Part 67 (2/2)
Matthew thought, I I have you. have you.
He said, ”You don't know Latin, do you? In fact, you neither understand nor speak a word of it. Tell me, then, how a man may attend Oxford and come away an educator without knowing Latin.”
Johnstone's eyes had become very small.
”Well, I'll seek to explain what I believe to be true.” Matthew swept his gaze across the other men, who were also stricken into amazed silence by this revelation. He walked to the chess set near the window and picked up a bishop. ”Reverend Grove played chess, you see. This was his chess set. Mr. Bidwell, you informed me of that fact. You also said the reverend was a Latin scholar, and liked to infuriate you by calling out his moves in that language.” He studied the bishop by the lamplight. ”On the occasion of the fire that burned down a house that same night, Mr. Johnstone, you mentioned to me that you and Mr. Winston were in the habit of playing chess. Would it ever have happened, sir, that-this being a town of rare chess players and even more rare Latin scholars-Reverend Grove challenged you to a game?”
Bidwell was staring at the schoolmaster, waiting for a response, but from Johnstone there was no reply.
”Would it have happened, ” Matthew went on, ”that Reverend Grove a.s.sumed you knew Latin, and spoke to you in that language during a game? Of course, you wouldn't have known if he was speaking to you or announcing a move. In any case, you wouldn't have been able to respond, would you?” He turned toward Johnstone. ”What's wrong, sir? Does the Devil have your tongue?”
Johnstone simply stared straight ahead, his fingers gripping the cane's handle and the knuckles bleached.
”He's thinking, gentlemen, ” Matthew said. ”Thinking, always thinking. He is a very smart man, no doubt of it. He might actually have become a real schoolmaster, if he'd chosen to. What exactly are you, Mr. Johnstone?”
Still no response or reaction.
”I do know you're a murderer.” Matthew placed the bishop back on the table. ”Mrs. Nettles told me she recalled Reverend Grove seemed bothered about something not long before he was killed. She told me he spoke two words, as if in reflection to himself. Those words were: No Latin. He was trying to reason out why an Oxford man didn't know the language. Did he ask you why, Mr. Johnstone? Was he about to point out the fact to Mr. Bidwell, and thus expose you as a fraud? And that's why Reverend Grove became the first victim?”
”Wait, ” the doctor said, his mind fogged. ”The Devil killed Reverend Grove! Cut his throat and clawed him!”
”The Devil sits in this room, sir, and his name-if it is is his real name-is Alan Johnstone. Of course he wasn't alone. He did have the help of the ratcatcher, who was a...” He stopped and smiled thinly. ”Ah! Mr. Johnstone! Do you also have a background in the theater arts? You know, Mt. Bidwell, why he wears that false knee. Because he'd already visited Fount Royal in the guise of a surveyor. The beard was probably his own, as at that point he had no need for a disguise. It was only when he verified what he needed to know, and later returned, that a suitable masking was necessary. Mr. Johnstone, if indeed you were-are-an actor, did you perchance ever play the role of a schoolmaster? Therefore you fixed upon what you already knew?” his real name-is Alan Johnstone. Of course he wasn't alone. He did have the help of the ratcatcher, who was a...” He stopped and smiled thinly. ”Ah! Mr. Johnstone! Do you also have a background in the theater arts? You know, Mt. Bidwell, why he wears that false knee. Because he'd already visited Fount Royal in the guise of a surveyor. The beard was probably his own, as at that point he had no need for a disguise. It was only when he verified what he needed to know, and later returned, that a suitable masking was necessary. Mr. Johnstone, if indeed you were-are-an actor, did you perchance ever play the role of a schoolmaster? Therefore you fixed upon what you already knew?”
”You, ” Johnstone said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, ”are quite... raving quite... raving... mad.”
”Am I? Well, let's see your knee then! It'll only take a moment.”
Instinctively, Johnstone's right hand went down to cover the misshapen bulge.
”I see, ” Matthew said. ”You wear your brace-which I presume you purchased in Charles Town-but you didn't put on the device you displayed to the magistrate, did you? Why would you? You thought I was long gone, and I was the only one who ever questioned your knee.”
”But I saw it myself!” Winston spoke up. ”It was terribly deformed!”
”No, it appeared terribly deformed. How did you construct such a thing, Mr. Johnstone? Come now, don't be modest about your talents! You are a man of many black facets! If I myself had wished to make a false knee, I might have used... oh... clay and candle wax, I suppose. Something to cover the kneecap, build it up and make it appear deformed. You chose a time to reveal the knee when I was unfortunately otherwise occupied.” He swung his gaze to Dr. s.h.i.+elds. ”Doctor, you sell a liniment to Mr. Johnstone for the supposed pain in his knee, don't you?”
”Yes, I do. A hogsfat-based liniment.”
”Does this liniment have an objectionable odor?”
”Well... it's not pleasant, but it can be endured.”
”What if the hogsfat is allowed to sit over heat, and become rancid before application? Mr. Winston, the magistrate mentioned to me that you were repelled by the odor. Is that correct?”
”Yes. Very quickly repelled, as I recall.”
”That was a safeguard, you see. To prevent anyone from either looking too closely at the false knee, or-heaven forbid- touching it. Isn't that true, Mr. Johnstone?”
Johnstone stared at the floor. He rubbed the bulge of his knee, a pulse beating at his temple.
”I'm sure that's not very comfortable. Is it intended to force a limp? You probably really can't climb stairs with it on, can you? Therefore you removed it to go up and look at the gold coin? Did you mean to steal that coin, or were you simply surprised at being caught in the act? Did your greedy hand clutch it in what was for you a normal reaction?”
”Wait, ” the doctor said. He was struggling to keep up, his own brain blasted by the rigors of his confession. ”You mean to say... Alan was never educated at Oxford? But I myself heard him trading tales of Oxford with the magistrate! He seemed to know the place so well!”
”Seemed to is right, sir. I expect he must have played a schoolmaster's role in some play and picked up a modic.u.m of information. He also knew that by pa.s.sing himself off as having an Oxford education, the town would more readily dismiss the efforts of the man who served as the previous teacher.”
”But what about Margaret? Johnstone's wife?” Winston asked. ”I know her bell seemed cracked, but... wouldn't she have known if he wasn't really a schoolmaster?”
”He had a wife?” This was the first Matthew had heard of it. ”Was he wed in Fount Royal, or did he bring her with him when he arrived?”
”He brought her, ” Winston said. ”And she seemed to despise Fount Royal and all of us from the beginning. So much so that he was obliged to return her to her family in England.” He shot Johnstone a dark glance. ”At least that's what he told us.”
”Ah, now you're beginning to understand that what he told you was never necessarily the truth-and rarely so. Mr. Johnstone, what about this woman? Who was she?”
Johnstone continued to stare at the floor.
”Whoever she was, I doubt she was really wed to you. But it was a clever artifice, gentlemen, and further disguised himself as a decent schoolmaster.” Matthew suddenly had a thought, a flas.h.i.+ng sun of revelation, and he smiled slightly as he regarded the fox. ”So: you returned this woman to her family in England, is that correct?”
Of course there was no answer.
”Mr. Bidwell, how long was it after Johnstone came back from England that the ratcatcher arrived here?”
”It was... I don't know... a month, possibly. Three weeks. I can't recall.”
”Less than three weeks, ” Winston said. ”I remember the day Linch arrived and offered his services. We were so glad to see him, as the rats were overrunning us.”
”Mr. Johnstone?” Matthew prompted. ”Had you, as a thespian, ever seen John Lancaster-and that was his true name- performing his act? Had you heard about his magnetism abilities while your troupe was travelling England? Perhaps you'd already met him?” Johnstone only stared blankly at the floorboards. ”In any case, ” Matthew continued with authority, ”you didn't go to England to return that so-called wife to her family. You went to England to seek a man you thought could help carry out your scheme. You knew what it would take. By then you had probably decided who the victims were going to be-even though I think your murder of Reverend Grove had more to do with hiding your falsehood than anything else-and you needed a man with the uncommon ability to create perceived truth from wholesale illusion. And you found him, didn't you?”
”Mad.” Johnstone's voice was husky and wounded. ”Mad... G.o.dd.a.m.ned mad...”
”Then you convinced him to join your mission, ” Matthew went on. ”I presume you had a trinket or two to show him as proof? Did you give him the brooch? Was that one of the things you'd found during those nights you posed as a surveyor? As you declined Mr. Bidwell's offer of a bed and pitched your tent right there beside the spring, you could go swimming without being discovered. What else did you find down there?”
”I'm not...” Johnstone struggled to stand. ”I'm not staying to hear this madman's slander!”
”Look how he remains in character!” Matthew said. ”I should have known you were an actor the first night we met! I should have realized from that face powder you wore, as you wore it the night of the maskers' dinner, that an actor never feels truly comfortable before a new audience without the benefit of makeup.”
”I'm leaving!” Johnstone had gained his feet. He turned his sallow, sweating face toward the door.
”Alan? I know all about John Lancaster.” Johnstone had been about to hobble out; now he froze again, at the sound of Bidwell's quiet, powerful voice.
”I know all about his abilities, though I don't understand such things. I do understand, however, from where Lancaster took his concept of the three demons. They were freaks he'd seen, at that circus which employed David Smythe's father.”
Johnstone stood motionless, staring at the door, his back to Matthew. Perhaps the fox trembled, at this recognition of being torn asunder by the hounds.
”You see, Alan, ” Bidwell went on, ”I opened a letter that Matthew had left for the magistrate. I read that letter... and I began to wonder why such a demon-possessed boy would fear for my safety. My safety, after all the insults and taunts I hurled at him. I began to wonder... if I had not best take Mr. Winston and go to Charles Town to find the Red Bull Players. They were camped just to the south. I found Mr. Smythe, and asked him the questions that were directed in that letter.”
Johnstone had not moved, and still did not.
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