“You may sit down, Mr. Perkins. Constable Trotter, will you come forward, please?”
The constable did as his chief bade him to do; he took his place before him, his feet well planted, his hat tucked under his arm.
“Will you give me your account of it from the time you came upon the scene?”
“Yes sir.” He cleared his throat and began his tale. In truth, he had not much to tell, for by the time he had come along, the three troublemakers from the Turk’s Head were all down upon the pavement, moaning in pain or senselessly silent. In fact, Constable Trotter might have taken Mr. Perkins to be one of the crowd of onlookers who had gathered outside the Turk’s Head, except that when one of the trio shifted and attempted to rise, ”the one-armed man” (as the constable described him) stepped forward and delivered him a swift kick in the backside. Having seen this, he seized Mr. Perkins by the shoulder and, his club at the ready, asked him if he were the party responsible for this.
Now to quote Constable Trotter: ”He cheerfully responded that he was, and that he’d been keeping them quiet, just waiting for me to come along. He also offered diverse weapons which, he said, he had taken from them: knives, iron knuckles, and suchlike. These I’ve shown you, and you have before you now.”
“And so he gave you no trouble?” asked Mr. Sarton.
“Oh no, sir, none at all—quite the opposite. He got them on their feet so’s I could put the hand-irons on them. I only had two sets with me, so I cuffed them each-to-each, and told him to come along, too. And he did—without so much as a word in argument.”
As it developed, all were marched off to the Good King George, which served the magistrate as a gaol, when needed. I later learned that the inn had been put to this use since the old gaol had burned down near a year before. The town fathers had not yet found money to build another. The three from the Turk’s Head were locked up in a single room; since Mr. Perkins was already a registered guest, he simply retired to his assigned room and slept the night in the bed he’d grown used to. And here he was now before the magistrate, about to be judged along with his victims.
Mr. Sarton dismissed the constable and instructed all four to come before him, which they did. ”Now,” said he, ”as to the charges against you three, by your own admission you were drunk—nor should I wonder at that, for after all, two days of continuous drinking will indeed produce such a result! And so I fine you ten shillings each on that charge. As for brawling, certainly you are guilty of it. Nonetheless, you suffered so by your wrongdoing that it would be excessive to fine you in addition to what you have already paid in bruises and bumps. So if you will step over and pay the court clerk to the amount of ten shillings each, you may then leave.”
The three exchanged glances. Clearly, they were pleased by what they had heard. They hastened to the clerk, and each made a separate pile of coins before him. By the time I might have counted to a hundred, they were gone.
“Now, Mr. Perkins, if you will step forward, let us discuss your case. I am here in rather an awkward position. I tend to believe your story in its details and not the one told by Mr. Samson Strong. You see, my usual method is to listen to both sides and make a reckoning somewhere between the two. I have never supposed that when two stories were told me which covered the same events that one was completely true and the other completely without truth—that is, until now. I tend to accept your version of it absolutely—and that for a couple of reasons. First of all, I know those men are capable of just what you describe. I have heard it said often that they were in the owling trade, as they told you. And drunkards they may be, but they are dangerous men, and you had best keep an eye out the back of your head for them, for at your back is where the next attack will come.” At that point he paused.
“Yes sir,” said Mr. Perkins. ”I’ll do that, sir.”
“And secondly, I tend to accept what you tell me because it is you doing the telling.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“Simple enough. I consider myself a fair judge of character, and yours impresses me. I should be very surprised if I were to find that you had lied to me in the details, as you call them—and disappointed, too. In short, I like the way you conduct yourself. And so, Mr. Perkins, I dismiss the charges against you. You gave me your word that you were not drunk when you entered the Turk’s Head, and I accept your word on that. And as for the charge of brawling, what you told me—and what I heard from Constable Trotter—convinces me that you were defending yourself against an unprovoked attack. And so, sir, you are free to go. But before you do, I wonder if you would mind stepping closer that we might discuss a confidential matter.”
Mr. Perkins hesitated, perhaps as puzzled by the request as I was, but then he came forward and leaned across the table. What passed between them then came to us only as unintelligible murmurings. Their conference did not last long—a minute or two at most—and when it concluded, Mr. Perkins came erect once more and bobbed his head in a little bow, which was for him quite unusual. He turned round then and started for the door, but as he passed near to us, he rolled his eyes, indicating (to me at least) that he had just been given a great surprise.
I leaned to my left and whispered this into Sir John’s ear. He, in turn, gave a rub to his chin, and whispered to me, ”Catch him up and tell him to wait until I arrive. Then come and fetch me.”
I scrambled past Sir John and Clarissa and to the door—then into the hall and out the door to the street. I need not have hurried so, for I found Mr. Perkins just beyond the door.
“Ah, Jeremy lad, have I something to tell you!”
“And I want to hear it, but so does Sir John. Wait for us.” He nodded his assent and moved out of sight of the windows.
“We’ll be back soon as ever we can,” said I to him.
Re-entering, I found Sir John in conversation with Mr. Sarton. Clarissa stood close beside them. I perceived after a moment that Clarissa was about to be interrogated by Mr. Sarton regarding her discovery of the as-yet-unnamed corpus. Sir John was taking his leave, promising to return within the half of an hour.
“Jeremy has promised to take me for a walk,” said he, ”that I might smell the sea air. Nothing clears a man’s head like the smell of the sea. Don’t you find it so, Mr. Sarton?”
“In half of an hour then, sir. Our guest should be coming along at about that time.”
I wondered at that, but so eager was I to learn Mr. Perkins’s secret that I did not trouble Sir John once we were outside. Having spied our friend at the end of Middle Street, where he had withdrawn, we hastened to him. Yet I noticed that Sir John was having a bit of difficulty keeping up the pace he himself had set.
“Is your hip troubling you, sir?” I asked him.
“A bit, but that is my affair, Jeremy. I’ll not have you nagging at me like Lady Kate.”
“As you say, sir.”
We met Mr. Perkins at a point halfway to the corner of the street. He was as eager to tell Sir John as he had been only minutes before to tell me.
“I’ve no intention of guessing, Mr. Perkins, for you will surely tell me.”
“He offered me a job.”
“He what?”
“Mr. Sarton offered me a place as constable here in Deal.”
“Well,” said Sir John, ”what did you say? Did you accept?”
“I said I would have to think about it. He said that he understood that, right enough, and if I wished to talk about it, he would be available from nine o’clock on. I told him again I’d think about it.”
“Why did you say that? What did you mean?”
“I had no way of knowing what you would want me to do.”
Sir John’s forehead wrinkled in a frown as he considered the matter for a moment. ”In all truth, I do not understand you, Mr. Perkins. You are one of the best, if not the best, of all my constables. I would say as much to any who asked me. Yet I can certainly understand that you might wish to return to these parts since you grew up here. I would in no wise hinder
you in that.”
“But that an’t it, sir. That an’t it at all. When I said I didn’t know what you’d want me to do, I meant I didn’t know how it would fit into your plans. After all, you sent me out to gather some information on the owling trade hereabouts. I thought you might want me to keep on finding out what I could, or if not, maybe you’d like me to start acting as your bodyguard, as was originally discussed by us.”
“I must admit,” said Sir John, ”that things have changed a bit.”
“In what way?”
“Well, in a number of ways. Much has happened since you met with Jeremy yesterday noon. What say, lad?” said Sir John to me. ”Shall we bring Mr. Perkins to date?”
Together we tried. Sir John provided the framework, and I filled in the details. We told first of the examination of the body by Mr. Sarton, and of the clever deduction he had put forth regarding the chalk, which proved, to our satisfaction, that the body had been moved from some other place. Then did I provide Clarissa’s tale of the original discovery of the body near the entrance to the chalk mine.
“Ah,” said Mr. Perkins, ”I’d like to see what’s in that mine.”
“So would we,” said I.
“Most curious of all,” said Sir John, ”it seems that they locked Clarissa in her room. I can only suppose that it was done to keep her away from Mr. Sarton after they had moved the body from where she had found it. They do seem to be trying to keep that chalk mine a secret.”
“But of course at this very moment,” said I, ”Clarissa is telling all she knows to Mr. Sarton—and much of what she suspects, as well.”
“It is all quite puzzling,” said Sir John.
“Well, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, it an’t just puzzling; it sounds to me like it’s gettin’ downright dangerous for you people there in the big house. I think you could use a bodyguard, Sir John. I don’t think that I’ve been all that successful as a spy, anyway.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Still, it is possible you would be even more useful to Mr. Sarton. You see, we’re planning a little something on the order of the enterprises we’ve undertaken in London.”
“The Bow Street Runners?”
“Exactly. Yet the Runners number over a dozen and Mr. Sarton has but two constables at his command. Even if Mr. Sarton himself participates, the enemy will still outnumber us. I may be forced to volunteer Jeremy for service, though I have not yet spoken to him of it.”
(Indeed he had not, reader. I quickened at the notion of participating in such a venture.)
Mr. Perkins nodded and took a moment to reflect upon what he had just heard. ”On whose information have you planned it?” he asked.
“Mr. Sarton has a source in whom he puts great trust. I have not yet met the fellow, but I shall later on today.”
“And you feel that he needs me for this?”
“Yes, I do. He is a very young man and needs the sort of guidance you can give him. You may tell him … oh, that you would like to try it out for a period of time. That might work, eh?”
“Well, it might, but I hate lying to the fellow—him having such a high opinion of me and all.”
“I can understand that, but I shall make it right with him. I must eventually explain all to him.”
“All right, sir,” said Mr. Perkins, who clearly had yet some misgivings, ”since it’s what you wish, I’m for it. I’ll drop by his place later today and tell him I’ve decided to accept his offer.”
“Perhaps you’d best make that tomorrow morning. I intend to keep him busy the rest of the day.”
As they had talked on so intently, I had guided Sir John in the direction of the sea. It was not long till we were walking along Beach Street, braced by a good, stiff breeze from off the Channel. When we reached Broad Street, I thought perhaps we had gone far enough. Sir John wished to be gone but a half of an hour. A resolution had been reached in their discussion. It was time now to part company with Mr. Perkins and return to Number 18 Middle Street. I halted Sir John.
“Time to go back?”
“Just so, sir.”
We took our leave of the constable and walked back the way we had come. For the most part, Sir John was silent the entire length of our journey. I can recall but one remark made by him.
“You know, Jeremy,” said he, ”all those grand things said by Mr. Sarton about Constable Perkins?”
“Yes, Sir John?”
“They were all quite true.”
Upon our return to the magistrate’s court and place of residence, I gave three or four sound thumps upon the door with the knocker, and then did we wait. I had noted the door was never opened unless Mr. or Mrs. Sarton was quite sure who it was stood on the outside. Yet they could not know every visitor who knocked. What about those who wished to attend his court sessions? What about witnesses? But I saw what I had not before noticed: just above the knocker, which like so many was cast in the form of a hand, was a spy hole which blended so well into the wood of the door that it was near invisible.
As all this did pass through my mind, my ears told me that there approached from the far back of the house a determined and steady beat of footsteps down the long hall. Then the footsteps halted, and a challenge came from beyond the door.
“Who is out there, please?” The voice was that of Mrs. Sarton.
“It is John Fielding, and with him is his assistant, Jeremy.”
The door came open, and there she stood, a broad smile upon her face. Though her hands were dusty with flour, and a stray lock of her red hair dangled down over one eye, she was not near in the state she was when we interrupted her the day before.
“Do come in,” said she. ”I’ve just made the acquaintance of your lovely daughter, Clarissa, as fine and intelligent a girl as I’ve ever met.”
As we stepped inside, Sir John sought to correct her: ”Well, madame, I quite agree with you that she is lovely, fine, and intelligent. Clarissa is, however, not my daughter.”
“Truly not?” said she. ”And I even thought that she looked a bit like you! And are you going to tell me that this fine lad is also not of your blood?”
“Alas no, and Lady Fielding and I are the poorer for it. Clarissa and Jeremy are the family we have—and they do quite nicely for us. We could not want for better.”
“Come back to the kitchen and see. I’ve got her mixing dough for the dainties for this evening’s dinner.” She led the way down the long hall.
“Ah,” said Sir John, ”I can hardly wait.”
She-turned back to me. ”You, young man, you’ll be taking her for a walk round Deal, or so I heard from her. Be sure to take her out the pier, and show her the castle. You’ve not been to Deal unless you’ve seen the castle.”
“Oh, I’ve seen it.”
“Well, she hasn’t. And when you’ve done seeing the sights, you might take her to the tearoom in High Street, just at Broad.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She’d planned a complete itinerary for us, had she not? I would gladly remain, so that I might be privy to the plan Sir John was hatching with Mr. Sarton and his unnamed informant.
“There’s a widow lady who runs it,” she continued, ”a Mrs. Keen. Just tell her Molly sent you, and she’ll treat you right—if she knows what’s good for her!”
She had a somewhat rowdy manner but was altogether direct and quite good-natured. I liked her—as evidently Clarissa did also. I had not seen Miss Roundtree smile so brightly since we went out a-walking that day in Bath. It was evident that Mr. Sarton had not made her interrogation a difficult ordeal.
She greeted us most happily and ran off to wash the dough and. flour from her hands.
“Has she been with you long here in the kitchen?” Sir John asked.
“About the quarter part of an hour,” Mrs. Sarton responded.
“Then the mysterious visitor should be coming along soon.”
“That I wouldn’t know, sir. I do the cookin’ and the cleanin’ and leave the magistratin’ to him.” She cocked her hea
d then in an attitude of listening. ”But unless I’m mistaken, I hear Berty moving round where he keeps his papers upstairs. He went up to find something for you, sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he should be down soon.”
Clarissa came back, wiping her hands upon a towel, announcing that she was ready to be taken for a tour of the town. Well, as her guide, I took my leave of Sir John, and in company with Clarissa, allowed myself to be taken back down the hall to the door by which we had entered. Mrs. Sarton insisted on letting us out that she might again turn the locks from the inside.
As we departed the house, she waved us an enthusiastic goodbye. ”The town’s got itself a bad name from all the smuggling done here. But there’s much pleasure to be had in Deal. Enjoy yourselves, both of you.”
Then did she shut the door behind us, turn the key, and throw the bolt.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” said Clarissa to me.
“Why yes, I suppose she is,” said I. ”You certainly seem to have come to know her well in a very short time.”
“That’s the sort of person she is. I feel as if I had known her all my life.”
“Hmmm, well, I see.”
“Why, oh why, must you be so … so … tepid?” said she in utter exasperation.
And I? Well, I shrugged in answer, indicating, I suppose, that I did not know why, nor did I think it a matter of great import that I did not know. We had reached an impasse of sorts, one which had far more to do with the differences in our personalities than with anything of a material nature. It was often so with us.
We had walked but a short distance and were near to the corner of King Street. A man who looked quite familiar came round the corner. I studied his face as I tried to decide where it was I had seen it before. Then, of a sudden, I knew: he was Dick Dickens, to whom I had been introduced by Mr. Perkins; Dick Dickens, the smuggler turned customs officer. He passed us with no more than a wise nod. I, not knowing how else to respond, nodded back to him. What was he doing here? To me, it seemed quite evident that he was on his way to a meeting with Albert Sarton and Sir John Fielding. Dickens, it was, who had become the source of information about the owling trade. Could he be trusted? Though I had my doubts, Mr. Perkins seemed to take him as he presented himself. Well, I had in a sense been invited to stay away from their meeting with him. Let them do without me and my misgivings, thought I.
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