“Then he expects you to hang Mobley and thereby rid him of any threat of exposure.”
“Oh, yes, and all this was prefatory to his request at the end of our interview that I give to him this fellow Mobley’s statement.”
“And what was your reply? “
“I told him I could not possibly do that, for it was material to the trial.”
“Precisely what I told him. What was his response to that?”
“It was more in the nature of a reaction than a true response. Of a sudden he went tight-lipped and cold and said something like ‘Very well, then. I shall have no more to say.’”
“That is rather more sinister than a threat, don’t you think?”
“From him, yes,” said Lord Mansfield. “See here, we must make a plan. Is that lad of yours about?” He turned and looked round the room. “Yes, there he is behind me in the corner. Send him out of here, if you will, Sir John. What we shall be doing will no doubt bend, if not actually break, a few of the rules, and I prefer to have no witnesses to it.”
“As you say, Lord Mansfield,” Sir John agreed. “Do please depart, Jeremy,” said he to me, “and while you are about it, tell Mr. Fuller to bring Mr. Mobley from the strong room to us here.”
“Good God, what have you in mind?” asked Lord Mansfield.
“Something that will require the cooperation of the accused.”
A most singular event occurred that night whilst I slept. Well past midnight it was when Mr. Baker was surprised by the entrance of a corporal and two private soldiers from a Guards Regiment stationed at the Tower. They were in full uniform, armed with muskets, and had the sort of serious faces that allowed no possibility of levity. Mr. Baker was quite alone, and it was probably a good thing, too. Had there been a prisoner in the strong room, who knows what his fate might have been?
They had come, the corporal informed Mr. Baker, to convey a prisoner from the Bow Street Court to Newgate. He had an order for Mr. Baker to examine, should he wish to do so.
“It would do little good for me to look at it,” said Mr. Baker, “for as you can see, there is no one here with me.”
Nevertheless, the corporal took from his pocket the order he had mentioned and from it read to Mr. Baker: “Percival Mobley is the name of the prisoner, also known as Lawrence Paltrow. “ He looked up from the slip of paper and fixed the night gaoler with cold blue eyes. “Where is he?”
“Why, I haven’t the foggiest notion. He was here last night, right enough. I had a long talk with the fellow. But when I came on duty this evening, he was gone.”
“Gone, was he? Well, we was warned there might be some trouble finding him here, so with your permission or without it, we’ll do a search of this place. Private Pringle, Private Lockert, open all the doors and use your lantern in all the corners. I’ll talk a bit more to this gent here.”
As the two private soldiers went off to do as ordered, the corporal took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Where do you think he is?”
“Where I think he is don’t matter much,” said Mr. Baker, “for I don’t know where he is. I will say this, howsomever. The last few years Sir John hasn’t sent many to Newgate. He uses the Fleet, even though it’s mostly a debtor’s prison.”
By this time, Pringle and Lockert had disappeared into the magistrate’s chambers, dark and empty at this hour.
“What was behind that other door when we come in?” The corporal, as later described by Mr. Baker, had a rather insistent manner. It was as though he misunderstood or chose to ignore most of what was said to him.
“That would be the courtroom, magistrate’s court. It’s dark now, nothing going on this time of night.”
“And those stairs? Where do they lead to?”
“Better forget about them. They lead to the residence of Sir John Fielding, Master of the Bow Street Court and Magistrate of the City of London and the City of Westminster. He is a fine gentleman, except when he is angry, and if your men was to rout him and his household out of bed, he would be very angry.”
The corporal blinked. His resolve seemed considerably less than a moment before. Perhaps he had heard tell stories of Sir John excited to righteous anger. Or, more likely, he had glimpsed the new arrivals. For at that moment came Mr. Bailey and Mr. Perkins through the Bow Street door. They sensed most immediate that something was amiss. Both had pistols by their sides, and they drew them from their holsters. Mr. Bailey asked Mr. Baker what seemed to be the trouble.
“Why, no trouble at all, Constable,” said Mr. Baker. “This corporal from the Tower and two of his men” — pointing down to the room at the end of the hall — “come by to assist in transporting a prisoner to Newgate, not knowing the prisoner was no longer here. They was just leaving. Isn’t that so, Corporal?’’
“That’s as is,” said the corporal, then called loud to the rest of his party: “Pringle! Lockert! We’re ready to go!”
And in less than a minute they indeed were gone. The three constables watched them leave, frowning until they were out of sight. Then did Mr. Perkins speak up.
“Gents,” said he, “we just won the Battle of Bow Street.”
“And not a shot fired,” said Mr. Baker.
All three did laugh then most merrily.
I had last seen Percival Mobley leaving Number 4 Bow Street under Mr. Fuller’s guard and in the company of Lord Mansfield. He was to be taken by them in the coach and four to a secret destination, one that was judged by Sir John to be safer than the strong room of the Bow Street Court. And so Mr. Baker told the corporal the exact truth when questioned by him; what he did not tell him, however, was that he had been forewarned by Sir John that he might expect such a visit during the night. Constables Bailey and Perkins had also been urged to look in from time to time on Mr. Baker, that they might be certain all went well for him.
When next I saw Mr. Mobley, he stood in the dock at the Old Bailey, defending himself against the charge of homicide. (I learned later that he had spent the night in one of the holding cells beneath the courthouse.) Directly he had concluded his business in Bow Street, Sir John had invited me to accompany him to the trial of Percival Mobley. Though I had no notion of what he, Lord Mansfield, and Mr. Mobley had planned during those hours of the afternoon — or indeed perhaps because I had no notion — I accepted his invitation eagerly, thinking perhaps I might even learn in the course of our short journey what I might expect during the trial. In that last I was quite disappointed, for he never breathed a word about what lay ahead; nevertheless, I should not have missed the experience of this trial for the world. Ultimately, it was one of the most instructive of my legal education.
As we arrived, Sir John was taken from me by a bailiff who conducted him through closed doors and thus out of sight. I sought a place in the section given to accommodate the public. There were not so many there, for the trial had been put on the docket at the last minute. Yet the gentlemen of the press were there in greater number than before. I recognized in the seats ahead of mine the three journalists who were at the Bow Street Court, and I saw that they had been joined by others of their kind. They were distinguished by their loud conversation and foolish laughter; I suspected that a few of them were drunk. Still, when the process began, all fell silent and began scribbling notes.
I was not entirely surprised when, just before the Lord Chief Justice made his entrance, Archibald Talley appeared, burbling at the pleasure of seeing me once again.
“I’ve missed you,” said he. “Where’ve you been?”
“Away,” said I, “out of the city — in Bath and Oxford.”
“Bath, is it? What had you — ”
Then came the command to rise and face Lord Mansfield as he took his place. Was it my imagination, or did he show a bit of spring in his step? I made room, and young Mr. Talley settled in beside me. Then: “Bring forth the prisoner!” Out came Mr. Mobley, clean-shaven and well kempt. He was an impressive figure. As he took his place in the dock, he commanded the attention of the jury in a way that I had not seen before during the trials I had witnessed at Old Bailey.