Part 18 (1/2)

”I believe the same hand killed all our victims. Could some of them be copycat affairs? I think not. Consider that too much intimate knowledge would be required of cases, but they were never made completely public.” Dunne smiled encouragingly at Captain Rossi.

”So, a pattern had emerged-which promptly appeared to be broken by the seemingly unconnected death of Madame Greene. Hers was the most intriguing, until the two most recent murders. And yes, gentlemen, they will be the last in this chain of slaughter. The killing of the Gleaner Gleaner compositor, Muller, was almost the death of me.” compositor, Muller, was almost the death of me.”

Rossi had the good grace to redden at this.

The patterer continued. ”I had already harbored certain suspicions, but Muller told me something-although I didn't see it at the time-that lifted the veil on the terrible secrets-”

Wentworth interrupted. His lawyer's forensic mind had already caught an inconsistency. ”Sit fast, sir!” he said. ”You just referred to 'the two most recent murders.' In the plural. Wasn't the man Muller the last?”

”Chronologically, yes,” Dunne replied. ”But before him-and uncounted so far-was the maid, Elsie.”

Rossi recovered his wits first. ”But wasn't she ... didn't she commit suicide?”

Dunne shook his head. ”We were supposed to think so, but she was certainly slain-to silence her-and by our angel of death, no one else. And then someone wanted me me dead. For getting too close.” dead. For getting too close.”

Governor Darling spoke for the first time. ”So what, to your mind, is the link between the soldiers' deaths and Madame Greene's? And you've thrown in the German and now the maid, for good measure.”

”Bear with me, sir,” soothed the patterer.

”I still want to hear why you've d.a.m.ned well accused us!” interposed Wentworth furiously.

He glowered when all Dunne would say was a curt ”All in good time” before continuing. ”Until the very last I had trouble making the connection stick. Certainly, Madame was poisoned like The Ox, but where did the others fit in? There seemed no link between their deaths and the Sudds case, which provided a common thread between the earlier murders ...” He paused and waited while Captain Rossi explained to the uninitiated the concept that the killings were revenge for the persecution of the unfortunate soldier.

Before Dunne could speak again, Wentworth b.u.t.ted in. ”What of all the gabble about ... what was it called? ... yes, the zuzim zuzim? And the biblical verse nonsense?”

”Oh,” replied the patterer. ”I believe the Hebrew rhyme was really just a red herring-although a blood-red one. The sender knew that such horrendous deaths, as they mounted up, would bring ever-closer scrutiny.

”So perhaps the idea was, at least partly, to divert our energies into searching for a mystical Jewish avenger. The Exodus verse? Well, it is in keeping with the theme of vengeance, but it only repeats the threats, shedding no new light on the deaths. It is almost as if something were missing. I thought at one stage that the killer wanted wanted to be caught. But, if so, there were more victims to come. Why, after only two, alert us and perhaps cut short the desired cycle? And the whole idea collapses when we consider Elsie and Muller, who were apparent outsiders plucked into the fatal circle for other reasons.” to be caught. But, if so, there were more victims to come. Why, after only two, alert us and perhaps cut short the desired cycle? And the whole idea collapses when we consider Elsie and Muller, who were apparent outsiders plucked into the fatal circle for other reasons.”

The governor cleared his throat. ”Madame Greene?” His reminder was firm.

”Yes,” said Dunne. ”I could see no link, not until I finally deciphered a coded message sent to us by the doomed printer at the New World New World, Will Abbot.” He pa.s.sed to his listeners the proof of the typesetting found with the body.

”A knowledgeable colleague pointed out to me that the type used was smaller in size than it should have been. Why? Now, Abbot must have had some inkling of his coming death, even before he began to set this material.

”He couldn't write down his attacker's ident.i.ty, couldn't even set it in type, in the event it was read and smashed. So he did the next best thing-the only only thing-which was to set a clue by using the thing-which was to set a clue by using the wrong wrong type. He chose a case of type in a size that was unsuitable, then signaled his intention by setting a first line that indicated the subsequent lines were not set as instructed. Why else would he set such a first line? He already knew, without reminding, that a larger type size was required. No, the message was for some future reader, he hoped. type. He chose a case of type in a size that was unsuitable, then signaled his intention by setting a first line that indicated the subsequent lines were not set as instructed. Why else would he set such a first line? He already knew, without reminding, that a larger type size was required. No, the message was for some future reader, he hoped.

”Later, Dr. Owens idly asked my observant friend what was involved in a switch of types and he was told that it only required the compositor to select a different wooden case of type. I remember Dr. Owens being told simply, 'The case is altered.' On that deadly day in the printery, the type shuffle would have meant nothing to the killer. Abbot could only hope that someone would one day understand. I finally did. And, as I will soon explain, the murdered Muller gave me the same message.

”First though, I had to remember how, in this very room, you, Captain Crotty, were explaining military nicknames. You mentioned, for instance, how sailors had corrupted Bellerophon Bellerophon into Billy Ruffian. And you mentioned another concoction. I called upon a veteran who told me how the 57th and its soldiers had bivouacked during the Spanish campaigns at an agreeable place that captured their fancy so much that from then on they sentimentally attached its name to subsequent comfortable watering holes (in the alcoholic sense) and billets. The name of that Iberian oasis was Casa Alta.” into Billy Ruffian. And you mentioned another concoction. I called upon a veteran who told me how the 57th and its soldiers had bivouacked during the Spanish campaigns at an agreeable place that captured their fancy so much that from then on they sentimentally attached its name to subsequent comfortable watering holes (in the alcoholic sense) and billets. The name of that Iberian oasis was Casa Alta.”

The patterer paused. ”Tell me, Captain Crotty, do you know in what rude manner old soldiers render this happy hideaway, Casa Alta?”

”Good Lord! I've heard it garbled as 'the Case is Altered.'”

”Thank you. Now, Colonel. Your turn. Most often, the surrogate Casa Alta for the men has been a public house-there is more than one in Middles.e.x, the regiment's home territory. Sometimes it refers to a brothel. Here in Sydney we have no tavern or wh.o.r.ehouse bearing the Spanish name, or even its Anglicized corruption. Nonetheless, there is a connection.” Calling on all his skills as a patterer, Dunne let the tension build. ”Colonel, what exactly does 'Casa Alta' mean in Spanish?”

”Why, ah, 'High House,'” said Shadforth.

”Exactly!” said Nicodemus Dunne. ”The very name of the establishment of the late Madame Greene. Abbot was placing Madame Greene conclusively within the fatal circle. But why?”

Captain Rossi nodded approvingly, but William Charles Wentworth only sneered and leaned forward pugnaciously. ”So you've connected the brothel-keeper to the others-is that the true extent of your progress? Answer the real questions, the ones you've made such a fuss about. Who among us is a killer?”

”Very well,” said the Patterer. ”If you demand satisfaction”-at this, he thought he caught a flicker of disquiet cross the lawyer's face at the double meaning of the phrase-”you shall have it. But first, I say that six of you had the opportunity to kill the blacksmith.”

The room was suddenly hushed.

”You were all involved in a clandestine meeting and were loose in the early hours of that Monday morning. And there was certainly death on your minds. You were illegally conspiring to kill or at least maim one man; perhaps even two could have died. So, yes, by all means let's talk about what happened ... at Garden Island. You have a lot to explain.”

There was silence. Then, at a nod from the governor, the flood-gates finally opened.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR.

'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and h.e.l.l itself breathes out Contagion to the world: now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on.

-William Shakespeare, Hamlet (1601)

AS EACH OF THE a.s.sEMBLED MEN CONFESSED HIS PART IN THE escapade, the patterer pieced together the story. In the small hours of the Monday morning in question, the morning of the blacksmith's murder, two skiffs stood bobbing at the Governor's Wharf in Sydney Cove. They had been ordered there during the previous afternoon.

Apart from its oarsman, one boat already contained its complement of three pa.s.sengers; the two men to be carried in the other vessel impatiently awaited the arrival of their third companion. He finally arrived, breathless, and boarded with apologies.

”Sorry, gentlemen,” puffed Captain Crotty. ”I was obliged to detour to confuse the guard.”

His a.s.sociates either grunted or said nothing. The tension remained.

Without further instruction, one crewman took the lead as the boats quietly moved off, first north past the water bailiff's building and the heaving-down place. They then turned east around Macquarie's Fort on its outcrop, and next crossed the mouth of Farm Cove to Mrs. Macquarie's Point. The last leg of the journey took the tiny fleet farther east, then down to a landing strand on Garden Island. It seemed the long way around, but approach from the town through the Domain and Gardens in the depth of the night was not practical.

Crotty's boat arrived first. His companions, who soon splashed ash.o.r.e with him, were Dr. Thomas Owens and Governor Ralph Darling. The second vessel then discharged the Reverend Dr. Halloran, Mr. Edward Smith Hall and Mr. W. C. Wentworth.

Although they had remained silent during their ride, they now made no effort to disguise their presence on the island. They knew that the area, which had been given to First Fleet settlers forty years earlier as a vegetable garden and later also used for convalescents and as a quarantine station, would now be deserted.

For this reason, it was Sydney's dueling ground of choice, a place where the town's gentlemen came to settle questions of honor. Its appeal lay in its remoteness, for armed arbitration was illegal. The authorities sometimes turned a blind eye, but duelists were often severely punished. That purest of pure merinos, Captain Macarthur, had been sent back to England in disgrace to face court-martial for seriously wounding his commanding officer. And only four months before, a Garden Island duelist had been jailed for three months for fatally wounding an opponent, as was the man who had stood the killer's second. Sometimes, combatants emerged with bodies unscathed and honor restored. The guns were clumsy and often inaccurate (or the shooters were).

”It's almost a family tradition!” Dr. Owens joked nervously to the governor.

Darling shook his head grimly. He knew the doctor was alluding to the fact that only the previous year his brother-in-law, Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Dumaresq, had felt obliged to challenge that d.a.m.ned Wentworth's partner, Dr. Robert Wardell. Dumaresq had taken umbrage at an article in The Australian The Australian, ”How to Live by Plunder.”

The party had arrived at the chosen site, a small clearing. Now all they had to do was prepare for the fight, wait for the first bloom of dawn and let it begin.

Dr. Halloran spoke, by torchlight, as both president and referee of the coming duel. ”There is still time to settle this amicably but honorably, gentlemen. Would you repeat the substance of your perceived injury, Mr. Wentworth?”

”He referred to my late father, a pillar of the colony, as a convict, as a highwayman!” he spluttered with repressed anger.