'Has its consolations, Captain,' Berrigan said carelessly, glancing at Sally.
'Riots, rick burning,' Sandman said. 'It never used to be like this! The damned French let anarchy into the world.'
Berrigan smiled. 'Things used to be better in the old days, eh? Nothing but cricket and cream?'
'When we weren't fighting the Frogs? Yes, it did seem like that.'
'No, Captain,' the Sergeant shook his head, 'you just had money then. Everything's easier when you've got cash.'
'Amen to that,' Sally said fervently, then turned as the door opened and Witherspoon ushered in the Home Secretary.
Viscount Sidmouth was wearing a patterned silk dressing gown over his shirt and trousers. He was newly shaven and his white skin had a sheen as though it had been stretched and polished. His eyes, as ever, were cold and disapproving. 'It seems, Captain Sandman,' he said acidly, 'that you choose to inconvenience us?'
'I choose nothing of the sort, my lord,' Sandman said belligerently.
Sidmouth frowned at the tone, then looked at Berrigan and the two women. The sound of crockery being cleared came from deeper in the house and made Sandman realise how hungry he was. 'So,' the Home Secretary said with distaste in his voice, 'who do you bring me?'
'My associates, Sergeant Berrigan and Miss Hood…'
'Associates?' Sidmouth was amused.
'I must acknowledge their assistance, my lord, as no doubt Her Majesty will when she learns the outcome of our enquiries.'
That not so subtle hint made the Home Secretary grimace. He looked at Meg and almost recoiled from the force of her small eyes and the sight of her mangled teeth and pocked skin. 'And you, madam?' he asked coldly.
'Miss Margaret Hargood,' Sandman introduced her, 'who was a maid to the Countess of Avebury and was present in the Countess's bedroom on the day of her murder. She personally escorted Charles Corday from the bedroom before the murder, she saw him out of the house and can testify he did not return. In short, my lord, she can witness that Corday is innocent.' Sandman spoke with a deal of pride and satisfaction. He was tired, he was hungry, his ankle hurt and his boots and clothes showed the effects of walking from Kent to London, but by God he had discovered the truth.
Sidmouth's lips, already thin, compressed into a bloodless line as he looked at Meg. 'Is it true, woman?'
Meg drew herself up. She was not in the least awed by his lordship, but instead looked him up and down, then sniffed. 'I don't know nothing,' she said.
'I beg your pardon?' The Home Secretary blanched at the insolence in her voice.
'He comes and kidnaps me!' Meg shrieked, pointing at Sandman. 'Which he got no bleeding right to do! Takes me away from my chooks. He can fake away off where he came from, and what do I care who killed her? Or who dies for her?'
'Meg,' Sandman tried to plead with her.
'Get your bleeding paws off me!'
'Dear God,' Viscount Sidmouth said in a pained voice, and backed towards the door. 'Witherspoon,' he said, 'we are wasting our time.'
'Got ever such big wasps in Australia,' Sally said, 'begging your lordship's pardon.'
Even Viscount Sidmouth with his thin, barren lawyer's mind was not oblivious of Sally's charms. In the dark room she was like a ray of sunlight and he actually smiled at her, even though he did not understand her meaning. 'I beg your pardon?' he said to her.
'Ever such big wasps in Australia,' Sally said, 'and that's where this mollisher's going on account that she didn't give her testimony at Charlie's trial. She should have done, but she didn't. Protecting her man, see? And you're going to transport her, aren't you, my lord?' Sally reinforced this rhetorical question with a graceful curtsey.
The Home Secretary frowned. 'Transportation? It is for the courts, my dear, not me to decide on who should be…' His voice suddenly tailed away for he was staring with astonishment at Meg, who was shivering with fear.
'Very large wasps in Australia,' Sandman said, 'famously so.'
'Aculeata Gigantus,' Witherspoon contributed rather impressively.
'No!' Meg cried.
'Big ones,' Sally said with extraordinary relish, 'with stingers like hatpins.'
'He didn't do it!' Meg said, 'and I don't want to go to Australia!'
Sidmouth was looking at her much as the audience must have gazed on the pig faced lady at the Lyceum. 'Are you saying,' he asked in a very cold voice, 'that Charles Corday did not commit the murder?'
'The Marquess didn't! He didn't!'
'The Marquess didn't?' Sidmouth asked, utterly mystified now.
'The Marquess of Skavadale, my lord,' Sandman explained, 'in whose house she was given shelter.'
'He came after the murder,' Meg, terrified of the mythical wasps, was desperate to explain now. 'The Marquess came after she was dead. He often called on the house. And he was still there!'
'Who was still there?' Sidmouth enquired.
'He was there!'
'Corday was?'
'No!' Meg said, frowning. 'Him!' She paused, looked at Sandman then back to the Home Secretary whose face still showed puzzlement. 'Her stepson,' she said, 'him what had been ploughing his father's field for half a year.'
Sidmouth grimaced with distaste. 'Her stepson?'
'Lord Christopher Carne, my lord,' Sandman explained, 'stepson to the Countess and heir to the Earldom.'
'I saw him with the knife,' Meg snarled, 'and so did the Marquess. He was crying, he was. Lord Christopher! He hated her, see, but he couldn't keep his scrawny paws off her neither. Oh, he killed her! It wasn't that feeble painter!'
There was a second's pause in which a score of questions came to Sandman's mind, but then Lord Sidmouth snapped at Witherspoon. 'My compliments to the police office in Queen Square,' that office was only a short walk away, 'and I shall be obliged if they will provide four officers and six saddle horses instantly. But give me a pen first, Witherspoon, a pen and paper and wax and seal.' He turned and looked at a clock on the mantel. 'And let us hurry, man.' His voice was sour as though he resented this extra work, but Sandman could not fault him. He was doing the right thing and doing it quickly. 'Let us hurry,' the Home Secretary said again. And hurry they did.
===OO=OOO=OO===
'Foot on the block, boy! Don't dally!' the turnkey snapped at Charles Corday who gave a gulp, then put his right foot on the wooden block. The turnkey put the punch over the first rivet then hammered it out. Corday gasped with each blow, then whimpered when the manacle dropped away. Lord Alexander saw that the boy's ankle was a welt of sores.
'Other foot, boy,' the turnkey ordered.
The two bells tolled on and neither would stop now until both bodies were cut down. The Keeper's guests were silent, just watching the prisoners' faces as though some clue to the secrets of eternity might lie in those eyes that so soon would be seeing the other side.
'Right, lad, go and see the hangman!' the turnkey said, and Charles Corday gave a small cry of surprise as he took his first steps without leg irons. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself on a table.
'I do not know,' Lord Christopher Carne said, then stopped abruptly.
'What, Kit?' Lord Alexander asked considerately.
Lord Christopher gave a start, unaware that he had even spoken, but then collected himself. 'You say there are doubts about his guilt?' he asked.
'Oh indeed, yes, indeed.' Lord Alexander paused to light a pipe. 'Sandman was quite sure of the boy's innocence, but I suppose it can't be proven. Alas, alas.'