Read Online The Price of Murder by Bruce Alexander - Free Book Online
Authors: Bruce Alexander
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Alley.”
“Oh—oh, yes.”
Whereupon I told her about it once again, adding my encounter with Deuteronomy Plummer, and telling her of my frustrating dismissal by Sir John.
“Why did you so want to stay?” she asked when I had concluded.
“Well, I . . . I wished to listen in on the interrogation as, well, as part of my education in the law. And I . . . I . . . Hang it, Clarissa, I would know what this fellow had to say about his sister, his niece, about all of it.”
“And why do you suppose Sir John wanted you away?” I was silent for a moment, thinking through my response. I wished to be as truthful as I could be in this matter, yet at the same time I wished also to place myself in the best possible light.
“Well, he said he wanted me to fetch you and accompany you back to Bow Street.”
“And I applaud him for that,” said she. “But you seem to feel that he had another, ulterior motive in sending you away.”
“I suppose I do.”
“And that is . . . ?”
“To be more candid than I would wish to be, I must say that he probably supposed he could get more out of Mr. Plummer if I were not present.”
I sighed, oddly glad to have come forth with it.
“You must have thought that yourself,” said she.
“Why do you say that?” I sounded a bit tetchy, even to myself.
“You took Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer to Sir John without telling him that his sister had sold her daughter, did you not? And neglecting also to mention to him that his niece was dead? And the only questions you put to him then were of a general nature, isn’t that also correct?”
Again I sighed. “All true,” said I. “You have made your point. Let us end the discussion right here and now.”
And that we did, for, after all, we were quite near Number 4 Bow Street, were we not? And whatever had been discussed between us would now be set aside as we adopted our domestic personae.
As we entered into the “backstage” area of the Bow Street Court, and were just then about to mount the stairs, the footsteps we had heard loud in our ears brought to us Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer. They, the footsteps, were unsteady. He walked as a drunken man, unable to keep a steady forward rhythm—though I was certain that he was sober. He seemed to push past without seeing us; and, indeed, his sight may have been impaired by the tears in his eyes. He spoke not a word as he went out the door to Bow Street.
I did not discover the substance of Sir John’s meeting with Mr. Plummer until after dinner that evening. He had invited me to come up and see him when I had finished the washing up. It took me a bit longer than I might have expected, for, as I washed pots, pans, and dishes, Clarissa took all the bits and pieces I had gathered from Katy Tiddle’s room and spread them out upon the kitchen table. As I had, she went first to the labels and similar oddments of paper. She picked up each one and studied it, then placed it back upon the table. Eventually, there were two separate piles of these bits of paper—labels and all others.
“Jeremy,” said she to me, “when you found all these, were they together, or in two separate groups, as I have them here?”
“Oh no, no, neither one,” said I, wringing out the cloth I had used on the dishes. “They were scattered all over her room. Some were on the floor. Three or four I found in the folds of the blankets on her bed, and a few were under the bed.”
“I see. Well, I fear I can’t make any immediate sense of this bunch, no matter how I divide them up.” She shrugged quite eloquently. “Sorry.”
“I hadn’t expected much from them. But what about those others?”
“What others?”
“Those with the numbers scrawled upon them. They were all together in a pile in the table next her bed.”
“You know what those are, don’t you? I certainly do.”
“Not really, no.”
“As near as I can tell,” said Clarissa, “these stubs, tickets, et cetera, are all from various pawn shops. Some of
“Oh—oh, yes.”
Whereupon I told her about it once again, adding my encounter with Deuteronomy Plummer, and telling her of my frustrating dismissal by Sir John.
“Why did you so want to stay?” she asked when I had concluded.
“Well, I . . . I wished to listen in on the interrogation as, well, as part of my education in the law. And I . . . I . . . Hang it, Clarissa, I would know what this fellow had to say about his sister, his niece, about all of it.”
“And why do you suppose Sir John wanted you away?” I was silent for a moment, thinking through my response. I wished to be as truthful as I could be in this matter, yet at the same time I wished also to place myself in the best possible light.
“Well, he said he wanted me to fetch you and accompany you back to Bow Street.”
“And I applaud him for that,” said she. “But you seem to feel that he had another, ulterior motive in sending you away.”
“I suppose I do.”
“And that is . . . ?”
“To be more candid than I would wish to be, I must say that he probably supposed he could get more out of Mr. Plummer if I were not present.”
I sighed, oddly glad to have come forth with it.
“You must have thought that yourself,” said she.
“Why do you say that?” I sounded a bit tetchy, even to myself.
“You took Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer to Sir John without telling him that his sister had sold her daughter, did you not? And neglecting also to mention to him that his niece was dead? And the only questions you put to him then were of a general nature, isn’t that also correct?”
Again I sighed. “All true,” said I. “You have made your point. Let us end the discussion right here and now.”
And that we did, for, after all, we were quite near Number 4 Bow Street, were we not? And whatever had been discussed between us would now be set aside as we adopted our domestic personae.
As we entered into the “backstage” area of the Bow Street Court, and were just then about to mount the stairs, the footsteps we had heard loud in our ears brought to us Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer. They, the footsteps, were unsteady. He walked as a drunken man, unable to keep a steady forward rhythm—though I was certain that he was sober. He seemed to push past without seeing us; and, indeed, his sight may have been impaired by the tears in his eyes. He spoke not a word as he went out the door to Bow Street.
I did not discover the substance of Sir John’s meeting with Mr. Plummer until after dinner that evening. He had invited me to come up and see him when I had finished the washing up. It took me a bit longer than I might have expected, for, as I washed pots, pans, and dishes, Clarissa took all the bits and pieces I had gathered from Katy Tiddle’s room and spread them out upon the kitchen table. As I had, she went first to the labels and similar oddments of paper. She picked up each one and studied it, then placed it back upon the table. Eventually, there were two separate piles of these bits of paper—labels and all others.
“Jeremy,” said she to me, “when you found all these, were they together, or in two separate groups, as I have them here?”
“Oh no, no, neither one,” said I, wringing out the cloth I had used on the dishes. “They were scattered all over her room. Some were on the floor. Three or four I found in the folds of the blankets on her bed, and a few were under the bed.”
“I see. Well, I fear I can’t make any immediate sense of this bunch, no matter how I divide them up.” She shrugged quite eloquently. “Sorry.”
“I hadn’t expected much from them. But what about those others?”
“What others?”
“Those with the numbers scrawled upon them. They were all together in a pile in the table next her bed.”
“You know what those are, don’t you? I certainly do.”
“Not really, no.”
“As near as I can tell,” said Clarissa, “these stubs, tickets, et cetera, are all from various pawn shops. Some of
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