Part 31 (1/2)
”You twist things.”
”It is your mind that twists things. You advocated the immoderate use of laudanum.”
”I described my own experience as a caution to others.”
”You also indulged in a drug called 'bang.' ”
”Bang?” Lord Palmerston sounded baffled.
”Otherwise known as has.h.i.+sh, Your Lords.h.i.+p, from which the word 'a.s.sa.s.sin' is derived.”
”Good heavens.”
”During the Crusades, fanatical Muslims smoked it before their murderous attacks on English officers, Your Lords.h.i.+p.”
”No! Has.h.i.+sh encourages an appet.i.te, not violence,” Father insisted.
”Violence. Yes, you praised extreme violence in several of your essays, revealing your obsession with John Williams and the original Ratcliffe Highway murders. You called Williams a genius.”
”An attempt to be humorous.”
”The many people who were murdered recently are not amused. Through drugs, violence, and radical views, you persistently advocated the overthrow of the aristocracy. Now your obsession with violence has impelled you to encourage accomplices to re-create the original Ratcliffe Highway murders in an effort to destabilize London. I have proof, Your Lords.h.i.+p.”
Brookline raised an item from the doc.u.ments on the table. ”In one of former inspector Ryan's few helpful acts, he arranged for a newspaper artist to sketch the face of the dead man at Coldbath Fields Prison. The man gained access to the prison by claiming to be a messenger from you, Your Lords.h.i.+p.”
”From me? But I sent no one to that prison,” Palmerston replied in confusion.
”He had a message in an envelope with your seal on it.”
”Impossible.”
”No doubt a forgery. The message inside turned out to be of no importance, merely a trick to gain entrance. Here is the sketch, Your Lords.h.i.+p. Certain grotesque aspects of his death have been eliminated in an attempt to achieve an ordinary likeness. Do you recognize this man?”
Palmerston held the sketch near a candelabrum on the table. ”He didn't work for me. I've never seen this man in my life.”
”Although he didn't work for you, you have in fact seen him, Your Lords.h.i.+p.”
”I don't-”
”Granted, you saw him only fleetingly as I pushed you to the floor of your coach. This is the man who tried to a.s.sa.s.sinate you this afternoon.”
”What?”
”The man who tried to kill you is the same man who attempted to rescue the Opium-Eater from prison. I strongly suspect that this isn't the Opium-Eater's only accomplice. With Your Lords.h.i.+p's permission, I think it would be appropriate to question the Opium-Eater in a persuasive manner after he is readmitted to prison.”
Anger so controlled me that I raised my voice in defense of Father. ”Persuasive manner. You can't be serious. Torture an old man?”
”No one used the word 'torture.' The British government does not torture prisoners,” Brookline said.
”Then perhaps it's the British military who does the torturing, Colonel.”
Brookline gave me the harshest glare I ever received. ”I don't understand why this woman is allowed to be here. She doesn't serve our purpose, except to show by her scandalous clothing the contempt that she and her father have for the standards of society. Not only is the bloomer dress immodest by revealing the outline of her legs, but it is also synonymous with a notorious female activist who campaigns for the disruption of society by advocating the right of women to vote.”
”Immodest?” Father said angrily. ”First, you insult my mother.”
”I merely state facts.”
”Next you insult my dead wife.”
”The daughter of an agitator.”
”Now you insult my daughter.”
”Don't try to distract us from our purpose.”
”Which is to torture an old man!” I protested.
”Old?” Brookline scoffed. ”Your Lords.h.i.+p, the Opium-Eater uses his age to deceive those who might otherwise suspect him. In the past few days, he demonstrated more nimbleness than most men twenty years younger than he is.”
”I am thirsty,” Father announced.
”What?”
Father went to a table in the corner and chose one of the half-full champagne gla.s.ses.
He swallowed its contents in one gulp.
My companions Ryan and Becker were accustomed to seeing this behavior, but Lord Palmerston and Colonel Brookline opened their mouths in astonishment.
Father selected a second half-full champagne gla.s.s and swallowed its contents as well. He looked around for a third.
”We'll see how insolent you are in Coldbath Fields Prison when you reveal the names of your accomplices,” Brookline said.
Father turned toward Palmerston. ”Your Lords.h.i.+p, the man you should be searching for is a British soldier who spent considerable time in the Orient. He learned the languages of that region sufficiently to be able to give instructions to a Malay. He became an expert in disguises there. He has extensive experience with killing.”
”This is a laudanum fantasy, Your Lords.h.i.+p. British soldiers do not kill English civilians,” Brookline objected.
”Are you suggesting that they kill only Oriental civilians?” Father asked him.
”Don't be impertinent.”
”Only someone with extensive combat experience could have accomplished the recent skillful slaughters,” Father elaborated. ”Someone who was trained, someone who has done it many times.”
”Outrageous! British soldiers are not madmen!” Lord Palmerston protested. ”If we suspect British soldiers, there'll be no end of it. Your description could apply even to Colonel Brookline.”
”Indeed it could.” Father stared at Brookline. ”Did you serve in India, Colonel?”
”This is another of the Opium-Eater's attempts to undermine society, Your Lords.h.i.+p. Through his accomplices, first he persuades the populace to believe that the killer is a sailor, with the consequence that many sailors were attacked and work at the docks has halted. Then he convinces the mob that the killer is a constable, with the consequence that several policemen have been a.s.saulted and faith in law enforcement has been eroded. Now he attempts to draw suspicion toward the military. By the time he's finished making accusations, no one will be above suspicion. Next, he'll claim that you're the killer, Your Lords.h.i.+p.” Brookline turned toward our group. ”Former constable Becker.” He put the emphasis on ”former.”
”Yes?” Becker frowned.