Gillian Budge stood in the half-open doorway- leaning on a mop, with a bandana looped about her sandy curls.Her green eyes were flashing. “What do you want, Cobb? It’stwo hours before we – ”
“You ain’t forgot about last night already,have ya?” he said.
She adjusted the scowl on her facesufficiently to say, “Oh, that. You haven’t caught the culprit,then?”
“I need to ask ya some questions about whathappened, that’s all.” He regretted the somewhat pleading tone inhis voice, but Gillian Budge had that effect on people.
“Alright, if you must. C’mon inside, if youcan make your way through the rubbish and spit.”
Cobb followed her in. The taproom was coldand dark, lit only by two candles in sconces over the bar and beamsof sunlight slanting in through the front windows at a sharp angle.The tables and chairs were all askew, several of the latter tippedover, one of them broken beyond repair.
“A typical soirée at The Sailor’sArms,” Gillian said, and almost smiled.
“I thought I’d find Nestor here. He told mehe comes in to help clean up on Thursday mornin’s.”
“He hasn’t showed,” she said, revisiting thescowl. “I waited as long as I could, then I started in on this messmyself.” She gave the mop a push and it skidded along the slatefloor until it struck a pail beside the main stairs.
“You got a husband, ain’t ya?”
She seemed amused by this remark, and gaveCobb a rare view of the ironic glint in her very attractive greeneyes. Then she frowned and snorted, “That’s what the preachercalled him when I was foolish enough to say ‘I will.’ But he’s nothere, as usual when there’s elbow grease required.”
“Off to town, is he?”
“On a mission of mercy,” she said withscathing sarcasm. “Our barmaid Etta took sick last night – thethird time in a week – and he’s gone to the Market to see if he canfind some girl who’d rather have her bottom pinched in here thanspend a cold day fondling pumpkin-squash.”
“You think Etta’s gonna quit?”
“The last one just left here one night lastsummer and didn’t show up the next day. No goodbyes, no regrets, Iguess. But we’ve got to have help in here. Business is brisk untilthe freeze-up on the lakes. We can use two girls if it comes tothat.”
“When’re you expectin’ him back?”
“By opening time – at one.”
“Tell him I’ll be seein’ him about then.”
“I thought it was Nestor or me you wanted toquestion?”
“It is.”
“Well, let’s sit down, then.”
They found an upright table and sat down onopposite sides. Gillian Budge was certainly a handsome woman ofsome forty years, Cobb thought. She had the figure of a debutanteto complement her fair hair and rosy, freckled complexion. But fewpeople envied Tobias, her husband, for she had a wicked tongue andwas fearless in deploying it.
“You were in the upstairs room aboutnine-thirty last night?”
“Yes. The fat Englishman with the flabbyfingers ordered me to arrive at his side with a tray of glasses anda bottle of fancy wine at precisely nine-twenty-five.”
“They were windin’ up their confab?”
“Right. Five of them were seated around thelong table at the west end.”
“Only five?” Cobb thought it best not todetail the circumstances that had brought him into that crowdedplayroom last week.
“The other three went home after their foodand cigars – about half past eight.”
“Did you see any of the five leave – afternine-thirty?”
“I did. After bringing them their nightcapdrinks – they wanted to toast something or other, I think – ”
“Bein’ rich an’ idle-izin’,” Cobbprompted.
His quip drew a guarded smile from Gillian.“You’d think Shakespeare was God Almighty, wouldn’t you?”
“Who left first, then?”
“I was over at the lounge area cleaning upthe earlier mess – Etta’s job normally – and I noticed Mr.Langford, a real young gentleman, nod to the others and head forthe cloakroom like he was in a hurry.”
“He didn’t stay to take a toast with theothers?”
“No. The rest of them clinked glasses andseemed very jolly. This clinking went on for about ten minutes orso, but I could see that the meeting was about to break up. I washappy about that because I was really needed downstairs. Nestor washelping with the bar – and breaking more glasses than hefilled.”
“Sounds like Nestor. So, did you stay upthere long enough to see anybody else leave?”
“I did. Mr. Dutton, that fuddy-duddy oldlawyer, got up, took his papers with him and went into thecloakroom. I heard him stumble on the stairs going down.”
“They usually went out the back way?”
“Yes. They preferred the ordinary alley atthe side to the excitement of the bar.” She eyed him closely to seeif he picked up on the irony in her remark.
“Hobble-son’s choice fer a gentleman,”Cobb said, deliberately distorting Mr. Hobson’s famous name. “Sothis would be about a quarter to ten, then?”
“Roughly, yes.”
“Who went next?”
“Mr. Fullarton, the banker, and Mr. Crenshaw,the trumped-up candle-maker, went and sat next to Sir Peregrine andhuddled over some leaflets they all had. They were muttering and hewas scratching at their papers with a pencil.”
“What then?”
“Mr. Fullarton got up and went into thecloakroom.”
“How long would this be after Duttonleft?”
She paused to reflect, drawing the lids downover her pretty eyes. “Couldn’t have been more than three or fourminutes.”
“I see. That would make it about ten minutesto ten?”
“I can’t be absolutely sure, of course. Atthat point I went downstairs.”
“Leavin’ Sir Shuttlecock an’ Crenshaw stillat the table?”
“As I was going downstairs I heard footstepsheading for the cloakroom.”
“I see. Probably that was Crenshaw, eh?”
“Most likely. The Englishman was always thelast to leave. He had to fuss with his papers and such. I usuallygo back up about a quarter past ten to bar the doors, but it waslater last night because you arrived a few minutes before that -and the real fuss began.”
Cobb was excited. If Brodie’s account wereaccurate, any one of these Shakespeareans could have observedBrodie’s encounter in the alley through the window in the rearwall. Brodie estimated that his circling-back manoeuvre and hiswait in the shadows had taken at least fifteen minutes. Which meantthat he and Duggan had confronted one another betweennine-forty-five and nine-fifty. If one of them noticed Brodiestrike Duggan once and scamper northward up the alley – without hiswalking-stick – then the lad was home-free. The news of Brodie’sdetention would soon be abroad, but Cobb knew enough aboutgentlemen to suspect that if one of them did observe a scuffle in adisreputable alley, he would pass by on the other side, andcertainly would not dash to the police to entangle himself in thesordid affairs of the common folk. Perhaps, to be fair, Brodie hadnot been recognized, and a fracas in that alley at that hour of theevening would not be exceptional. Still, willing or not, these fourgentlemen would have to be closely interrogated about thosecritical fifteen minutes.
“Is there anything else?” Gillian said with anice ambiguity into Cobb’s reverie.
“Ah, yes. Do you know anythin’ at all aboutthis Albert Duggan?”
“I’ve already told you I didn’t know hisname, but I did recognize him last night in the alley.”
“He come in here often to drink, did he?”
“Three or four times. But why don’t you getright to the point: you want to hear about Tobias throwing him outlast week, don’t you?”
Cobb flinched, but managed to say hopefully,“A troublemaker, then? Quick with his fists?”
“Not up to then. More the sly, slinking type,I’d say. Anyways, he said something crude to Etta last Wednesday,and she nearly fainted. So Tobias, who likes to play the he-manwhen he can, picked him up and tossed him out.”