“I’ve heard rumours of worse,” Dr. Baldwinsaid.
“Oh. What is that?” Robert said.
“There’s talk on the street of a bigdemonstration against Gilles and the Quebecers,” Dr. Baldwin said.“To be held outside the jail.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing we’re gettingGilles out of there at nine o’clock in the morning.”
“He’ll be safe here in Baldwin House,” Robertsaid.
“Perhaps we’d all better go to fetch Gillestomorrow,” Hincks said. “Just in case any of the protesters decideto show up. They may have got wind of Gilles’ release.”
“A good idea,” Louis said.
“We can take our brougham,” Robert said.
“How is the defense shaping up?” Louis askedMarc.
“I’ve been given lots of evidence that pointsto three or four other suspects, and I intend to use it with allthe skill I can muster,” Marc said.
“That’s good enough for me,” Robert said.
“Meanwhile, Detective-Constable Cobb isstriving mightily to find the real killer – despite the objectionsof his superior.”
“He’s a good man,” said Robert.
“The best,” Marc said.
***
The sun rose the next morning in a cloudless sky. Itshone brightly on the east wall of the jail and upon the broad lawnin front of it. The jail and matching Court House next to it weretwo of the proudest public buildings in the city. But this morningthe public, or a particular part of it, had something on its mindother than admiration. Long before nine o’clock, the streets andalleys leading to Church and King were marked by the presence ofmen who walked stealthily and steadily towards the jail. They didnot speak to one another as they converged, but there was aboutthem a purpose and a will. And it did not bode well.
By quarter to nine the esplanade in front ofthe jail and Court House was jammed with outraged citizens. Somecarried placards proclaiming “Death to the Frenchman,” “HangGagnon,” “No Bail for Killers,” and “Frogs Go Home.” The jailer,sensing trouble, sent for the police, and Constables Phil Rossiterand Ewan Wilkie arrived shortly thereafter.
“Shall we try to move ‘em?” Wilkie askedRossiter. They were standing in the front doorway surveying thecrowd, who in their turn were hurling impolite suggestions to thepolice.
“Not as long as they’re peaceful,” Rossitersaid. “I don’t see no weapons.”
“I spotted a club or two, near the back,”Wilkie said.
“Come to protect the murderer, have you?”someone shouted.
“We’re here to see that justice is done!”someone else cried.
“We’ll let the judge decide that,” Rossiterhollered over the general din.
Just then a black brougham pulled by twohorses wheeled onto the path that circled in front of the jail andsurrounded the crowd. In it were Louis LaFontaine, Robert Baldwinand Francis Hincks; on the driver’s seat sat Marc Edwards. The topwas folded down, exposing them all to the sudden shouts of derisionfrom the gathering.
“Go home, LaFontaine!”
“Nothin’ but the noose for Frogs!”
Very slowly the horses nudged their waythrough the crowd, its members parting reluctantly before thehorses’ progress. At this point a jailer appeared at the door withGilles Gagnon. A great whoop of anger rose from the assemblage.Wilkie and Rossiter stepped forward towards the brougham as it drewup before the door.
“Get in, quick!” Marc said to Gagnon.
The crowd began to push in on the vehicle.The horses snorted and grew restless. Gagnon stepped between thetwo policemen and into the rear seat of the brougham. Suddenly thecarriage began to rock back and forth. Hands reached over the doorsand grasped at the occupants.
“Hang the frogs!”
This single cry quickly became a chant, andthe brougham rocked dangerously.
“Do something, Wilkie!” Marc cried. He wasusing the reins to snap at several grasping hands.
Wilkie and Rossiter drew theirtruncheons.
“Make way!” they hollered, stepping into themob and swinging their weapons.
Marc cracked the reins over the horses’ backsand they plunged forward. Wilkie and Rossiter had managed to cleara vee in front of the team, and they were able to begin to moveahead. Once they got some momentum up they were able to force theirway through the mob and out onto King Street.
“Follow them!”
“On to Baldwin House!”
“We’d better get there before they do,”Hincks called up to Marc.
“Are you all right, Gilles?” Louis said.
“I’m fine,” Gagnon said. “But I’ll feel a lotbetter when we’re safe at Baldwin House.”
As they turned west on King Street, the mobstreamed after them, leaving Rossiter and Wilkie bruised and alonein front of the jail.
“Get up some speed!” Hincks called up toMarc.
“I can’t,” Marc said. “They’re too many rutsin the road.”
The August rains had left the gravelledstreet in poor condition. Deep ruts criss-crossed it everywhere,the result of heavy cart traffic. With the dry spell that hadfollowed the rainy weather, the ruts had hardened into iron-likeridges. Even at a sedate pace, the brougham jounced and rocked.This slow progress allowed the mob to follow closely behind. Theleading members were only four or five yards behind thecarriage.
The brougham and its pursuers reached BayStreet. Marc looked down towards Front where Baldwin House stood,and his heart sank.
“Some of them are already there!” he shouted.“They must have guessed where we were going.”
“What’ll we do?” Louis said.
“We’ll head on out to Spadina,” Marcsaid.
“Great idea,” Robert said.
Spadina was the country house of the Baldwinfamily, father and son. It lay a few miles north-west of the cityboundary, and was accessible only via Spadina Road, which had beenspecially cut through dense forest.
Marc pulled the team back onto King. The mob,somewhat winded, nonetheless continued to follow them thirty orforty paces behind. The intersection of York and King wasparticularly pock-marked. Marc should have slowed to a walk, but hedidn’t. There was a loud crack as the rear axle snapped in two. Thebrougham lurched sideways and backwards, and its occupants grabbedanything near them to prevent themselves from tumbling out.
Marc swung into instant action. He unsnappedthe horses’ harness and detached them from the carriage. The mobwas closing in, clubs brandished.
“Quick, Giles. We’re going the rest of theway on horseback!”
Gagnon, dazed, staggered out of the carriageand came over to Marc. Marc cupped his hands for a stirrup, andGagnon climbed aboard the larger of the two horses – bareback. Marchauled himself up, clutching the horse’s mane, and managed to siton the beast in front of Gagnon.
“Put your arms around my waist and hang on!”he shouted to the Frenchman.
Gagnon did as he was bid.
Just as the mob reached the broken carriage,Marc and Gagnon took off at a fast trot. Fortunately the horse hadbeen well ridden before being demoted to carriage duty. With Marcholding onto the bridle only, it allowed itself to be directed downKing Street towards Brock. The mob howled its displeasure, but withthe object of their fury escaping, they quickly dissipated,grumbling and frustrated. They left Robert, Louis and Hincks todeal with the broken carriage.
Meanwhile, Marc proceeded up Brock Street tothe Spadina Road and entered the eerie quiet of the woods. Heslowed the horse to a steady trot, and thirty minutes later theyarrived at the splendid country estate of the Baldwins.
At their approach, Dr. Baldwin emerged fromthe front door, smiling.
***
Cobb arrived at the police quarters at nine-thirty,in time to see Constables Rossiter and Wilkie limp out of theanteroom to resume their beats. Wilkie had a patch on hisforehead.
“Terrible business,” Cyril Bagshaw said toCobb as he came in.
“What happened?” Cobb said.
“A mob happened, that’s what!”
“After the Frenchman?”
“Exactly. They showed up before nine andattacked my men.”