“That was it? That was his problem?” Sir Johns disappointment was all too evident.
“That was his problem. Oh, it manifested itself at many times in a number of different ways. But yes, fundamentally, that was his problem.”
“Only that?”
“Only that, I’m happy to say. And now, not even that, for he seems fair bursting with pride in himself.”
Sir John emitted quite the deepest of sighs; then did he rise and give a nod in my direction. “I do thank you, Reverend Talmadge,” said he. “You’ve been most generous with your time, and a perfect host, but we really must go now. I’ve many more to see today.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do — though I must confess I’m no wiser as to why you wished to talk to me than I was earlier. Is there some criminal matter involved?”
“There was, of course, that unfortunate matter of his brother.”
“Ah, yes, so I suppose you must be very sure with regard to Lawrence.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Well, you may rest assured that Lawrence is indeed who he says he is.”
“Ah, well, then. . Jeremy?’’
In a trice, I was at his side and had him facing in the direction of the door. But there he remained.
“Reverend Talmadge,” said he of a sudden, “I have a question or two more for you. When you were visited by the claimant, was he alone, or did he come in the company of another? “
“Why, he came alone.”
“Did he make an appointment prior to his visit, or was one made for him by another?”
“What need had he to make an appointment, or have one made? He was a Balliol man! All he had to do was present himself at the door.”
“And the doorkeeper would admit him?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Reverend. That will be all.”
With that, Sir John set off briskly for the door. It was all I could do to have it open for him so that he might pass through. As I caught him up, I heard him mutter, perhaps more to himself than to me: “Must talk to that doorkeeper once more.”
And talk to him he did. He approached the fellow in a manner most severe and put the matter to him: How came it about, said he to the doorkeeper, that the man claiming to be Lawrence Paltrow was admitted so readily when he has in no wise established himself before the law as the one rightfully bearing that name? “Have you some special wisdom that gives you the power to divine the truth before England’s greatest jurists have determined it?”
If I had hoped to see the doorkeeper thrown into confusion, then I was disappointed. He did not so much as blink as he responded: “No, sir, I have no such power, but what I have is the ‘domesday book’.”
“You have what?”
“We call it so. It is a list of all Balliol men from the very beginning.”
“Of time?”
“No, sir, the college’s beginning in the thirteenth century. Here, let me show you — or show your young man here.”
With that, the doorkeeper reached beneath his writing table and hauled up a thick, large, heavy book and placed it before me.
“Show him the entry for Lawrence Paltrow,” said Sir John.
The doorkeeper frowned in concentration. “Now, if I may but think what he gave as his year in the college.”
“Try 1760 and come forward from there,” I suggested.
The doorkeeper looked at me rudely and let out a grunt of affront. Nevertheless, he did as I said and found the entry for Lawrence Paltrow quickly enough.
“It is here,” said he to me. “You see it?”
I passed this on to Sir John. But then, just as the doorkeeper was about to shut the book, something there was that caught my eye. I touched his arm and stayed his hand that I might look closer. On the line on which Paltrow’s name and last known address were written, I saw that someone had inscribed what looked like an X, though it might have been a cross. I found it puzzling. None of the other entries on the page bore a similar mark.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing. “What does it mean?”
“I’ve no idea,” said he. “Never noticed it before.”
I studied his face and gave particular attention to his eyes — and yet I learned nothing. He was no easier to read at that moment than he had been earlier. I removed my hand and allowed him to clap shut the great book. He swept it off the writing table and inserted it into a shelf below. Then I touched Sir John at the elbow to indicate that I was ready to leave.
“Thank you,” said Sir John to the doorkeeper. “We shall be going now. Come along, Jeremy.”
Away we went — back to High Street, that we might find our way to All Souls College. I had passed it as well on my early morning ramble and had no difficulty putting us in the right direction. Quite naturally, we fell immediately into a discussion of what had transpired at Balliol. We were barely out the door, when Sir John demanded to know what it was had come to my attention in the so-called ‘domesday book’. I described what I had seen — the X that could have been a cross — and said Lawrence Paltrow’s entry was the only one on the page that was followed by such a symbol.
“What do you think is the significance of the mark?” asked Sir John.
“Well, if it indeed be a cross and not simply an X, then it probably means that Paltrow is known to have died.”
“And if it be an X?”
“Then I have no idea what it means.”
“And that was also what the doorkeeper said, was it not? That he had no idea what the mark meant?”
“Yes, but I believe that he was lying.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I believe he lied to protect himself. When I called his attention to the cross that followed the name, he realized that he had failed to note it when the claimant made his visit. He had passed an impostor through the door and given him the opportunity to roam free about the college.”
Sir John slowed his pace, giving consideration to what I had just advanced. After a bit of chin-rubbing and tuneless humming, he said: “Hmmm, yes, well, it could have been that way, I suppose.”
I felt somewhat stung by his halfhearted endorsement of my theory, and so I said nothing at all for some time. Yet with All Souls in sight, I realized we would soon part, and so if I had any more questions to ask, I must needs ask them now.
“Uh, sir, I was wondering …”
“Yes, Jeremy? What were you wondering?”
“I mean no rudeness, sir, but what was your purpose in interviewing Reverend Talmadge?”
“That booby? That nincompoop? He is living proof that a good education benefits some men not at all.”
“Truly so,” said I, “but why waste time talking to him?”
“Ah, but we did not know how great a fool he was until we had spent some time with him, now, did we?”
“True enough.”
“That, you see, was the point of my visit. I had heard from Lord Mansfield that he had signed an affidavit in support of the claimant. First of all, I wanted to know why he had done so. Secondly, because of his association with the university, I thought it quite likely that he would be called as a witness — should the case for the claimant ever reach Chancery Court. And if he were to be called, I wanted to know just what sort of witness he would make.”
“Having learned,” said I, “you must feel much relieved.”
In response, he gave no more than a chuckle.
“Are the rest of your appointments with others here who have signed affidavits in support of the claimant? “
“No, on the contrary. They are with others who were asked to do so — but refused.”
“And I suppose you wish to know why they refused to sign statements in his favor.”
“Indeed! And I would also know what sort of witnesses they would make.”
Before us loomed the twin towers of All Souls College. There I had agreed to depart from him. Yet I had misgivings aplenty about leaving him to his own devices in Oxford. I voiced them; he dismissed them — as follows:
“All you say is true enough,” he declared, “but what do you suppose I did when you were but a boy back in Lichfield? Why, I carried on without you — and that is what I plan to do now. People have always been good about helping me onto my next destination. The citizens of Oxford are no worse than Londoners, I’m sure. In fact, they seem to me a good deal better in the generality. Do not make the mistake of supposing that you are in some way indispensable to me insofar as traveling about from place to place. Your task this day is an important one. Find the claimant and his companion and observe them as they solicit statements. As I said last night, yours is the more difficult task — and in my view, equally important.”