“She was not present?”
“No, Sir John, she had left much earlier after a considerable row, and she took the jewels with her that Mr. Trezavant might not sell or pawn them.”
“She — whatl Jeremy, this seems a bit more complicated then I had supposed. I think you had better tell it to me right from the beginning.
Leave nothing out. Let me be the judge of what details may be dispensed with.”
And that was indeed what I did. It took the better part of an hour to tell the story complete, and even then I omitted the altercation between Mr. Patley and me. During a good bit of the time, Sir John ate happily away at his breakfast, munching his bread and butter and crunching his bacon. Breakfast aside, he gave me his full attention.
When I had concluded, he nodded but said not a word for some time. He seemed to be considering all that I had told him. At last he spoke forth: “And so to sum up, Jeremy, the assault upon the Trezavant residence was quite like the one upon Lord Lilley’s, except that a woman pled that the door be opened, rather than the male who, a couple of days before, described the terrible carriage wreck in St. James Street.”
“That would seem to be so, sir.”
“Yet you only managed to talk with three at the house: the porter, who had been there when the robbers battered their way inside; the upstairs maid, who told you tales of the connubial difficulties of her master and mistress; and finally, Mr. Trezavant himself, who could tell you little because of his drunken state. Am I correct?”
When it was put thus, I had to admit that it sounded rather like I had wasted my time there. I hadn’t felt so at the time. “Well, Sir John, I thought it significant that Mistress Crocker gave it as her opinion that at least one of the Africans was not truly what he seemed to be. In a way, I thought that the most important matter to come out of my interrogations. You yourself asked those you talked to at the Lilley residence if the robbers seemed truly to be what they seemed.”
“And all of them,” said Sir John, “agreed that the black men did indeed seem to be black. Only she — your Mistress Crocker — gave it as her opinion that one of them was not. And after all, Jeremy, it was only an opinion”
“True enough,” said I, “but all those who agreed that the robbers were indeed black were likewise giving that only as their opinion.”
“Hmmm.” The expression which appeared on Sir John’s face was one of exasperation. “I fear that this discussion could be carried on ad infinitum, and there is really no need to prolong it since there is no way to prove one of us right and the other wrong. But I have an idea.” And there, reader, he halted, somehow giving the impression that he believed that having said this much he had said enough.
I sighed. “And what is the idea, Sir John?”
“I shall consult with Mr. Burnham.”
His reply puzzled me somewhat. “I don’t quite follow, sir,” I confessed.
“Why, it’s simple enough. Why are we at such a disadvantage — not to say a loss — with this case?” It was merely a rhetorical question. He plunged on: “Because, Jeremy lad, we know next to nothing about the black population of our city. We know not their number, nor their customs and habits, nor their tendencies toward criminality — as I said, we know next to nothing. Yet we do know one who is a member of that group by virtue of the color of his skin. That one, of course, is Robert Burnham, teacher to your friend Bunkins, and to our own Annie. I should like you to go to Mr. Burnham this morning and invite him here. Persuade him to come to us for a visit.”
“I doubt he will come until he has finished his morning reading session with his two scholars,” said I. “Shall I bring him up here to your bedroom?”
“Oh, by no means. I’m feeling stronger today. I shall remain downstairs after my court session and simply wait for him in my chambers and receive him there. That would be far more proper, don’t you think? He, as I recall, is one who likes to see the proprieties given strict observance.”
And so it was that I set out for Black Jack Bilbo’s residence at mid-morning, after having washed up and scrubbed down our quarters above the stairs. My last task of the morning was to give Sir John any assistance he might require in dressing (which was not much); when he retired at night, his clothes for the next day were laid out in strict order by Lady Fielding so that he might dress himself in the morning. Occasionally his shirt or his waistcoat was buttoned crooked or his hose needed hitching. When I was not about to provide these finishing touches, Mr. Marsden attended to them. Once a few adjustments had been made, Sir John and I descended the stairs together. I left him with his clerk as they began their daily discussion of the court docket.
There was yet time enough left so that there was no need to hurry to St. James Street, and indeed I did not hurry. The great early morning rush of workers to their work had ended some time before. And while one could hardly say that the streets were empty of pedestrians (the streets of London were never empty), it was nevertheless possible to amble the distance without fear of being buffeted and bumped from either side, or having one’s heels trod upon.
My pace had slowed because I was deep in thought. I frowned and fretted as I went, trying to think of what step might next be taken in the investigation. While I was not yet at an impasse, it seemed to me I was somewhat limited. I must wait until Mr. Martinez and Mr. Humber had information for me — if indeed they would have information to give. I had, however, done nothing to explore one avenue of investigation: I saw that I must learn something of Walter Travis, the porter who had been murdered during the raid upon the Lilley residence. But what could be learned — and how? I gave some thought to that, and promised myself to give it more once things had quietened down a bit — but would they ever? I began to appreciate the utility of those long hours that Sir John spent alone and in the dark in that little room off his bedroom which he called his study. There, I realized, was where he conducted his investigations; that was where he fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
Thus did my thoughts run as I made my way to the Bilbo residence. There were shops at one end of St. James Street — and beyond them the grand houses, of which Black Jack’s was indeed one of the grandest. It was, however, not the best kept, for as he did not employ a butler, neither did he keep a gardener on his household staff. He thought both unnecessary. A fellow who worked in St. James Park came by from time to time to trim the bushes and do what needed to be done in the back garden. Mr. Bilbo dispensed with a butler easily enough by ruling that anyone in the house who heard a knock upon the street door was obliged to answer it.
As it happened, my good friend Jimmie Bunkins was nearest when I rapped hard upon the door with the brass clapper. It was his face that appeared as the heavy door swung open. That meant that class was done for the morning, which in turn justified the timing of my visit.
“Ah, chum,” said he, “shove your trunk inside. Come! Come! Come! Let me be the first to ask ye. How’s your cove fare?”
“Sir John? Oh, he’s right as rain. Moves his smiter well now.”
(Be not intimidated, reader, for if some of the words recalled and quoted above seem unfamiliar, they are no more than bits and pieces of “flash,” the cant of the London underworld. Indeed, Bunkins had been a member in good standing of Covent Garden’s great legion of thieves until Mr. Bilbo took him in and bettered his lot. Bunkins simply invited me in and inquired after Sir John’s condition. I replied that he was doing well and could move his arm without difficulty now.)
Then did I hear the harpsichord jangling from the drawing room, and a moment later Annie’s voice joining in. It was another Handel oratorio. She had been humming something like it around the house for the past few days. Now, however, with Mr. Burnham’s accompaniment and her voice at full, I was given some true idea of the sound of the anthem as it would be heard with full chorus at the Academy of Ancient Music. I was most favorably impressed.