As he finished, he sat silent for a moment with his eyes downcast. Each of the listening women let out an “aah,” which sounded in chorus as an expression of great disappointment and sympathy.
For his part. Sir John leaned forward, clasping his hands upon the table. “True enough,” said he, “here you are. What are your plans, Mr. Donnelly?”
“Why, to begin again. My father has made a small portion of that five hundred pounds available to me that I might open and equip a surgery in a section of Westminster. If I cannot thus establish myself here in Lx)ndon in … oh, say a year, then there is always the Navy for me. I cannot go on forever taking money from my father — not at my age.”
“Have you a place now?”
“I have,” said he, “though it is not yet set up proper.”
“I see,” said Sir John, musing then for a long moment. “It is not mere curiosity prompts these questions of mine. There is a particularly troubling matter of homicide which has taken place today within shouting distance of this very address.”
With that. Lady Fielding shot to her feet. “I do believe that it has come time for we of the weaker sex to retire.”
Annie, who had listened with wide-eyed fascination to Sir John’s news (for the murder in the alley had in no wise been earlier discussed) rose most reluctantly, clearly consternated that she might not hear the details of this awful event.
As the rest of us stood to our feet. Sir John then said, “Yes, perhaps it is best that you leave us. Good night to you, my dear — and to you, Annie.”
Mr. Donnelly thanked Lady Fielding for her hospitality.
and Annie whispered in my ear that there was a meat pie waiting for me in the oven.
A moment later they were gone, and we three resumed our seats at the table.
“Tell me of it, please,” said Mr. Donnelly. “I am ever interested in those matters in which medicine may aid in criminal investigations.”
“Homicide in particular,” put in Sir John.
“Yes, the body of the victim is often the most eloquent witness.”
“Well said, sir, but let me give you a few details of this case….”
And that Sir John proceeded to do, summarizing skillfully, giving particular attention to what was said by Maggie Pratt and the witness I had questioned, Mrs. Crewton.
He concluded: “We take this mention of the soldier sufficiently seriously that I have written to the acting colonel of the Guards regiment, demanding that all under his command given leave this day be put on review so that Miss Pratt may look upon them and pick out the fellow with whom the victim was speaking. Jeremy delivered the letter. Were you able to put it in Captain Conger’s hand, lad?”
“I fear I was not, sir,” said I. “I was not allowed within the walls of the Tower. But the corporal of the guard took it and promised to put it in the captain’s hands.”
“Did you tell him the content of the letter?”
“Loud and clear. Sir John.”
“Then I rest assured he kept his promise.” The magistrate fell silent for a moment and drummed his fingers upon the table in agitation for a moment or two. When he stopped, he seemed to have come to some sort of decision. “Mr. Donnelly,” said he, “I wonder, is your surgery sufficiently set up that you might now have a look at the body of this woman?”
“A complete autopsy?”
“I know not what that entails. Let me tell you what I wish to know. The wound that killed the woman was of a very peculiar sort. It was, as described to me, a small one that produced little bleeding, and it was inflicted directly below the breastbone.”
”One thrust only?” asked the medico.
”That was my understanding.”
“That is most unusual.”
“Oh? What I wish to know, however, is whether or not this narrow wound might have been caused by a military bayonet. Can you measure a wound as to width and depth with that sort of precision?”
“Oh yes, my surgery is certainly equipped for that.”
“And of course anything else you might find of interest would be welcome.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“And I assure you,” said Sir John, “that my office has funds to pay for your professional services — ^just as before.”
“Then my first patient is to be a corpse.”
“As you say, Mr. Donnelly. Oh, just one more thing. The woman in question — that is to say, the victim — is Irish. Teresa O’Reilly is — or was — her name.”
“That presents no particular difficulties. It has been my experience, sir, that inside we are all alike.”
And so it happened that late that evening Mr. Donnelly and I rode with Constable Cowley in a wagon to the Raker’s little farm near the banks of the river. Though the Raker planted often, nothing ever grew in the field surrounding his cottage. There were weeds and a few wildflowers barely visible to us as we pulled up next the surrounding fence, but the dark Thames soil of that field presented itself as an expanse of black before us like some great moat that must be crossed ere we reached the barn where a dim light burned.
“There is a gate just ahead,” said I to Constable Cowley. “Drive on, and I’ll open it.”
Mr. Cowley urged the horses forward, and I jumped down and ran to the gate. I wrestled it open long enough for the wagon to pass through, then I hopped back upon the wagon.
“What a strange and sinister place this is,” said Mr. Donnelly.
“I hate it, outside and in,” said the young constable. “It’s ha’nted.”
“It is as you said, Jeremy, quite like a little farm, especially here in the moonlight. Why, it could indeed be a cotter’s place in Lancashire.”
“This field is where he buries the poor. It’s said he layers them one atop the other, so that the last are laid in quite shallow.”
“They get no Christian burial, of course,” said Mr. Donnelly.
“Perhaps some do. I’m not sure.”
The narrow road led round the little cottage where the Raker and his sister lived. I had glimpsed her a few times and talked to her but once. She was quite as odd as he and looked to be his ugly twin. The cottage was dark, its shutters closed tight. The dimly lit barn loomed just ahead.
“Sir John once told me,” said I, “that the Raker came by his job through his family. Some ancestor of his — grandfather or great-grandfather perhaps — performed great service to the cities of London and Westminster during the great plague of the last century. They carried out the dead when none would dare touch them.”
“And now he continues in this century performing the same service.”