Read Online Murder in Grub Street by Bruce Alexander - Free Book Online
Authors: Bruce Alexander
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magistrate nodded thoughtfully. “A fair question,” said he. “Let us say, nothing — // said weapon be surrendered before this day be done.
At that, Burnley brightened. He looked around him, nodding hopefully this way and that as if seeking permission to speak from the onlookers.
“Then,” said he, “I seems to remember his name is Rum Ben Tobin.”
“And his place of residence?”
“I … uh … well, sir, of that I’m not quite sure.”
“Let me, then, dismiss.you not only as a witness but from this very courtroom. Go and find Ben Tobin and inform him of the terms I offer. For while we may not know his place, we know yours, Albert Burnley. And while I intend to honor my bargain with you, if your friend Tobin does not advantage himself of my terms, then it may go ill for you if and when you should appear before me here again. Is this clear?”
“Oh yes, sir.”
“Good, then be off on your search.”
Burnley lost not a moment but made straight for the door. There he was joined by one whom I then recognized as Harry, his companion of the night before. A ripple of laughter followed them as the two exited hastily.
“Mr. Marsden,” said Sir John, “I have not been given the name of the next witness but merely his position. Will you summon him properly?”
With a nod, the clerk rose and consulted the topmost of a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Will Isham Henry please step forward?”
The man who obeyed that summons was quite unknown to me. Tall, dark of hair and complexion, he wore a somber, dour mien. He took his place before Sir John, but neglected to remove his hat. I thought this somewhat disrespectful, but the magistrate, of course, took no notice, and his clerk, though frowning his disapproval, said nothing.
“Your name, sir?” asked Sir John.
“As was announced,” said the witness in a deep voice that seemed to suit the rest of him quite well.
“Repeat it, please, for the court record, and state your position.”
“I be Isham Henry, and I be a journeyman printer in the employ of Ezekiel Crabb. Or so I was until what was happened last night.
Murder in Grub Street A \
He had a strange manner of speech, slightly archaic, and in a mode that indicated his origins as somewhat northerly. I could not call him direct to mind from my earlier visits to the Crabb establishment. He was not, in any case, the typesetter whose place I had temporarily taken.
“Your address, sir?”
“I have a room in Half Moon Passage.”
“You, I take it then, lived apart from your place of employment.”
He let forth a deep dark laugh at that, that had the odd sound of a rumble. “Aye, oh indeed, else I would be dead before you now.”
“We would not have that, would we?” said Sir John. “I am told that you came forth wishing to give witness here, but that you are only this day returned to London from a visit to your home in — where was it?”
“Nigh on Nottingham,” said he. “I come here, for I knowed there was bad blood between this man John Clayton and Mr. Crabb.”
“Is this man Clayton known to you by sight?”
“He is.”
“Point him out to Mr. Marsden.”
Isham Henry did so, plainly indicating the man seated between Constable Cowley and Chief Constable Bailey. Mr. Marsden took note of it and indicated to Sir John he had done so.
“Now then, what makes you so certain that there was, as you say, ‘bad blood’ between Mr. Clayton and Mr. Crabb?”
“Everybody knowed it.”
“Who is everybody?”
“All who worked for Crabb, or in some wise had to do with the publication of that first book of Clayton’s.”
“And that includes yourself?”
“Ain’t that what I’m sayin’? This Clayton fella grew quite fierce when it was revealed to him the great number of his books was sold, and him receiving just a pittance for to publish it. Threatened Mr. Crabb, he did.”
“You heard him do this?”
“Well, I …” Isham Henry hesitated.
“With your own ears?
“It was well
At that, Burnley brightened. He looked around him, nodding hopefully this way and that as if seeking permission to speak from the onlookers.
“Then,” said he, “I seems to remember his name is Rum Ben Tobin.”
“And his place of residence?”
“I … uh … well, sir, of that I’m not quite sure.”
“Let me, then, dismiss.you not only as a witness but from this very courtroom. Go and find Ben Tobin and inform him of the terms I offer. For while we may not know his place, we know yours, Albert Burnley. And while I intend to honor my bargain with you, if your friend Tobin does not advantage himself of my terms, then it may go ill for you if and when you should appear before me here again. Is this clear?”
“Oh yes, sir.”
“Good, then be off on your search.”
Burnley lost not a moment but made straight for the door. There he was joined by one whom I then recognized as Harry, his companion of the night before. A ripple of laughter followed them as the two exited hastily.
“Mr. Marsden,” said Sir John, “I have not been given the name of the next witness but merely his position. Will you summon him properly?”
With a nod, the clerk rose and consulted the topmost of a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Will Isham Henry please step forward?”
The man who obeyed that summons was quite unknown to me. Tall, dark of hair and complexion, he wore a somber, dour mien. He took his place before Sir John, but neglected to remove his hat. I thought this somewhat disrespectful, but the magistrate, of course, took no notice, and his clerk, though frowning his disapproval, said nothing.
“Your name, sir?” asked Sir John.
“As was announced,” said the witness in a deep voice that seemed to suit the rest of him quite well.
“Repeat it, please, for the court record, and state your position.”
“I be Isham Henry, and I be a journeyman printer in the employ of Ezekiel Crabb. Or so I was until what was happened last night.
Murder in Grub Street A \
He had a strange manner of speech, slightly archaic, and in a mode that indicated his origins as somewhat northerly. I could not call him direct to mind from my earlier visits to the Crabb establishment. He was not, in any case, the typesetter whose place I had temporarily taken.
“Your address, sir?”
“I have a room in Half Moon Passage.”
“You, I take it then, lived apart from your place of employment.”
He let forth a deep dark laugh at that, that had the odd sound of a rumble. “Aye, oh indeed, else I would be dead before you now.”
“We would not have that, would we?” said Sir John. “I am told that you came forth wishing to give witness here, but that you are only this day returned to London from a visit to your home in — where was it?”
“Nigh on Nottingham,” said he. “I come here, for I knowed there was bad blood between this man John Clayton and Mr. Crabb.”
“Is this man Clayton known to you by sight?”
“He is.”
“Point him out to Mr. Marsden.”
Isham Henry did so, plainly indicating the man seated between Constable Cowley and Chief Constable Bailey. Mr. Marsden took note of it and indicated to Sir John he had done so.
“Now then, what makes you so certain that there was, as you say, ‘bad blood’ between Mr. Clayton and Mr. Crabb?”
“Everybody knowed it.”
“Who is everybody?”
“All who worked for Crabb, or in some wise had to do with the publication of that first book of Clayton’s.”
“And that includes yourself?”
“Ain’t that what I’m sayin’? This Clayton fella grew quite fierce when it was revealed to him the great number of his books was sold, and him receiving just a pittance for to publish it. Threatened Mr. Crabb, he did.”
“You heard him do this?”
“Well, I …” Isham Henry hesitated.
“With your own ears?
“It was well
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