[Master Mercurius 03] - Dishonour and Obey

by Graham Brack

  I realise that I have never given a description of myself in these journals, and I do not propose to do so now, but I have to explain that I have quite a high bridge to my nose. [No, Van der Meer, I do not have an unusually large nose; I have a normal sized nose on a delicately featured face. Such impudence in a clerk! There are plenty of people who would like your job. Yes, even at these wages.]

  Anyway, I could not see anything through the blindfold looking forward; but I could see a little underneath the blindfold looking down towards my chin. And what I could see was a right hand holding a narrow-bladed knife in front of my throat. He plainly had in mind cutting my throat with a great sweep since the end of the blade must have been somewhere near my left ear.

  Desperation makes a man do some strange things, so I said a silent prayer and then sank my teeth deep into the base of the thumb and held on for dear life. There was a deal of screaming and yelling, and some scuffling and buffeting, and suddenly my chair was tipped over violently. Some kind person pulled the blindfold off — they might have undone the knot first — and once my eyes became accustomed to the light, I could see about four men lying on top of someone on the floor, while Pepys was standing over me with a smile playing loosely across his features.

  ‘You had us worried for a while there, Master,’ he said.

  ‘I was worried myself, Mr Pepys,’ I replied. ‘I don’t suppose somebody could cut my bonds?’

  Pepys looked around for the dropped knife, found it across the room, and began sawing at the ropes. ‘Is that your blood around your mouth, or his?’ he asked solicitously.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I just knew that if I bit his hand, he could not use the knife on me.’

  Pepys nodded. ‘He could have transferred the knife to his other hand,’ he said.

  I think I went pale. ‘I never thought of that,’ I admitted.

  ‘It is your good fortune that he didn’t either.’

  One of his men began cutting the rope from my feet. My wrists and ankles were sore, and my legs were like marzipan, but God be praised I was unharmed. Pepys helped me to my feet and I dusted myself down.

  ‘I assume we’re taking him back to Whitehall?’ Pepys asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said.

  As I had expected, I found myself looking at the angry face of Captain Hallow.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I had a more comfortable journey to Whitehall than Hallow did. Since he was unable to walk by virtue of having his legs strapped together, he was picked up and dumped on a cart borrowed from one of the market traders. I, meanwhile, was invited to repair to the carriage which had brought Mr Pepys thither.

  ‘I am grateful for your timely intervention, but how did you know where I was?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah, there you may thank some public-spirited citizens. A couple of them noticed some ruffians throwing a sack over your head. One ran for the watch, while the other followed the miscreants at a distance. The watch came for me when a witness said that he had been speaking to you about a statue. They were struck by his description of you as a “German minister of God” and, knowing that we had been in company on the night that Wevers died, it crossed someone’s mind that it might be you.’

  This is the point at which I express gratitude to the English for being a nosy people. In the Low Countries, people would probably have thought that if I want to have a sack thrown over my head, it is none of their business.

  ‘I came to the market as fast as I could, and we were informed that you had been taken along Old Jewry into Coleman Street. There the pursuer had lost sight of you, but he assumed you must be near because nobody he asked further along the street had seen you. Thus when we arrived we had only a couple of dozen houses to examine. But our search was helped by a keen-eyed woman who wondered why a hanging had been put across one of the upstairs windows of a house opposite her own. One of my men crept up the stairs and listened at the door, and the rest you know.’

  Our arrival at the gates of Whitehall occasioned some interest, with even more evidenced when the cart bearing Hallow arrived some minutes later. Hallow looked rather dishevelled, the result, according to the guards, of an escape attempt when he had rolled off the back of the cart near Blackfriars and attempted to hop into the river. Hallow’s account was that through their negligence he had been allowed to fall off the cart and he was merely trying to get out of the carriageway before he was run down.

  Arlington had been advised of the commotion and had run to inform the King, with the result that Hallow was ordered to be taken at once to the large chamber where public audiences took place. The King, we were told, was being dressed with haste.

  Haste is, of course, a relative term, and it was about half an hour before His Majesty was satisfied with his appearance and joined us. Hallow had been untied except for his wrists and was standing at the foot of the steps to the dais with two guards with swords drawn beside him. As an extra precaution a noose had been looped over his head, and a third guard was standing with his hands on the knot ready to tighten it at a moment’s notice.

  King Charles noticed this at once. ‘That noose will save time, you blackguard! What have you to say for yourself before we hang you?’

  Hallow was remarkably composed. ‘I humbly say, Your Majesty, that as an Englishman I am entitled to a trial by my peers; and that no evidence has been produced against me; and that, therefore, trusting in Your Majesty’s Coronation promise to uphold the law of England, I apprehend no danger of summary judgment and execution.’

  ‘A pretty speech, my fellow. But being blameless may not save you from execution. I speak as one whose father suffered though without stain on his character.’

  I grant that there are historians who would dispute that description of King Charles the First, but that was not the time or place to do so, and we all let the remark go uncontested.

  Arlington whispered something into His Majesty’s ear.

  ‘Is he, by God?’ said Charles. ‘Well, Master Mercurius, the floor is yours. Explain to us why you bring this man for judgment.’

  ‘Gladly, Your Majesty. But I believe that he has an accomplice, and I am keen that they should not escape. May I have them brought here?’

  ‘Please do,’ boomed Charles.

  I gave orders to a couple of servants, who rushed off. I have to say that at that moment Charles looked every inch what I expected a king to be. His voice was loud and firm, his presence magnificent, and he stayed awake all through my explanation without more than the occasional sign of boredom, which, I think, is more than some rulers might have done.

  I asked for a cup of wine to wet my throat, took a sip, and began my explanation.

  ‘I do not believe in coincidence,’ I said. ‘And the death of mijnheer Wevers was no street altercation or vulgar robbery. This was a cold-blooded, efficient killing. To bring guilt home to the perpetrator, I have to show that they were in the right place, at the right time, and, if possible, demonstrate a reason for the murder. I believe I can now do all these things.’

  There was an appreciative gasp from my audience.

  ‘First, let me tell you what the motive was not. I have had an interview with Edward Coleman. He admits that he was responsible for the attempt to blame mijnheer Preuveneers for the robbery of the silver, but says that he had no part in the murder of Wevers. I believe him, because he made a very frank confession of his misdoings but denied that one vehemently, and because there is someone with a better reason for committing the crime.’ I looked to Arlington. ‘My Lord Arlington was with me when we examined the chest belonging to Wevers. It contained a secret compartment.’

  There was another gasp. This was, it seemed, even better entertainment than the theatre, but that may have been only because it had not cost them a shilling to get in.

  ‘In this compartment we found a handgun and a letter which commanded Wevers to deliver a pouch of money to an Englishman with the alias of Delphi who had provided useful intelligence to the Unit
ed Provinces during the late war. The pouch was not there, so we may suppose that Wevers had it on him when we went out on his last walk. And since it was not on him when his body was found, we may suppose that the murderer took it. They had very little time to do so, and they did not find the dagger in Wevers’ sleeve, so we must assume their search was not thorough. They found the pouch because they were looking for it, and only for that. We cannot know until we find the pouch, but I suspect that they feared that it might contain information they would have found awkward or embarrassing if it fell into the wrong hands. Or, as we would say, the right hands.’

  Charles chuckled. He clearly knew his were the right hands.

  ‘It does my country no credit that this episode demonstrates that we employ English spies,’ I continued, ‘but I can only tell you the truth. And now we come to a key piece of information, because Wevers’ instructions told him to ask Delphi some questions about the large ships the English navy was building on the Medway. But it also revealed that the supply of information had dried up over the last six months. I can think of three possibilities for that. One is that Delphi was dead. The second is that he had decided no longer to play the spy. And the third is that he was no longer in a position to supply the information.’

  I could see by the look on Pepys’ face that he knew what was coming next.

  ‘I thought that the likeliest reason was that Delphi was a naval officer and was now at sea, but there is an objection to that idea which I will come to in a moment. The alternative was that Delphi had worked in the Admiralty but had now taken on a new post. I imagine that this Delphi had need of ready money. It is expensive to live in London, and the salary of an Admiralty clerk is not great.

  ‘The possible objection to Delphi being at sea lurks in the way that Wevers had to make his appointment. It seems that Delphi did not submit his information directly to my country, because whoever gave Wevers his instructions was not able to contact Delphi directly. He had to go via an intermediary, whom I will call Apollo. Wevers was told that Apollo had been commanded to get Delphi to contact him to arrange a rendezvous at which Wevers would pay him for past services and ask for the information about the new ships that I have mentioned. And I assume that such an appointment was made, which Wevers was on his way to keep. Lord Arlington has suggested that it may have been at the Savoy, which was an area where English and Dutch people could mix without drawing attention to themselves, but it does not really matter exactly where it was. The main thing is that the murderer could make a good guess at the route that someone who did not know London well would take, and that he knew when the meeting was planned. Lord Arlington, do you agree with my account thus far?’

  ‘It is as you say,’ Arlington agreed.

  ‘The obvious conclusion was that only two people knew of the appointment — Wevers and Delphi. And Delphi was therefore the killer. This was my line of thought for a long time. But then I realised that there was another alternative. We know that Apollo was ordered to get Delphi to make an appointment; but suppose that Apollo did not, or could not do so. Could he have made the appointment himself, without the knowledge of Delphi? In which event it was still true that only two people knew of the appointment, but this time they would be Wevers and Apollo. In fact, we only have Apollo’s word for it that Delphi even exists.’

  I glanced around the hall to see whether anyone was unsurprised by this suggestion and saw Paston frowning deeply. It was clear that I had lost him in my argument, probably around the time I mentioned the secret compartment.

  ‘I assume that the information provided was found to be good and accurate, or we would not have paid for it and requested more, but perhaps Apollo was just as able to provide it.’

  ‘A moment, Master,’ Charles interrupted. ‘If there isn’t a Delphi, then this fellow is both a spy and a murderer, and we’ll only have one execution rather than two. Admittedly it’ll be a drawn-out affair, but only one. This is going to be a bit of a puzzle, Arlington. Either we hang him as a naval spy at Execution Dock, or we hang, draw and quarter him at Tyburn, but we can’t do both. Or can we?’

  Arlington was eager not to allow my explication to be interrupted. ‘Perhaps we might address Your Majesty’s question when we have heard the whole of what Mercurius has to say,’ he suggested.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, of course. Carry on, Master,’ said Charles.

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ I replied with a small bow. I do not mind saying that my thoughts had been disrupted by mention of execution. I do not like to think of my efforts leading to the death of a man, particularly a slow and gruesome one. As we had arrived on our first day we had sailed past Execution Dock and seen someone hanging there. The gallows were at the waterline, and we were told that the condemned man was left hanging until the tide had washed over him three times. You just had to hope that the rope had done its job before the tide rose for the first time, because I could not imagine the terror of hanging there as the water reached your chin.

  I shook myself out of this line of thought and continued. ‘We now come to the matter of Mr Morley. I have to explain to the gentlemen here that Mr Morley is an English spy. I believe Morley to be a pseudonym because the practice in such circles is to use noms de guerre to increase secrecy about their work. I was reliably informed that when Wevers left this place to go to his final appointment he was being followed discreetly by Morley, but that Wevers realised this and was able to slip away using an old trick of entering an inn and hiding behind the door, exiting behind Morley’s back when Morley opened the door and entered. I visited the inn at which this manoeuvre was said to have happened. Well, it might; but only if Morley was such an incompetent bungler that a man might escape from him in his wardrobe.’

  There was general laughter, led by the King.

  ‘The inn was very small, you see, and it would be very difficult for Morley not to see at a glance from the doorway whether Wevers was there or no. He would never need to go right inside. Thus, it seemed to me that Morley’s account was questionable; but since this impugns his professionalism, we have to ask why Morley would give a report that shows himself in such a bad light. Unless, I suppose, he wanted to avoid a graver accusation. And here I note that this ridiculous account serves as Morley’s proof of his whereabouts for the time when Wevers was killed. Morley, by his description of events, could not have killed Wevers because he was still looking for him in a place where Wevers was not.’

  ‘That is supposing that Wevers met his death as soon as the party divided,’ Arlington interrupted.

  ‘Indeed. But Mr Pepys will agree that when we found Wevers, his body was quite cold. He had not been killed shortly before. One day, perhaps, we will be able to fix the time of death by knowing the temperature of the body. All we can say now is that he was not freshly killed when found. I note also that if he had been killed nearer to nine o’clock, Morley would have furnished himself with proof that he was elsewhere at that time.’

  Pepys stepped forward to agree with what had been said, then spoke briefly with Coventry, who called a servant to him and gave him some instructions.

  ‘I have now to thank mijnheer Vlisser for drawing my attention to a detailed map of London on which I was able to see the site of the discovery of the body and which suggested one reason why the inn might have been mentioned. The party divided into two at St Martin-in-the-Fields. One part went with Mr Laurel; I was of that party. The other followed Mr Dawkins to an inn known as The White Cat. I believe that Wevers was part of this group, but that he hung back so that his eventual departure to keep his appointment would not be noticed.

  ‘The alleyway where the body of Wevers was found is a dead end. Nobody would pass through it on the way to anywhere else. But the small inn where Morley claims to have lost touch with Wevers backs onto that lane; and so does The White Cat. Both use the alleyway to access their back doors by which they receive supplies. When you walk along it, you can quite easily tell which gate leads to each inn. I said that nobody wou
ld walk along the alleyway; but that does not mean that nobody would walk across it. Your Majesty, Morley entered the small inn at the front, left via the rear door, crossed the alleyway and went in the rear door of The White Cat. Since that is a direct route, he was able to get there around the same time as Mr Dawkins’ party and was not missed. If anyone saw him enter the inn from the rear, he might tell them he had been using the privy. And I will claim that the reason Morley mentioned the inn is that he thought someone might have seen him go in there. If we had looked, any of Mr Laurel’s party would have had a clear view of it. I will argue that Morley needed that direct route to buy him the time he needed to kill Wevers; or, rather, to have him killed.’

  ‘One moment, Master. Are you saying that Morley had rejoined the party when the body was discovered?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty. He was with us.’

  ‘But he did not actually kill Wevers?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty. If he had done so, he could hardly have avoided being spattered with blood. His accomplice stabbed Wevers and then melted away into the crowd by a means I will describe shortly. But first I want to investigate a little more who this Morley is.

  ‘Your Majesty will recall that I asked to speak to Morley and was told that it was not possible. I found this strange, because I had myself heard Your Majesty order him to be detained for his dereliction of duty. I persisted, and I was granted an interview of a kind, but a strange one. I could not see Morley, who was sitting behind a screen; nor could I hear him, because his answers were whispered to Lord Arlington, who then voiced them aloud. Among these questions was one which asked whether Morley had ever been to my country; he asked Lord Arlington what the answer was. Why? Surely a man knows where he has been? But if he were impersonating another man, then he might not. And so I deduced.