‘That was on the floor,’ said Jack.
‘How did the doctor die?’
‘That is obvious, Nick. There is a great hole in his back and there is also a knife on the floor. Look. Someone was probably attempting to steal the stone.’
‘Then why is the stone still here?’
‘I don’t know. What I do know is that Dr Case has been attacked with great force. With fury.’
Rather than examine the gaping wound, I peered more closely at the knife where it lay on the floor. On the blade were markings that could be dried blood. I did not want to pick up the knife; it seemed inadvisable, and I was already holding the sky-stone. Instead, I averted my eyes from the body and went to examine the open window. Why was it open? Did Jonathan Case have a taste for the night air? That was unlikely. Of all people, physicians are the ones who know that the night is full of unwholesome vapours.
‘Could someone have come through there?’ I said. ‘The base of the frame has been damaged. The wood is cracked and splintered, as if someone had attempted to force his way in.’
Jack didn’t bother to look. He shrugged and said, ‘Anyone who succeeded in that would have to be very small, almost a child.’
It was true. The window aperture was about a foot and a half square. I’d observed that most of the mariners on the Argo, even the slighter fellows, had well-developed arms and shoulders, the result, no doubt, of years of hauling and carrying and climbing. Nevertheless, I tried the window space for myself. I could get my head through but reckoned I would have got stuck had I attempted to go further. Besides, how could anyone reach the window? Below, perhaps fifteen feet or more below, swirled the dirty river water. No way up from there. Above my head was the overhang of the after-end of the poop deck. A nimble man – a sailor, say, particularly if he was secured with a rope – might have been able to descend to this level if he had a mind to spy on Dr Case as he was preparing for bed. But it would have been almost impossible for an intruder to have made an entry through the casement window even if the damage to the frame suggested that someone might have tried. Moored directly behind us was the herring buss which had collided with the Argo yesterday. I wondered if anyone on board had witnessed anything, but there was no sign of life on that deck either.
Without more words, Jack and I moved out of the tiny cabin. One of us, I’m not sure which, instinctively pushed the door to so that we no longer had to gaze at the outstretched corpse.
‘We must raise the alarm,’ said Jack.
‘Yes. Is Tallman here?’
I gestured towards the third of the curtained alcoves. But the gesture wasn’t necessary. The curtain wasn’t fully drawn and it was apparent that no occultist was sleeping there.
‘Must raise the alarm,’ repeated Jack.
But neither of us moved.
In the half-light of the great cabin I examined the sky-stone, which I still held. I could not decide whether it was a bird shape or a ship shape or something else altogether.
It wasn’t until this point that it occurred to Jack and me to look towards the cabinet that had kept the sky-stone secure. The door to the cabinet was shut, but it must have been opened during the night. If you examined the dial, the lady’s finger would be indicating the number. Which number now – forty-one? But what did the figure on the dial matter? The cabinet must have been opened. The simplest evidence of that lay in my hand. Had the doctor unlocked it so as to take out and gloat over the stone which was promised to Maître Renard of St-Malo? Or had someone else got hold of the key and unlocked the thing, intending to filch the stone?
‘We don’t have to raise the alarm,’ said Jack.
‘We could simply leave the ship,’ I said, the image of a slinking cat passing through my mind.
‘This is nothing to do with us.’
‘We know that, but others don’t. A man has been murdered, violently murdered. If we run away, we become fugitives.’
‘We’d probably get no further than Gravesend. A hue and cry would be raised.’
‘Yes.’
It was almost a relief when Captain Case and Henry Tallman entered the cabin. They took in the scene in an instant. So quickly, in fact – as I realized within another couple of instants – that there was no need to raise the alarm or even to say anything. They must have had some inkling of what they were going to find. Colin Case paced across to the inner cabin and opened the door. He grunted, gave a cursory glance at his brother’s body and reached out a hand to touch the swelling on the forehead. Meanwhile, Tallman remained by the bottom of the steps, keeping a wary eye on both of us. The captain rejoined Tallman. Both men looked at us. If Captain Case was distressed by the violent death of his brother Jonathan, he was doing a good job of hiding it.
‘A murder has been done,’ I said.
‘I am sorry for it,’ said Jack.
‘If that is so, Colin,’ said Tallman, ‘it looks as though you have found your murderer, or should I say murderers?’
‘Not so fast, Henry. Jonathan has been dead a little time. He is scarcely warm to the touch. If these two gentlemen had a hand in it, wouldn’t they have run away? Look elsewhere before suspecting them.’
My thoughts exactly. My respect for the captain went up a couple of notches.
‘You do not suspect me, I hope,’ said Tallman, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. I noticed that his right hand was wrapped around with a makeshift bandage, a handkerchief. ‘After all, I came to inform you of what had occurred.’
I gave a sigh of relief. This meant that Jack had not been the first to discover Dr Case’s body. Tallman must have also peered through the open door and gone off to rouse the captain. That is, if he was not the one responsible for the physician’s death. Whatever happened must have happened before Jack or I was awake.
Colin Case ignored Tallman’s remark and instead said, ‘Anyway, what reason would a pair of players have for . . . disposing of my brother?’
The good captain rose another notch or two in my estimation. He was doing an excellent job in our defence.
‘I rather think Mr Revill might be holding the reason in his hand,’ said Tallman.
I became aware that I had not relinquished the sky-stone. Rather than drop it as Jack had done, I handed it to Captain Case. I was reluctant to give it to Tallman. Case examined it, as did everyone who picked up the sky-stone. Instead of commenting on the markings, he said, ‘This might be blood. It is hard to see in here, though.’
‘Perhaps an outsider has done this deed,’ I said. ‘I have examined the casement window in the little cabin, and although I do not think anyone could have entered that way—’
‘You are right, Mr Revill. No one could possibly have entered through the window. No one but a child or a . . .’ said the shipmaster, his voice tailing away. There was an unreadable expression on his face. I might have believed he was toying with us, if I could have come up with any explanation why he should be doing so. Grasping at straws, I said, ‘Maybe a thief sneaked on to the boat in the night and was taken by surprise by your brother.’
‘There I think you are wrong,’ said Colin Case, pocketing the sky-stone, which might have been stained with his brother’s blood. ‘Come with me.’
We trooped on to the deck, the four of us. The sun had risen higher, and the red bands in the sky were thinning out. There were a few mariners about, including the bearded Bennett. Colin Case summoned his boatswain, had a conversation and gave some instructions. The only bit I heard concerned the departure of the Argo. We would not be sailing with the tide. He gave no reason for his order, which is the shipmaster’s privilege. Case returned to where we were standing and indicated a place in the bulwarks which was marked by ropes rather than wooden panels. This was the point where people and goods boarded the Argo. There was an equivalent gap on the other side of the boat. When we’d arrived at Gravesend, a couple of planks had been extended to connect us to the wharfside.
Case explained that a boat the size of the Argo co
uld not moor right up against the ancient wharf because of the shallowness of the river at this point. The wharf had been constructed when boats were smaller. The planks that served as a makeshift bridge between ship and shore now lay stowed against the bulwark. The captain said that, on his orders, the planks were drawn inboard at night to prevent the very thievery or intrusion which I had mentioned. We could see that the boarding planks were tucked away on the ship. Therefore, no one had come aboard the Argo since the previous evening.
‘I have confirmed that with Bennett,’ added Case. ‘A few of the men went into Gravesend, but they were back well before midnight when the planks were drawn inboard.’
‘No one came on board after hours but a particular type of person might have left the ship,’ said Jack Wilson, leaning over the bulwark and estimating the gap that separated us from the muddy wharfside, which lay a couple of feet below the level of the deck and several yards away. The gap between was filled with the dark waters of the Thames, now scarcely stirring. ‘A reckless or desperate individual might leap this distance.’
‘Possibly,’ said Case. ‘But you are forgetting that the Argo has risen with the tide over the last couple of hours. If an outsider was making his escape in the middle of the night, not only would he have to contend with the darkness and a jump of twelve or more feet, but he would also be jumping upwards. The deck of the Argo would have been below the level of the wharf. Besides, there are few sailors who’d risk falling into water, even shallow water. Mostly they cannot swim, you see.’
‘Why’s that?’ said Jack.
‘It would show a lack of faith if they were able to swim.’
I wasn’t sure whether he meant a lack of faith in the ship or the shipmaster or even in God. More questions seemed beside the point.
‘Perhaps we must look beyond the merely mortal for this murder,’ said Tallman.
‘A spirit, you mean,’ said Case. ‘An imp or demon.’
‘Your words, Colin.’
‘More likely, isn’t it, Henry, that the action against my brother was undertaken by someone who is still on board the boat? Isn’t that what you’re all thinking?’
The logic of this seemed strong enough. The shipmaster had a word with another mariner, then the four of us went back to the great cabin. Colin Case suggested we sit at the table. He commanded rather than suggested. He had taken charge. Now that the physician was dead, he was the sole authority on the Argo. Case opened the door to the inner cabin, as if to ascertain that his brother’s body was still there. He spent some time inside, doing what I had done as far as I could see. Poking his head through the still-open casement window, examining the low ceiling.
After that the shipmaster locked the door, using a key from a ring containing several, and joined us at the table. Jack and I were sitting on a bench on one side, Tallman and Case on the other. The shipmaster looked thoughtful. He stroked his beard with one hand. The other held the knife that had been lying on the floor of the little cabin. He handed it to Tallman, handle first.
‘Yours, I think. It was in there.’
Tallman took the knife in his left hand. The right was bandaged, a handkerchief wound around the palm. It was fortunate, perhaps, that the linen of the handkerchief was dyed red; otherwise the blood on Tallman’s hand might have shown through. If there was blood to show in the first place. Confronted with the knife, Tallman seemed uncertain how to respond.
There was a silence before he said, ‘I must have dropped it when I was in there last night. I asked Jonathan to show me the sky-stone again. I let him think I might make a counter-offer for the sky-stone. An offer which he could report to his French principal at the London legation rather than deliver the object to Maître Renard of St-Malo. In truth, I had – and have – no desire to possess the stone, which I believe that Jonathan came by illicitly. But I wanted to make a copy of the markings on it to show to my friend Dr Dee. It was while you two players were out on deck. You weren’t here either, Colin.’
‘Well . . . what happened?’ asked the shipmaster.
‘When I persisted, Jonathan obliged. He opened that cabinet and produced the stone, although not very willingly. He insisted we retreat to his cabin on account of the stinking pipe smoke in the great cabin. His words, the stinking pipe smoke. He opened the window to let the air in, even though night had fallen.’
I caught Jack’s eye. So much for the notion that someone had tried to enter the little cabin by forcing open the casement window.
‘I asked to look at the sky-stone, and all the while I did so Jonathan was watching me like a hawk. I didn’t get the chance to copy the markings because when I produced a knife – this knife – to scrape at the surface of the stone, to test the substance it is made of, Jonathan became very anxious. He snatched it back. He was anxious and angry. As he seized the stone out of my grasp he caused me to cut myself with my own knife.’
Tallman held up his bandaged hand.
‘So it is your blood on the stone,’ said Colin.
‘Very likely. And on my knife, too, now that I look at it properly. Anyway, the good doctor was so out of temper that he ordered me to quit his cabin. Realizing that I was not going to get any further, I did so—’
‘Leaving him with the sky-stone. He didn’t put it back in the cabinet?’
‘I don’t think so. I staunched the cut on my hand with this kerchief and withdrew to my little nook.’
In the ensuing pause, Colin Case said that when we were out on deck he had ordered some breakfast – bread and ale – brought in for us. We must be hungry. He was certainly hungry, he said. The shipmaster seemed not only dispassionate about Jonathan’s death but unaffected by it.
I was curious about something and thought the shipmaster could enlighten me. The answer might even have a bearing on the death of Jonathan Case.
‘Where does the other door lead to?’
Case glanced over his shoulder at the second door alongside the one giving on to the small cabin.
‘It leads to a platform and a ladder that descends to the bowels of the ship and ascends to the poop deck. The whipstaff passes through there.’
Seeing our bafflement, he explained that the helmsman on the afterdeck controlled the direction of the boat by means of the whipstaff, a stout piece of timber which passed through a hole in the deck and shifted the tiller through a narrow arc by means of a pivot. Once out in the open sea, the shipmaster would consult the compass and then issue instructions to the helmsman by opening the second door and climbing the ladder or, more likely, ordering someone else to do it.
‘We have grown soft and easy of late, we mariners,’ said Case. ‘In the old days the sole compass would have been housed on the poop alongside the helmsman so that the shipmaster had to brave the elements to give direction. But now I may do it from the comfort of the great cabin. Nevertheless, the helmsman still steers most of the time by using his own compass and the log. The method is called dead reckoning.’
Henry Tallman looked increasingly impatient with all this maritime chat. In the meantime he had been lighting his pipe. Now he felt confident enough to make a joke. ‘Well, that is why we are here. A dead reckoning. Or a reckoning with the dead.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Colin Case. The absorbed expression which had settled on his face as he outlined the function of the whipstaff was replaced by a more dogged look. ‘Gentlemen, we should alert the watch or the headborough in Gravesend to what we have discovered. But I do not expect great things from the constable in such a place. It is true that I am on good terms with one of the justices in north Kent but, even so, we might be detained for days. Meanwhile, I have a ship to take across the British Sea to France, where there is a cargo of wine to collect—’
‘—as well as a sky-stone to deliver to Maître Renard of St-Malo?’ said Tallman.
‘Perhaps,’ said Case. For the first time he seemed slightly unsure of himself.
‘What do you intend to do?’ said Jack. ‘Sail on and ignore your brother’s
murder?’
‘Murder, eh?’
‘What would you call it?’
‘Let’s say murder, then. You think the best course would be if we handed over the responsible person to the local justice, his guilt signed and sealed.’
‘To do that, one of us has to confess or be detected in his guilt,’ said Tallman.
‘It would be as well if we were clear about our movements last night,’ said the shipmaster. ‘Once they are established we can turn our attention elsewhere.’
‘That is easily answered for Nick and me,’ said Jack. ‘After we’d eaten last night we went to get some fresh air on deck. There we . . . took a turn or two before coming back here.’
I noticed the way Jack had glided over our meeting with Nicholas the priest (or whatever he was) in the dark. My namesake was presumably lurking in the hold at this very moment. Fearing persecution and fleeing to France, he would not be likely to disembark at Gravesend. Did the shipmaster know of his presence? Surely he must do. Was it Nicholas who had disposed of Dr Case? He could have had access to the great cabin by climbing up from the hold and entering through the second door. Possibly that’s what had happened. But, if so, why?
‘There was no one here when we got back from our walk on deck,’ I said. ‘You two had gone. The three of you had gone if you include Dr Case.’
‘I was tucked up in there, as I said,’ said Henry Tallman, indicating the curtained alcove with his pipe-stem. ‘Jonathan had already retreated to his cabin after the business with the sky-stone, as I also said.’
‘I left the cabin by that other door,’ said the shipmaster. ‘I went up to the afterdeck to take a final look around before turning in. It is my custom even when we are moored up.’
‘You didn’t sleep in here?’ I said, even though I already knew the answer.
‘My brother had rented this space just as he had chartered this boat. I preferred to leave him to it. I slept up in the fo’c’s’le. I had no wish to be near him.’
The Sacred Stone Page 34