wherever it goes. Let it keep a space ahead, though.”

  “You want to come up here and drive my team?”

  “No, I’ll trust you to do that much.”

  With which I opened the door, hopped up the step, and into the coach. I had not quite managed to get the door shut before we were off.

  Only then did I think to explore my pockets to see if I had money enough to take us the distance. The question was, of course, just how far would Arthur Lee travel? If it were to Deptford or beyond, then I was altogether lost. I should have to give the driver whatever I had in my pockets — no more than a shilling — and hope that I might impress him with my association with the Bow Street Court. Well, I told myself, I shall worry about that when the time comes.

  In the meantime, we traveled a familiar route, moving roughly alongside the river, past London Bridge and along Thames Street. There, at no particular place, we stopped. I had no idea why we had done so — whether Lee’s coach had also stopped, or whether he had escaped us. I threw open the coach and prepared to descend.

  “Best stay inside a bit longer if you don’t want to be seen,” said the driver.

  “All right,” said I, “and thank-you.”

  He climbed down and rapped on the coach door, when he judged the moment suitable. When he did, I exited and saw that we were close to the Tower, which meant I had enough to pay the fare and a bit more.

  “Here,” said I, offering him a penny over and above what he asked, “have an ale and think of me.”

  Pleased at that, he explained that he was sure we had not been observed trailing the hackney in which Arthur Lee rode.

  “There’s a lot of goods wagons along here in Thames Street. The driver was too busy dodging them to look over his shoulder at us. Anyway, your man, the passenger, crossed the street in a great rush and went down the Bear Key Stairs. That’s a great gathering place for the watermen hereabouts, and so my guess is that he is headed out to one of those ships anchored out there in the river. Good luck to you, young sir, no matter what this is all about.”

  Having said that, he cHmbed up to his place atop the coach, cracked his whip above his horses, and pulled out into the stream of wagons and coaches which plied the waterfront.

  It was no easy matter getting to the other side of Thames Street, but with a bit of dodging and a dash I made it to the stairs. Before beginning my descent, I looked close at the watermen round the little pier below. I saw that one of their number had just pulled away with a passenger aboard. Undoubtedly it was Lee.

  And so, wisely, I took my time going down to the river. I had no wish to call Lee’s attention to me, nor did I think it wise to excite the interest of the watermen by seeming overly concerned. By the time I reached the pier and had declined offers from four to take me “up, down, or across the Thames,” I saw that Arthur Lee had reached the ship anchored farthest out. A rope ladder had been tossed down the side to him. There could be no doubt that this was his destination.

  “What is that ship out there?” I asked the waterman nearest me, “the one with the ladder down the side?”

  “That one?” said he, “with the boat pulled alongside? That’s the Rotfe of Sharon out of Boston, Massachusetts Colony. They got pious names for their ships in Boston.”

  He was a tough and wizened old cod and looked to have been a waterman for fifty years or more.

  “So I hear,” said I. “Has it been here long?”

  “Long enough. It took on a cargo of tea and coffee over there at the wharf. It finished loading this morn. It’ll leave on the morning tide.”

  “Is he the last passenger?” I asked, pointing at Lee, who was now ascending the ladder with no little difficulty.

  “Him? Oh no. He’s just someone had a package that he said had to get to Boston right away.”

  “How big was it? He doesn’t seem to have anything with him.”

  “Oh, it was small — fitted in his pocket. Said it was important, though.” He paused and began filling a small pipe with strong black tobacco. “But if it was so damn important why wouldn’t he pay a fair price? I quoted him the usual, and he wouldn’t hear of it.

  Finally, the boy of us agreed to haul him over to the ship and back for tuppence. Tuppence! Can you suppose it?”

  I had no choice but to walk back to Bow Street, which took an hour or so from the Bear Key Stairs. I was well aware that I had used up far more time than would have been thought necessary to deliver two letters. So it was likely that I should be given a proper reprimand upon my return. Yet not, I hoped, before I was given a chance to tell all that I had learned to Sir John. No doubt I should have told him earlier what I had seen — or thought I had seen at the King’s Pleasure — but to be able to tell him now where he might look for that packet of letters, that was worth the delay, was it not?

  Arriving in Bow Street, I made for Number A, half-expecting to find Sir John’s court still in session, yet I found nothing of the sort. Alas, it was later than I had even thought.

  I threw open the door to enter the part called “backstage” by Sir John and as I did, collided with Mr. Donnelly, yet without injury to either of us.

  “Ah, Jeremy, it’s you, is it? I confess I was not attentive to my direction. I didn’t see you until we bumped.”

  “Nor did I see you. Sorry.” I moved to go round him.

  “Oh, but don’t rush off. I’ve something to tell.”

  “ButI-”

  “And it concerns you direct.”

  “Oh?” He had my interest.

  “Yes, I went to Sir John just as you suggested. I addressed him in manly fashion and told him of my interest in Molly and that I should like to get to know her better. He asked if I meant to court her. And I told him that though my intentions were honorable, I wished to know her well enough to see if she were worth courting. He thought that most amusing. He did laugh loudly but recovered himself sufficiently to say that I might call it as I liked but that it sounded like courting to him. And therefore, if I wish to get to know Molly better in the manner I had described, then it would be best to do so in public places and in the company of friends.”

  “Well,” said I, “that’s courting then — as I understand it.”

  “Of course it is,” he laughed, “and he well knows it. But the upshot of all this mutual deceit is that Molly and I are to go to the Covent Garden Theatre tomorrow evening, and that you and Clarissa are to accompany us.”

  “Why, that’s … that’s fme, that’s excellent.” So said I, yet I could tell something troubled him. “But is anything wrong?”

  “Not really,” said he. ” Tis simply that you and Clarissa are to be my guests, and if it is to continue so, I shall soon have to give up this before-courting arrangement and get on to the real thing.”

  Having said that, he began to muse silently upon it.
And I, not knowing quite what he meant, kept my silence, as well.

  But then, rousing himself: “Good to bump into you, Jeremy. I shall be by for you and the ladies at seven, if that suits all.”

  With a distracted wave, he left me at the door.

  My interview with Sir John, though it had a somewhat disappointing conclusion, went rather better for me than I had expected. He cared little that I had come back late from delivering the two letters, and only slightly more that I was tardy in reporting to him the events at the King’s Pleasure the night before.

  With a severe look, he said to me: “You should know better, Jeremy. If ever this situation or another like it should arise, you must tell me at your earliest opportunity.”

  I hung my head appropriately enough and vowed that I should always do so in the future.

  But then did he lean forward eagerly. “But go on,” said he. “You’ve obviously got more to tell.”

  And indeed I did. I told him all. From Mrs. Stevenson’s invitation to come into the sitting room to meet Benjamin Franklin, to my wild pursuit of Arthur Lee along the Strand, into a hackney and on to Bear Key Stairs. I concluded with what the old waterman had told me.

  “I asked him if Lee were a passenger come late to board the ship for Boston,” said I to Sir John. “The old codger told me, no, Lee simply had a small package that had to be delivered to Boston as quick as ever could be. So all that need be done is to prevent the Roje of Sharon from departing, go through the mail they carry, and pull from it the package containing the packet of letters.”

  Evidently, Sir John thought little of the course of action that I suggested, for the face that he showed me as I ended my tale was a sad one — or, perhaps better put, one that expressed frustration and dismay.

  “What you suggest is not so easily done. The Royal Post is not, except in extreme cases, to be tampered with. It takes a special warrant that is to be issued by a judge at the Old Bailey. And in that warrant, the package and its contents are to be described in precise detail. Are we able to do that? No. We know not to whom the package is addressed. We know not its exact contents — for Lord Hillsborough may have lied about that, just as he did lie to us about other things. But let us say he did not. Let us say there is a packet of letters inside the package. Do we know how many? No. Do we know to whom the letters are addressed? No. Do we know who wrote them? No. Do we know, in detail or in general, what they contain? Certainly we do not. They have kept that from us right from the start. Now, Jeremy, do you see what we are up against?”

  “Yes sir, I do.” Had I then wasted the better part of a morning and an afternoon? Probably.

  “Yet perhaps,” he continued, “it is best that these difficulties are placed before us.”

  “Why do you say that. Sir John?”

  “In answer, let me tell you first of all that if I were to make application to Lord Mansfield for that warrant to halt the Rode of Sharon and dig into the Royal Post in search of that packet, I believe we would receive it from him, so eager is he to please those in the government. That’s right; knowing as little as we do of the package and its contents, he would have given us a free hand to rifle the mails, working against the very laws he is sworn to uphold. And if he were to do so, it would only be typical of the way the rest of this investigation has been carried out. This matter of Franklin is the worst. In effect, they have given me the name of him they have chosen as the culprit and told me to build a case against him. This is unheard of! It is against all rules of proper investigative procedure.”

  “But what if the name that has been given you is indeed the name of the true culprit?” I asked.

  “You mean Franklin, of course?”

  “XT’ • “

  Yes sir. “Well, I should prefer to lose Franklin than to conduct an improper investigation.”

  “Truly so?”

  “Yes, truly.”

  “So there will be no arrest, no questioning of Dr. Franklin?”

  “Not until we have more to go on.”

  “And what about Arthur Lee? Will he not be detained? Questioned? Arrested? I’m now certain I saw him in that dive in Bedford Street.”

  “On what charge should he be arrested? Consorting with one who consorts with known criminals?”

  SIX

  In which a friend

  leaves for parts

  unknown

  Next morning Sir John announced to me in his chambers that we should now turn, in our investigation, to Albert Calder. I was delighted to know that the investigation would continue, yet couldn’t, for the life of me, remember who he might be.

  “Who is Albert Calder?” I asked in all innocence.

  “So quickly forgotten is he?”

  “I fear he has been by me.”

  “Well then,” said Sir John, “just as a reminder, Albert Calder was the poor fellow stretched out upon Lord Hillsborough’s floor with the back of his head bashed in.”

  “Oh, certainly I do remember him,” said I, “but what more can he tell us? He’s dead, after all. We know how he was killed and have a good idea of why.”

  “Ah, but do we know why? There is, after all, a possibility that he did not surprise the burglars, that he was in league with them.”

  “Their man on the inside? Is that it?”

  “Why yes, let us bear in mind that Skinner and Ferguson knew exactly where to go. They went into the correct room and began ransacking the desk. They must have had an exact map, or been led there.”

  “Sir John,” said I, “it could be just as you say, but would it not be reasonable to suppose that Dr. Franklin had oft been inside the study doing business there with Lord Hillsborough?”

  “Perhaps … yes, I would call that reasonable.”

  “Then why not question Dr. Franklin in that matter?”

  “Because I have done with him for the time being. Had they not set me like some hound upon Franklin, I would have begun to find out all I could about Albert Calder. I simply look at this as resuming our investigation at the point where it was interrupted. Do I make that clear, Jeremy?”

  “Perfectly clear, Sir John.”

  “Good, because I wish you now to pursue that part of the investigation. Go to the residence of Lord Hillsborough and talk first of all to Carruthers, the butler, and then to Will Lambert, as well.”

  “Will Lambert?” I echoed. “He was the other footman, was he not? It was he who found the body in the study.”

  “Correct. And find out what they know about Albert Calder. Carruthers must have hired him, so he, no doubt, knows something. And as for Lambert, he and Calder worked together, so presumably he would have been as close to him as any. If they have any suggestions as to others on the staff you might talk with, then talk with them, too. You can attend to all of that in a morning, can’t you?”

  “Well, perhaps, why?”

  “I’d like you back here for my court session.”

  “I understand,” said I — but, of course, I did not. I simply perceived from the tone of his voice and the little he said that he wished not to be questioned further. “Good-bye then.”

  By the time I reached the door to the long hall, he had something more to add:

  “Try to find out what the footmen were guarding there. It strikes me as odd to have armed guards walking about in the night. When did it start? What was it about?”

  “As you will. Sir John.”

  As I hurried down the Strand toward Craig’s Court, I passed Craven Street, of course, and noted with interest how close was Benjamin Franklin’s residence to Lord Hillsborough’s. Could he have chosen that location so as to be nearest to the man in government with whom he dealt most frequently? They were practically near neighbors.

  Then did my mind go from Franklin to Sir John. It seemed to me that the magistrate was behaving both oddly and obstinately in this matter of Franklin. I could scarce believe my ears when he had said to me that he would rather lose Franklin as a suspect than conduct an improper investigation
. Was that not putting the form of law over its intent? Sir John was forever telling me that I must learn to think as a lawyer. I asked myself if he, in this case, was thinking as a lawyer. That usually meant — to me, at least — thinking more realistically, even perhaps cold-bloodedly. Was he now exalting principle at the expense of all else?

  Luckily, Lord Hillsborough had left for the day by the time I arrived. As for Lady Hillsborough, I never saw her once during this entire episode and later discovered she was ever in their castle in Ireland with their three children.

  Naturally, it was Carruthers, the butler, who opened to my knock, and it was to him that I talked first. He was a tall man of rather advanced years, self-contained in the manner of some who work in service to the very rich. Though he never, I’m sure, put it into words, his attitude seemed to be: “I may be a servant, nevertheless I am my own man.” I admired him for it. He recognized me and invited me in.

  “What may I do for you, young sir?”

  “Sir John has sent me here that I might ask a few more questions of you and Will Lambert, and perhaps of any others whose answers you would deem likely to be pertinent.”

  “Very well,” said he most agreeably. “Why don’t we go sit in the drawing room? It’s much more comfortable there.”

  He led me a bit down the long hall and into a room, which, though dark, was restfully so. The curtains were pulled, yet sufficient daylight sifted in round them to brighten the room a bit. A small fire burned in the fireplace, adding more light. He poked at the fire and managed to get it to burn a bit better.

  “I find that as I get older, I prefer darkened rooms.” He gestured at a chair opposite the fireplace and, as I sat down, seated himself in one near it. “I hope you don’t mind the dark.”