Cobb frowned. “Then we better keep her away from him.”
“Right now I’m anxious to interrogate the rest of that bunch, but you can see the immediate problem we have.”
Cobb nodded. “Ya gotta tell Sir Francis Bone Head about them guns.”
“Yes. And I’m positive that what I saw last night was only the sample referred to in the note from the buyers.”
“Where would the rest of them be, then?”
“My best guess is that there are more trunks with false bottoms. The one in Merriwether’s room was improvised-handmade, I’d say.”
“Well, Major, I saw this crew come off the boat from Burlington last Friday with enough baggage for a regiment or two.”
“They were planning to try out a number of playbills, here and in Detroit and Chicago. Where would they be storing the props and costumes not in use?”
“Frank’s got a big shed and ice-house out back.”
“Then let’s have a peek.” Marc rose stiffly out of his chair.
“You look like ya slept on a sack of potatoes,” Cobb said.
“They’re all locked.” Marc sighed, surveying the six steamer-trunks they had found in Frank’s storage-shed.
“I’ve never found that a problem,” Cobb said. He fished about in his greatcoat pocket and drew out a ring of keys of varying shapes and sizes. “This one usually does it fer these kinda trunks.” He bent over the nearest one, jiggled the chosen key as if his fingers had suddenly developed palsy, muttered what was either a curse or an incantation, and then, with a decisive twist, exclaimed, “Aha!”
The trunk yawned open.
Over the next fifteen minutes, the two men opened each of the trunks in turn, carefully removed the contents, pried up the false bottoms in three of them, and found what they were looking for. There were twelve U.S army rifles in addition to the two in Merriwether’s room, and several boxes of ammunition. They replaced the contents with equal care and relocked the trunks.
Back inside, Marc said to Cobb, “It’s possible the others know nothing about the rifles. But we can’t be sure. God knows what the governor will decide to do. In any case, I want some time to question the actors before Spooner gets here, so I’m going to give you this incriminating note and have you go up to Government House with it. That and the news of the guns out there in the shed should occupy Sir Francis and Spooner for a little while, time enough for me to see what I can do to help Rick.”
“You’re not worried about the guns?”
“Of course I am. We are probably facing some sort of planned insurrection-high treason for those involved. But I’m just a soldier now, Cobb, and I’m content to leave these entanglements to the governor and his aides.”
Cobb’s grunt indicated his skepticism about the latter claim, but he did not comment further. “I’m on my way, Major.”
“Would you mind asking Wilkie to bring Jeremiah Jefferson down here to the dining-room before you go?” Constable Wilkie had arrived late at seven-thirty to rouse Marc and place himself on the landing with a stool, a candle, and a copy of this week’s Constitution.
“The mute? I thought you’d want to see Beasley first. Seems to me he’s the one that’s got the goods on Hilliard.”
“Very true. But Beasley’s already outlined his account to you and Spooner. I need to question the others closely to see if I can find the discrepancies in it. If I don’t, it’s going to go badly for Rick.”
“I’ll wake up Wilkie an’ put him to work, then,” Cobb said, pleased with this modest attempt at levity.
Jeremiah Jefferson sat opposite Marc with the air of man who was concerned with the unpredictable turn of events but innocent of any direct involvement in them. Nonetheless, his past experience with authority had left a residual wariness in an otherwise open and unsuspecting face. Mrs. Thedford had apparently done more than merely shelter him from the slave-catchers, Marc thought: there had been some kind of miraculous rehabilitation.
The interview was conducted by a combination of questions and answers being written on the slate placed between them, and of gestures, lip-reading, and accompanying facial expressions.
Your tooth is better?
Vigorous nod and display of gum-gap.
It kept you awake after the play?
Yes. Couldn’t sleep.
Did you see anyone come up the stairs after the others were asleep?
No.
Did anyone come back down the hall and go down the stairs?
No.
Did you see Mr. Beasley come out of his room?
Yes. He scared me.
He looked frightened? Worried?
Yes. Running.
You followed him?
Not right away. He started banging on doors.
What did you do?
Clarence and I banged on Mrs. T’s door.
Did she answer?
No. We went into her bedroom.
Was she awake?
No. Earplugs. Shook her.
Then you all went to Tessa’s room?
Yes. Terrible.
Marc then took Jeremiah detail by detail through what he saw there: Rick still holding the sword, Tessa unconscious, blood everywhere, Mrs. Thedford running out with Tessa in her arms and Jeremiah following, then being sent to rouse the Franks, helping Madge and Mrs. Thedford get Tessa downstairs and away from the dreadful scene.
Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.
Say thank you to the doctor for me.
The interview with Jeremiah had been helpful, perhaps, but not to Rick Hilliard’s case. So far, the various accounts meshed in every important detail. Marc decided to see Dawson Armstrong next, not because he expected the dipsomaniac actor to provide credible evidence about the crime, but because he was the most likely among the members of the troupe to have detailed knowledge of Merriwether’s background and behaviour. Despite what he had told Cobb, Marc was eager to discover all he could about the gunrunning operation. In addition to being a loyal subject of the newly crowned Queen Victoria, he had a personal stake in seeing that no citizens’ revolt erupted in Upper Canada-with farmer and soldier staring each other down, weapons at the ready.
As he motioned Armstrong to a chair across the table from him, Marc noticed, behind the crumpled features and depleted expression of the veteran actor, Madge Frank walking slowly across the taproom with Tessa on one arm. They shuffled into the theatre, en route to Mrs. Thedford no doubt.
“You were drunk when all the fuss broke out?” Marc asked, hoping to get this part of the interrogation over with quickly.
“You won’t believe this after what you saw yesterday afternoon on the stage, but I’ve been sober most of the time since we left New York last month,” Armstrong said wearily, as if he were beyond caring about anything anymore.
“Yet, according to what I heard Mrs. Thedford say, you managed to bring along a contraband supply of booze.”
Armstrong’s posture stiffened, and the creases in his face did their best to express umbrage at the accusation. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“Then how did bottles of whiskey mysteriously appear whenever required?”
Armstrong blinked. “I’ve begun asking myself that very same question. At first when I found a half-drunk bottle in the bottom of my trunk, I thought it was left over from a trip I took to Philadelphia last fall. But yesterday after lunch, when I began pulling out my Lear and Prospero outfits, I found another part-bottle in one of the pockets, and I’ve been so upset lately with Merriwether’s putdowns and insinuations, well, I just started in on it. And you saw what happened after that. Annemarie was furious.”