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Patley’s word that he was literate — and in a way he was. I had, of course, gotten the sense of his message. I admitted that he had learned at least so far. The question was, whether or no he could be taught more. Would Mr. Burnham take him on as a scholar? Would Patley agree to it?
    Out came Sir John and Lady Fielding from the music room. The skin round her eyes was flushed pink; her eyes glistened. She had been weeping. Beneath the black silk band he wore, I knew that Sir John’s eyes were quite destroyed; he could not weep, nor would he. His jaw was set, however, and his mouth turned down in such a way that his face had a stern appearance.
    I bobbed up from the chair in which I had been sitting and approached him, hoping to detain him for some minutes longer, that I might have a few words with him. But again he worked one of his wonders of sightless seeing.
    “Is that you, Jeremy?”
    “Yes, it is, Sir John. If you have the time and the strength, I should like to talk with you. It should not take long.”
    “Of course,” said he. Then did he turn to Lady Fielding: “Kate, my dear, find Clarissa and prepare to leave. We shall all go off to Bow Street together.”
    She murmured her assent and, much subdued, went down the hall in search of her young charge. Sir John waved me to the door and took my arm.
    “Put me in a chair,” said he. “I’m unsure of myself in this room. I can’t seem to find my way around in it.”
    I did as he asked, kicking shut the door behind us. I found a comfortably padded chair for him and pulled over one of a plain design for me.
    “What will you then, Jeremy?”
    “I’ve two matters to discuss, sir. First of all, I would think it wise if you were to dictate a letter to Mr. Saunders Welch, asking him to take all your cases until such time as you are able to resume your duties. He has no doubt heard of last night’s event.”
    “No doubt,” said Sir John in a manner somewhat abstracted.
    “If we are to persuade him to take over today, we should probably get the letter to him immediately. I could take it in dictation right here, sir.”
    Oddly, he said nothing, simply sat.
    “Uh … I don’t see how he could refuse, sir.”
    Again, nothing for a moment. Then: “That is not the question, lad. It seems to me that whoever it was shot me is not absolutely certain if I am alive or dead. I think it of the utmost importance that I present myself in the Bow Street Court as usual today to prove that I am alive.”
    “But might he not try again?”
    “To shoot me? Oh, there is a chance, I suppose. But I think that highly unlikely. There is but the one street exit, and there will be armed men about.”
    “Mr. Fuller?”
    “Mr. Marsden, too. I’ll see to it he wears a brace of pistols — perhaps you, too, eh? Above all, Jeremy, it is important to demonstrate that wounding a magistrate will in no wise stop or even interrupt the dispensation of justice at Bow Street.”
    “As you will then, Sir John.”
    “And I will that there be no letter to Mr. Saunders Welch. Now what was the other matter you wished to talk about?”
    “About last night’s investigation,” said I.
    “Well, what about it?”
    “You wished to talk to him who reported the robbery and murder to Mr. Baker.”
    “Yes, and I was more than a little disappointed that our Constable Patley could not present him to us for interrogation. In fact, he could not even supply the fellow’s name.”
    “He must have gotten it from the butler there at the Lilley residence then, for he provided it in the written report he left with Mr. Marsden.”
    “Indeed? And what was the name?”
    “Waters — or possibly Walters, something like that. It was a little difficult making it out.”
    “This fellow, Patley, writes a poor hand I assume?”
    “You might say so, yes sir, but would you like me to interrogate Waters, or Walters, or whatever his name be?”
    Sir John gave that some thought. “I would,” said he. “Indeed I