Part 17 (1/2)
On George Street, when they were just past the old burial ground and approaching the market houses, William King abruptly dropped the handles of the wheelbarrow. Then he punched the Irishman full in the mouth and the pair began to roll violently on the ground. They were soon surrounded by a cheering crowd.
No one was interested any longer in King's woman pa.s.senger, who was spilled to the roadway. And no eyes followed her as she ran down the pathway that led to the rear of the markets-and the police office.
Ten minutes later a disheveled O'Bannion joined Dunne. ”I've done this before,” he said rea.s.suringly, and proceeded to force a window. He then boosted his companion over the sill into a corridor. ”Good luck.”
”I'll keep my fingers crossed,” said the patterer.
”If you keep those clothes on,” replied the Irishman with a chuckle, ”you'd be advised to keep your legs legs crossed. You make a darlin' woman.” crossed. You make a darlin' woman.”
Within minutes the transformation was achieved, the gown, cap and shawl disposed of, and Nicodemus Dunne was making himself comfortable in the seat of power normally graced by Captain Francis Nicholas Rossi's posterior. He went to sleep and dreamed of ants and murderers.
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DUNNE WAS STILL dozing when the room's rightful occupant arrived early the next morning. A speechless Rossi shook him awake. The patterer's first words were, ”Who betrayed me?”
The policeman shrugged. ”I just don't know. I didn't know anything about the ... the mess until after you'd been arrested. A message had come to the office early. My man acted on his own initiative, in good faith, I believe. Here's what started it all.” He handed over a note that read: He's killed again, there's none that's meaner.
For his b.l.o.o.d.y new work, go to The Gleaner. The Gleaner.
The script was in the left-handed style they all had come to expect.
”Who delivered this message?” asked the patterer.
”No one remembers clearly. The messenger simply handed it over and disappeared. Who would take any notice-it was just an ordinary-looking note? When its import was realized, it was too late to seek out its carrier.” Rossi held up a hand. ”Now, you can't blame the constable. You were holding the pistol and were covered in blood. And then you ran-in his eyes, hardly the action of an innocent man.”
Nicodemus Dunne flushed. ”Do you you think I'm guilty?” think I'm guilty?”
”Of course not! But you must admit that the evidence is compelling.”
”Is compelling? Don't you mean, compelling? Don't you mean, was was compelling? Am I still a wanted man?” compelling? Am I still a wanted man?”
The captain looked uncomfortable. ”Well, it still looks bad for you.”
”But that's exactly the reason I had to run! It's a vicious circle.”
”I don't quite know what to do with you,” admitted Rossi. ”The governor is furious. He thinks he's been made to look a fool. You've put him in an awkward position.”
”Him? What about my my position? They'll try to hang me!” position? They'll try to hang me!”
”Oh,” said the captain airily. ”You won't dance the Newgate jig.”
”How can you be so sure?”
Rossi was dismissive. ”We wouldn't let it happen to you.” He did not elaborate. ”But, on a brighter note, Miss Dormin is also on your side. She rushed here as soon as the news had spread. She was white with shock, but I rea.s.sured her.”
So, she still cares enough, thought the patterer. I must certainly see her.
”But,” the policeman continued, ”what are we to do to justify my a.s.surances?”
”Captain, I need at least today to clear my name and at the same time finally unmask our murderer-”
”You know now? Who is it?” Rossi broke in excitedly.
”Have patience until I'm sure. But this is what must happen. I give you my parole that I won't escape. What I want in return is a pa.s.seport pa.s.seport so that no one will be able to take me while I'm hunting. And I require a letter from you giving me authority to question any officials and functionaries-don't worry, they'll all be well below the governor's level. I'll call on you later this afternoon. Do we have a deal?” so that no one will be able to take me while I'm hunting. And I require a letter from you giving me authority to question any officials and functionaries-don't worry, they'll all be well below the governor's level. I'll call on you later this afternoon. Do we have a deal?”
Rossi pondered a moment, then nodded.
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THE PATTERER BEGAN what he hoped would be his last rounds of detection with his hat pulled low over his face. He had his papers of safe pa.s.sage but he still wanted to avoid wasting valuable time endlessly producing them.
He called first on the apothecary who had made the a.r.s.enic sale. There he received fresh information he had failed to elicit earlier: The mystery buyer was much shorter than Dunne. Dr. Owens, noted the patterer, was a tall man. But Dr. Halloran was considerably shorter.
At the building that housed the Colonial Treasurer, Dunne did not find that august gentleman, William Balcombe, who had once been an intimate of the exiled Bonaparte on Saint Helena. As an East India Company official, Balcombe took the fallen emperor in while a rat-infested farmhouse was being repaired for him.
Thus Balcombe's son, Thomas (who rejoiced in the middle name Tyrwhitt), and the defeated Frenchman became firm friends, two lonely figures on the remote island. And it was this young man, now nineteen and determined to become an artist, whom Dunne was pleased to come across.
They talked casually about their favorite artworks of the colony. Balcombe liked the early paintings and sketches of John Rae, Thomas Rowlandson and George Raper. The patterer praised Joseph Lycett and Augustus Earle, in particular the latter's likenesses of King Bungaree.
”It has been a sad time, with deaths in the art world,” said the younger man. ”Mr. Lycett is gone, I fear. It seems, no one knows for sure, that a year or so ago, in Bath, he forged some banknotes-unhappy man, forgery is what sent him here originally. Upon his arrest he slashed his throat and then, while recovering in hospital, he ripped open the wound and died. The other death has, of course, been the recent pa.s.sing of Francisco Goya.” Balcombe continued, smiling wryly, ”It is ironic that Goya, my artistic hero, used his brush to condemn the atrocities perpetrated by the army of which my old friend, the Emperor Napoleon, was the commander.”
On that note, they parted, the patterer to continue his studies in art-only this was the fine art of murder.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO.
Captain Louis Renault: Round up the usual suspects.
-Julius J. Epstein et al., Casablanca (1942)
THE COLONIAL SECRETARY'S OFFICE, WHICH WAS MUCH GRANDER than that of the treasurer, was the hub of record-keeping for the colony. There Dunne sought details of s.h.i.+pping arrivals and departures, and their complements, and narratives of incidents on the crossings. Most of the files were voluminous and comprehensive, but sometimes they were not. In one famous instance, the Anne Anne, a convict transport, arrived in 1801 with no papers for its human cargo. The lists finally turned up, eighteen years later.
The patterer found the records for the ill-fated Morley Morley, which had caused Dr. Cunningham so much pain, but although he failed to find the names he was particularly seeking, he nonetheless left the office feeling greatly enlightened.
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AT THE SUBSCRIPTION Library, his disguise failed and the attendant coolly pointed out that his annual subscription of two guineas was due. On becoming financial once more, he called for and studied a German dictionary. He also found what he was after in a volume of Shakespeare's works. In his pursuit of the Exodus clue, however, he became bogged down. But Genesis was more rewarding.
As he handed back the foreign dictionary, Dunne had an idle thought. He called for a world gazetteer. When the dying Muller had said the word Schwein Schwein, had he simply been cursing his killer rather than naming him-surely no one's name began with ”pig!” Or did his last breath point perhaps to a place?
In the atlas, Dunne looked for a German location beginning with ”Schwein-.” He found one, in the realm of Bayern-or Bavaria. There it was: Schweinfurt-ford for swine-which was necessary, as the spot lay on the River Main. But what help was that?