By the time they had done so, they expectedthe maid would have returned. But she hadn’t.
“Somethin’s fishy here,” Cobb said.
“I think you’re right. Let’s find the fellow- quick.”
They headed down a dimly lit hallway, butwere met abruptly by the maid coming out of a nearby doorway. Shelooked flustered, and decidedly unsurly, as she said, “Mr.Winthrop’ll see you now.”
They stepped into what was apparently IvorWinthrop’s private sitting-room. Marc took in several leathereasy-chairs, grouped around a Persian rug — set before animpressive, marble-topped fireplace, where two candelabra offeredthe room a subdued but generous light. Winthrop, a prosperousgentleman in a blue-velvet smoking jacket, was just turning awayfrom the hearth to face his visitors as they entered. The room wasgripped by a deathly chill, even though something was still flamingon the grates.
“Good evening,” Winthrop said in a wearyattempt at good manners. His fleshy face with its jutting jaw wasashen, haggard, as if he had not slept well in some time. “Pleaseexcuse the chill. . I–I fell asleep and let the fire go out.But do sit down — Mr. Edwards, is it? Mr. Marc Edwards?”
“Yes, sir. I’m working on assignment withConstable Cobb here, of the Toronto police.”
But Cobb did not acknowledge Marc’sintroduction. Instead, he brushed past Winthrop and raced over tothe fireplace, where he picked up a whisk-broom and began thumpingat the flames.
“What the hell are you doing?” Winthropcried, unsure whether he ought to be astonished or outraged.
Cobb ignored him. He kept swatting till thefire was out, then reached down and, with two fingers of his righthand, gingerly pulled into view several smouldering and charredsheets of paper. He looked at Marc. “The writin’s mostly gone,Major, but these ripped edges should match up nicely with the oneson the ledger.”
“You have no right to interfere in mypersonal affairs! This is an — ”
“We have every right, sir,” Marc said. “Ihave in my hand a warrant for your arrest on a charge ofmurder.”
“That’s — that’s preposterous!” Winthroplooked shocked and frightened, but not truly surprised. His blusterseemed to be merely bravado or, worse, the automatic response ofone accustomed to privilege and prerogative.
“It may prove to be so,” Marc said, “but onlyif you sit down here and answer our questions truthfully.”
Winthrop sighed, stared at his accuser for abrief moment, then sank back in the master’s chair. Cobb and Marcsat opposite him.
“Well, let’s get this ridiculous nonsenseover with, shall we?” Winthrop said with a pathetic attempt atmaking light of the situation. “Whom have I murdered, eh?”
“We have evidence to suggest that you havecommitted two serious offences,” Marc said. “First, you perpetrateda fraud on Mr. Garnet Macaulay of Elmgrove, which permitted you tosystematically steal information from him and his associates. Andsecondly, for some inexplicable reason, you then arranged to haveyour agent in Elmdale murdered.”
“And where would you get such evidence?”
“We have obtained a detailed confession fromanother of your agents, Mr. Giles Harkness. He implicates you atevery stage of the operation.”
“Giles Harkness is a notorious drunk andtrouble-maker. Ask any barkeep in the city!”
“Nevertheless, his story is corroborated bythe known facts.”
“I’ll bet he spun you quite a tale!”
“He says you hired him to ride to Elmdale bya circuitous route to rendezvous with the new English butler, whomyou had bribed to spy on the business meetings there. Thisso-called butler made detailed notes of the negotiations andbrought these notes to Harkness, who in turn brought them straightto you. You received separate documents on Wednesday evening,Thursday afternoon and again on Thursday evening.”
“Did it never occur to you that a scoundrellike Harkness, who, I’m told, had a grudge against Macaulay, wasnot himself stealing information to peddle it to the highest bidderin town?”
“The horse Harkness used belonged to you,”Cobb said. “Yer name was burned inta the saddle.”
“And the three document-pages you just triedto destroy, you’ll be surprised to learn, were ripped from anaccounts-book in the butler’s office. It will take some explainingto suggest how they managed to get into your fireplace.”
“An’ Harkness told us he was bunkin’ in herein a back room, where we got a search warrant to dig out hisearthy possessions.”
“And that warrant extends to yourwine-cellar, where we expect to find other bottles of Amontilladomatching the type that killed your agent.”
“And any loud-an’-numb you might havelyin’ about the place,” Cobb added.
“We also have a detailed statement from acertain innkeeper outside of Cobourg,” Marc said, and watchedWinthrop flinch at the news that the police now knew about thephoney butler and who had waylaid the real one. “Mrs. Jiggins,bless her, found solace in a frank confession.”
Winthrop held up his hands as if to ward offfurther blows. “All right! All right! I’ll tell you what you’vecome to hear. My life is over anyway. And I’m not letting thatpusillanimous weasel, Harkness, off the hook!”
“That’s better,” Marc said, much relieved andnot a little saddened by the broken man he saw slumped before him.“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes. Please.”
“Let’s start with the fraud,” Marc said whenWinthrop had a glass of whiskey safely in hand and Cobb had hisnotebook out as if he really was about to record the interview. “Wehave some idea of how the real butler, Graves Chilton, was waylaidand a substitute put in his place. But we still don’t know who heactually was. Would you mind telling us whom you hired to do thespying and how you were able to carry off the ruse and set up theespionage at Elmdale? Enlighten us, if you will.”
“As you wish.” Winthrop took a swig ofwhiskey. “A lot of it was pure luck. All winter there have beenrumours of a possible meeting here in Toronto between RobertBaldwin and Louis LaFontaine, a meeting designed to forge some kindof coalition between the Nationalists in Quebec and our ownReformers, what the Bishop called ‘an unholy alliance.’ He andother leading Tories were eager to discover if there was any truthto the rumours and were determined to do everything they could todiscourage such a meeting. Most of us thought the gathering wouldbe at Spadina or Moss Park. Elmdale was also mentioned, but wetended to discount it because Garnet Macaulay, although a Reformmember of the Assembly and confidante of Baldwin, had lost both hislong-time butler and his stableman, leaving his household staff insome disarray.”
“So how did you find out about Baldwin’splans?” Marc asked, though he was pretty sure how that had comeabout.
“That’s where the luck came in. Two weeks agoSaturday, the very morning after my Friday evening dinner at thePalace and our discussion of these issues, Giles Harkness arrivedat my door.” Winthrop sighed and glared at his whiskey-glass. “Ishould have thrown the blackguard out then and there. But he hadinformation I coveted. He had left his employ at Elmdale sometimeafter his brother’s death and what he saw as his employer’s perfidyin hiring some stranger from England to take Alfred’s place. It’sabsurd, but he actually thought he himself deserved to be the newbutler.”
“So he was seeking revenge of some sort?”
“Yes. Before leaving the estate, he used oneof his cronies in the household to gain access to Macaulay’sprivate papers, where he read and memorized the recentcorrespondence and memoranda he found there.”
“About the proposed meeting between Baldwinand LaFontaine?”
“Yes. Harkness had the dates and locale, andeven the names of the Frenchmen coming from Quebec. But he also hadinformation on the new butler. He was to be Graves Chilton fromEngland. The fellow was already en route from London. Harkness wassubsequently told by his crony — Austin Briggs, I think his namewas — that Chilton had reached New York and would arrive at Elmdaleon Weller’s stage from Kingston on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursdayof the next week.”