“Oh, no, sir, I did not. Except for the fact that he now lies on his back instead of his belly, he is just as we found him. But about your question on how the matter was confused when it come to you, I would say it was Mr. Templeton did the confusing.”
“Mr. Templeton?”
“The night manager.’’
“Ah, yes, we met him, of course. Mr. Bailey is with him now, or may indeed have concluded his business with him. But how did it happen that the information I received was so confused?”
“Well, it was like this, “ said the porter, “Mr. Templeton is a squeamish sort, and so he had no wish to accompany us. When we d had our look inside the room, found the dead man and all, we went back down to him, all four of us, and reported that there was a dead man in Room Twelve. ‘Of what did he die?’ asks Mr. Templeton. ‘Of strangulation,’ said the old gent from the room next to it. ‘There is a rope round his neck.’ Well, all that together must have meant suicide to Mr. Templeton, for that’s how he told it to the kitchen boy he sent off to you. He probably looked into the register book and saw that Room Number Twelve was occupied by a Mr. Lawrence Paltrow, and so that was the name he sent along.” Then did the porter add to what he had said: “Some of that I heard, and some of that is pure reckoning, for I returned right off to my place up above.”
“But you knew that the dead man in Room Twelve was not Lawrence Paltrow,” said Sir John, “didn’t you?”
“Well, I knew that the dead man were not the young fellow gave me his coat and let himself into Room Twelve. Which of them was this Paltrow gent, I really don’t know.”
“Almost certainly neither one,” said Sir John.
“What’s that?”
“Never mind. You’ve been most helpful, sir, and you’ve made me regret the harsh things I said to you earlier. You may lock up this room again. A party will come here tomorrow morning to bring the body to the office of the medical examiner of the City of Westminster. You might pass that on to whoever it is relieves you. “
“I shall do that, sir.”
And having spoken, Sir John signaled to me that we might now leave.
“There was one more matter which I thought you should know, “ said the porter.
“Oh? And what is that?”
“The coat given me for a brushing by that — how was the name? — Mr. Paltrow.”
“And what about it?”
“It was gone when I come back from making the report to Mr. Templeton.”
“Was it hung in plain sight?”
“Well, you could see it, but it wasn’t easy to get to.”
“Do you believe it was stolen?”
“No, sir, I believe the owner of the coat come back for it whilst I and the rest were in his room, or p’rhaps downstairs talking with Mr. Templeton.”
Sir John rubbed his chin. It was evident that this opened possibilities which he had not considered. “Could he yet be here in this hostelry? Are there places he might sequester himself?”
“Oh, many,” said the porter.
“Then as soon as you have done in here, lock the room up once again and return to your post, and I shall send a constable to you. Together with him, you must visit all the places Paltrow might hide, so that we may be absolutely certain that he is not here still. Will you do that?”
“You may count upon me.”
With that, Sir John surprised him by offering his hand. The porter took it after a moments hesitation and gave it a firm shake. We two departed then and made swiftly for the stairs.
Mr. Templeton, now situated behind the desk, seemed more composed than earlier. He held himself in tight control as Sir John corrected him on the identity of the dead man in Room 12, and went so far as to apologize for the confusion he had caused.
“You see, sir, this sort of trouble is simply unknown to us here at the Globe and Anchor. We’ve had no crime at all in this hostelry.”
“Not even theft?”
“Not during my five years here — and certainly nothing like murder.”
“Then, sir, you have indeed been fortunate. But let me ask you, what has happened to the constable who entered with me? Is he — ”
“Is he still here?” asked Mr. Templeton, anticipating and interrupting. “Indeed he is. I admitted him to the room of — well, the late Mr. Bolton, which he proceeded to search. Ah, but look” — he pointed — “here he comes now.”
I turned to look, and it was so. For one so large, Mr. Bailey moved with easy grace. His descent of the stairs was accomplished two or three at a time in a kind of loose, dancing style which brought him swiftly to us; he ended the dance before Sir John with a quick step and a bold salute. Ever the soldier.
“What have you to report, Mr. Bailey?” asked Sir John.
“Little that’s good, sir,” said he. “It seems that this fellow Elijah Bolton is ready to leave here at his earliest opportunity. I found his portmanteau packed and his greatcoat upon the bed.”
“I fear he has already left us. He lies dead upstairs in Room Twelve, the victim of one whom he failed to surprise.” Sir John went on to tell Mr. Bailey all we had learned from our trip upstairs, giving particular emphasis to the possibility that the claimant might yet be hiding somewhere within the Globe and Anchor.
“Here?” burst forth Mr. Templeton at that point. “But that. . that is terrible indeed.”
“Indeed it is,” said Sir John. “Nevertheless, it is a possibility. Therefore, Mr. Bailey, I appoint you to go once more upstairs to the porter, Mr. Simmons, who will show you about the hostelry, that you might investigate together all the potential hiding places. Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Templeton?”
“Oh, yes, sir, of course it does.”
“And are you armed, Mr. Bailey? “
“As you required, sir — a cutlass and a brace of pistols.”
“Then, proceed. Jeremy and I shall return to Bow Street. We shall keep space in the strong room for the claimant in the expectation that you will bring him in to us.”
“That would be my pleasure, sir.”
“It would also be mine.” Then did Sir John turn to me. “Jeremy, let us be off.”
And indeed we set forth together — out the door, then left up the Strand. Yet we had proceeded only a few steps in that direction, when before me there appeared a familiar figure quite unexpectedly out of a sudden fog. It was no less than Sir Patrick Spenser, Solicitor-General for the King, who had quite mysteriously disappeared when the claimant, shamed by his putative tutor, Mr. Inskip, ran from the residence of the Lord Chief Justice. I whispered hurriedly to Sir John the identity of him who approached.
When we were but a few feet away, Sir Patrick halted and, smiling broadly, greeted Sir John as one who had just come upon an old friend quite unexpectedly.
“Why, this is a pleasure I had not anticipated,” said he. “What brings you to this end of the Strand, Sir John?”
“Ah, Sir Patrick, is it? What a surprise. You ask what brings me here, but it is no more than my usual round of business. But you, sir, you confused us all by your sudden departure from Lord Mansfield’s residence. I hope it was no cause for alarm or distress that sent you forth.”
“Ah, no, I, like you, had attended to gain some personal impression of the claimant. Having seen him reduced to stuttering foolishness, I had no need to see more. And so, when he left, blubbering like a child, I left also, for I had more pressing matters to attend to. Did I miss something of importance?”
“Oh, I daresay you did not. We discussed the interview that had taken place — that sort of thing — rather longer than was necessary, or so it seemed to me.”
“The usual, eh? I’m happy to have been spared it. Ah, but tell me, did I not hear that it was your idea to bring that man Inskip down from Oxford?”