Part 16 (1/2)

”A thief? Did you recognize the man? What was taken?”

”I didn't see his face,” the magistrate said. ”But the man evidently stole Matthew's gold coin.”

”The coin you found at Shawcombe's tavern?” Bidwell had heard about it from Paine just after they'd returned from their expedition.

Matthew nodded. ”Yes, sir.”

”I have to say I'm not surprised!” Bidwell put a hand into the bowl of water and wiped it across his sooty face. ”I understand the tales that were spreading magnified that single coin into a treasure box full! Small wonder some poor farmer didn't dare to come in here and make off with the fortune!”

”Sir?” Matthew said. ”Goode has advanced the theory that whoever did it might have been a frequent visitor to your house, in that he could negotiate the stairs without benefit of a candle. Do you have many poor farmers as your guests?”

”No. Excepting Garrick, of course. But he's only been here twice, and the second time was at our dinner.” Again he wet his face with a handful of water. It dawned upon him what Matthew was getting at. ”You believe the thief was a common acquaintance of mine?”

”A probability. I found no lantern in my room. The man may have entered in the dark and been familiar enough with your house not to need illumination.”

”A servant, then!” Bidwell looked at Mrs. Nettles. ”Have you seen to my bedchamber yet?”

”Yes sir, I have. Your coin box is undisturbed. I took the liberty also of inspectin' your study. Nothin' missin' there, as far as I could tell. And-if I ma' speak my mind, sir-the servants know where your coin box is. There're Dutch gold pieces aplenty in it.” She lifted her eyebrows. ”You follow what I'm sayin', sir?”

”Mr. Bidwell?” Matthew said. He had come to a conclusion of sorts. ”Whoever entered your house had been here before, probably many times. I believe he specifically wanted the coin that was in my possession. He knew I wouldn't be in the room. He knew also that the magistrate was a hard sleeper. Because I I told him.” told him.”

”You did?” did?”

”Yes, sir. Except this theory is somewhat flawed. Schoolmaster Johnstone couldn't have run down the stairs.”

Bidwell stared at him, mouth agape. And then from that open mouth came a laugh like donkey's bray. ”Now you've shown your true intellect, boy!” he said, with more than a touch of glee. ”Schoolmaster Johnstone a thief! thief! Put this in your broken pipe and puff on it: the man's even unable to Put this in your broken pipe and puff on it: the man's even unable to climb climb stairs, much less run down them! He has a deformed knee, in case it's escaped you!” stairs, much less run down them! He has a deformed knee, in case it's escaped you!”

”I've seen what appears to be a deformed knee,” Matthew said calmly. ”I've not seen the knee itself.”

”By G.o.d, you are a right brash set of bones!” Bidwell grinned savagely. ”Have you lost whatever mind you brought to this town?”

”I am only telling you, sir, that I informed the schoolmaster that Magistrate Woodward was asleep in his room.”

”Well, h.e.l.l's burnin' bells! I told the same thing to Nicholas Paine, when he asked where the magistrate was!”

”And Mr. Winston asked me,” me,” Mrs. Nettles said. ”I told him I thought the magistrate was still abed.” Mrs. Nettles said. ”I told him I thought the magistrate was still abed.”

”Mrs. Nettles Nettles knew it!” Bidwell brayed on. ”I think she could knock a man down, don't you?” His wet face flushed when he realized what he'd just said. ”No offense, Mrs. Nettles.” knew it!” Bidwell brayed on. ”I think she could knock a man down, don't you?” His wet face flushed when he realized what he'd just said. ”No offense, Mrs. Nettles.”

”None taken, sir. I once threw my dear departed husband through a winda.”

”There, you see?” see?” Bidwell turned his glare upon Woodward. ”Sir, if this was the most able clerk you could discover, I pity the judicial world!” Bidwell turned his glare upon Woodward. ”Sir, if this was the most able clerk you could discover, I pity the judicial world!”

”He's able enough,” was the magistrate's rather frosty reply. ”Even if he does sometimes put his cart before his horses.”

”In this case, his cart is lacking not only horses but wheels!” wheels!” Bidwell shook his head, disgusted with the whole business. ”Oh, if I live to see the new year I shall count it as a miracle! Here, what's that you're drinking?” Bidwell shook his head, disgusted with the whole business. ”Oh, if I live to see the new year I shall count it as a miracle! Here, what's that you're drinking?”

”Rum,” Woodward answered.

”What's rum for one is rum for two, then!” Bidwell took the tankard from him and swigged the rest of it down.

”There is another thing,” Matthew said; he'd remembered it, just as Bidwell had mentioned living to see the new year. ”Dr. s.h.i.+elds.”

”Yes? What about him? Was he in here with the schoolmaster, both of them thieving?”

”He also inquired as to the whereabouts of the magistrate, and Mr. Johnstone told him what I'd said. The doctor excused himself from my presence just after Mr. Johnstone left.”

”Oh, so now we have a gang of thieves! The schoolmaster, Dr. s.h.i.+elds, Mr. Paine, Winston, and Mrs. Nettles! A fearsome five, indeed!”

”Make light as you wish,” Matthew said, ”but I think one of those five entered this house and took my gold coin.”

”Not me!” the woman said sharply. ”Surely you don't mean me!” me!”

”Of course he means you!” Bidwell a.s.sured her. ”If he can accuse a cripple of running down a staircase in the dark, he can accuse whomever the h.e.l.l he pleases!”

”It wasn't the doctor.” Woodward placed his hand against his bruised shoulder. ”The man who hit me had some size to him. Six feet he was, at least. A giant, possibly. And he moved as swiftly as a snake.”

”Yes, sir.” Matthew gave a faint smile. ”And we fought off Shawcombe with candles versus daggers, didn't we?”

Woodward understood his meaning, and tucked his head down an inch or so. Bidwell slammed the tankard down upon the nearest tabletop. ”I'm going back up to bed, for whatever sleep I can find! I daresay it won't be much!” He focused his gaze directly at Matthew. ”First light will be here in two hours. I'll expect you to be ready to carry out your sentence.”

”I shall be.”

Bidwell picked up a lantern and took three weary steps toward the staircase. Then he abruptly stopped and looked back, his face daubed yellow in the glow. ”Is there something in particular about that coin I should know?”

Matthew recalled the conversation he'd had with Woodward, concerning the theory that there might be an encampment of Spanish soldiers near the Indians' village. Now, however, seemed not the moment to bring it up with Bidwell, his being in such a fractious temperament.

”What I'm asking is,” Bidwell continued, ”why would someone risk entering my house for one gold coin?”

Matthew said, ”I don't know.”

”No ideas? Have your theories failed you?”

”For the moment, yes.”

”I think,” Bidwell said bluntly, ”that you know much more about this than you wish to say. But I'll let it go, as I'm in no mood for a fencing match with you. Good night, gentlemen.” Bidwell ascended the stairs, and Mrs. Nettles gave the two men a crisp good night-her face a solemn mask that told Matthew she was quite offended at his accusation of thievery-and went about her business.

Woodward waited until he was positive they were alone. Then he gave a quiet laugh. ”Of course you have a theory, don't you? You have a theory for everything under the sun.”

”If you mean I fervently desire to know the why why of things, you're correct.” of things, you're correct.”

”The why why of things,” Woodward repeated, and there was a bitter edge in his voice. ”Knowing the why of things can kill a man, Matthew.” He put his hand to his throat and ma.s.saged it. ”Sometimes it's best not to ask too many questions. Haven't you learned that yet?” of things,” Woodward repeated, and there was a bitter edge in his voice. ”Knowing the why of things can kill a man, Matthew.” He put his hand to his throat and ma.s.saged it. ”Sometimes it's best not to ask too many questions. Haven't you learned that yet?”

”It's not my nature, sir,” Matthew replied; he felt sure that Woodward's att.i.tude in this matter of the why why had to do with the man's past life in London. had to do with the man's past life in London.

”You are young. I am old. That makes all the difference.” He let go a long, pained sigh. ”All right, then. Tell me what you're thinking.”