An Experiment in Treason

by Alexander, Bruce

  “Indeed, I did. It was a rather extraordinary burglary in a number of ways. First of all, the burglars made their entry by way of the front door. Secondly, when they were detected inside the house by a footman, they were surprised by him in the act of searching through his master’s desk. Or, rather, one of them was surprised, while the other dealt the footman such a blow upon the back of his head that he was knocked senseless — and dead. And, finally, it was an even more unusual burglary in that the victim, Lord Hillsborough, seemed not to know, nor even care what might have been stolen. He was, in any case, very reluctant to say, or even to guess, what was missing.”

  “I take it, ” said Lord Mansfield, “that you wish to solve this case?”

  “Of course I do. Such a question.”

  “Well, I can help you in that, I believe, for I have persuaded Lord Hillsborough that if he truly desires to have restored to him that which was stolen, that he must give greater cooperation to you. You and your — what is it you call that force of constables you keep?”

  “The Bow Street Runners.”

  “Yes. Well, I told him that you and they represent the only real chance he has of getting it back, whatever it is.”

  “Indeed I am pleased that you think so,” said Sir John. “But I have a question for you. Lord Mansfield.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You referred to the stolen object as ‘whatever it is.’ Don’t you know what it is?”

  “No,” said he. “After all, I have no need to know.”

  “Is that how Lord Hillsborough put it to you?”

  “Yes, dammit, but he’s right. Tell too many and you’ll hear all of London buzzing about it like so many bees round the honeycomb. Look here, Sir John, I’ve persuaded him to talk to you about this, and he has promised to be more forthcoming than before.”

  “Does that mean he’ll tell me what’s missing?”

  “I don’t know — probably it does, but you’ll have to work all that out with him. There are, so I understand, certain restrictions.”

  “And what are they?”

  “Again, I’m unsure of that. They are of the kind that anyone might use in handling secret matters of state.”

  “A state secret, is it? Well, this should be interesting.”

  “Interesting or no, Lord Hillsborough has agreed to meet with you … let’s see …” from his waistcoat pocket he drew a round, fat timepiece, sprang it open, and studied its face somewhat myopi-cally, “in approximately half an hour. You’ll have no difficulty getting there, will you? If you like, I can send you in my coach.”

  “No,” said Sir John, levering himself out of his chair. “It would not do to arrive early, and a bit of a walk might help me to recover from this dreadfully early rising hour.” He turned toward me. “Jeremy? Shall we go?” He groped for my arm and found it. Together we started for the door.

  “Oh, Sir John,” the Lord Chief Justice called after us, “there is one more thing.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That Frenchwoman.”

  Sir John’s face seemed to darken as he turned back. “What about her?” His jaw set as he awaited the answer to his question.

  “I shall try her on Friday, so you had best bind her over soon — though you may put it off till the next Thursday, if you Hke.”

  It took Sir John a few moments to respond. “I believe I shall put if off till then,” said he at last.

  “Your choice, of course. Good-bye then.”

  Sir John said no good-bye and wished no farewell. He simply urged me on. We raced the butler for the door. He barely managed to get it open before we arrived at it. We passed through without a word.

  For more than half of our journey southward, I waited, trying to suppose what might be going on within that mighty brain of his. And though he gave no outward sign, I was fair certain that it was Marie-Helene’s day in court which had so sobered him; he was now in the state we had seen him last night at evening’s end. He must, I told myself, feel a great sense of powerlessness. What a burden it is for a man to carry when friendship does contend with duty. What could Mr. Bilbo have said to Sir John? What could he have asked? Did Lord Mansfield not know of the sense of loyalty and liking that the two men felt one for the other? Did he even care?

  Then, as if reading my thoughts, Sir John spoke up as one might in offering excuses for another.

  “Think not too badly of the Lord Chief Justice, ” said he, “for, after all, he saved Marie-Helene from the Maritime Court.”

  “Oh? How was that?” I asked.

  “They wished to try her.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Piracy. She would have been found guilty and hanged.”

  “A woman hanged for piracy? Has that ever happened before?”

  “I believe so — sometime in the last century.”

  “Yet what proof was there of it?”

  “Piracy has been defined as illicit trade — and that, they said, was what she was engaged in.”

  “But … but smuggling isn’t piracy.”

  “Of course not. What vexed them so was her barrage upon English soil — or English sand, as it happened. That was all the proof of piracy they needed.”

  “Yet Lord Mansfield kept her from them?”

  “He did, yes. And he’s to be praised for it. But Mr. Bilbo would give him no credit whatever. The man is impossible to argue with. He kept saying over and over again, ‘She shouldn’t be tried at all. A woman ain’t got guilt the same as a man!’ I know what he means, and I must say that in some ways he’s right. Women, in this society — perhaps in all societies — have what you might call ‘diminished capacity.

  “We shall talk about that sometime,” I urged.

  “Oh, I’m sure we shall,” said he, and then he fell silent once again.

  By that time we were in St. Martin’s Lane, just past the notorious Seven Dials, home to half the cutpurses and pickpockets of London. Sir John walked safely there as few could, and I walked safely beside him; his reputation saved us both.

  Yet I was curious still regarding the coming trial. I put a few questions to him. He answered them direct. Somehow that seemed to steady him.

  “On what charge will she be tried?”

  “On whatever charge I put to her.”

  “Have you given some consideration to that?”

  “Some. Perhaps not yet enough. But I suppose the charge will be contrabanding, the same as her husband. That’s what Lord Mansfield expects.”

  “There were no victims, of course.”

  “Victims of that notorious cannonade, you mean? No, she did naught with it but kick up some sand — thank God.”

  Again, silence. I had no more questions, and there seemed little point to put to him frivolous interrogatives of the sort that are used at dinner parties to keep conversation flowing. And so we simply walked on, he grasping my arm at the elbow with one hand, and with the other, exploring the territory ahead with wild swings of his walking stick. Those along the way made room for him, as they had to do. Still, he had something more to say on the matter.

  “You must know the worst of it,” said he to me.

  “And what is that, sir?”

  “The worst of it is that Mr. Bilbo will probably be called as a witness for the prosecution.”

  “Against Marie-Helene?”

  “Yes, of course. I told him this last night, and the man simply went wild. Said he, ‘You expect me to bear witness against the woman I love?’ And I said nothing. Indeed, what could I say? The answer to his question is no, I don’t expect him to bear witness against the woman he loves. Yet if he fails to appear, or even if he appears and refuses to answer certain questions, then he will be in contempt of court. What then? What other course might he follow? I tremble even to guess.” We walked on. Sir John let forth a great sigh. Then, did he remark: “Who would have thought that within the breast of that old pirate, Jack Bilbo, beats the heart of a romantic?”

  In this m
anner, we came to the residence of Lord Hillsborough. I had not viewed it before, yet there was no difficulty in finding the place, for it was the only house within Craig’s Court. To the north was Charing Cross Road and to the south was Whitehall, that collection of grand buildings which housed the offices of the nation’s government. I took us to the door, and thereon did I beat a sharp tattoo. A butler appeared, one who could have been brother — or at least cousin — to Lord Mansfield’s gatekeeper: the same suspicious eyes, the same downturned mouth. I announced to him that Sir John Fielding of the Bow Street Court had arrived to fulfill an appointment made for him by the Lord Chief Justice.

  “Of course, ” said he, stepping aside and opening the door to us. “I recognize Sir John from the unfortunate events of two nights past. If you will come this way, please.” And then did he actually smile.

  (All right, perhaps I had misjudged him. It sometimes happened that my dislike of a certain class of people — butlers being the best example — blinded me to the virtues of individuals within that class.)

  He bowed politely at the door to a room which had the appearance of a study. There were books lining shelves that filled two of the room’s walls, and there was a desk of large proportions — the same desk perhaps whose contents were spilled across the floor night before last. The man who sat behind it I took to be Lord Hillsborough; he had a long, narrow face which wore an expression of the sort that seemed to say he had just detected an unpleasant odor. Yet once inside, I was surprised to see another, younger man sitting to the left of the desk; he, it seemed, was more relaxed, more confident than the man behind the desk, in spite of his youth.

  Both men rose at Sir John’s entrance.

  “Thank-you for coming,” said the man behind the desk. “I hope I may be of greater help to you today than I was the other night.”

  “I hope so, too. Lord Hillsborough. But am I mistaken, or do I sense another here in this room?”

  “You amaze me, Sir John. Indeed you do sense another present. He is Sir Thomas Dexter.”

  “Ah, the solicitor general. He must be here to ensure that you are not too helpful.”

  The two men laughed politely and in chorus at that; Sir John bowed in their general direction.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, ” said he who had been identified as Sir Thomas. “You were much discussed when I read law.”

  “That could not have been so very long ago, judging from the sound of your voice. May I ask, sir, what is your age?”

  “I have attained twenty-five years, sir.”

  “Only that? Why sir, you seem a fair infant prodigy of the law. I believe I knew your father whilst I was in the Navy. He is Lord of the Admiralty, is he not?”

  “Just so.”

  “Remember me to him, if you please.” Then, after I had positioned him carefully so that the chair provided was directly beneath his backside, he took a seat. The other two returned to their chairs, and I, having nowhere else to go, took a post behind Sir John.

  At a nod from the solicitor general. Lord Hillsborough cleared his throat and began: “As you may have gleaned from my welcoming remark. Sir John, I am prepared to be more cooperative than I was at our last meeting.”

  “That, at least, is a start.”

  “I must confess that on that occasion I was not altogether forthcoming.”

  “You knew, in other words, what the burglars were after?”

  “Well …yes.”

  “Because you had already found that it was missing?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was it something of value to you? Of course it was. But was it of value to the burglars? Monetary value? Not money, evidently, nor something that could have been sold immediately? “

  “No, no, no,” said Lord Hillsborough, “not money, nor something that could be easily sold. I believe I can make things considerably easier for you if I tell you that what was stolen could only have value to a very few men here in London. I would hazard that the burglars were, so to speak, hired to accomplish the theft.”

  “And who do you suppose would have ordered this done?”

  Before Lord Hillsborough could respond. Sir Thomas cleared his throat sharply that he might catch the attention of the nobleman.

  Once he had it, he rose from his chair and stepped across the short space which separated them, raised his hand to shield his hps, and whispered in his ear.

  “That I cannot answer at th’u time,” said Hillsborough, emphasizing the temporary nature of the stricture which had been placed upon him.

  “But at another time soon?” queried Sir John.

  “Perhaps.”

  “You seem determined to make this more difficult than it need be, my Lord. Why not now?”

  “Because, sir,” said the young solicitor general, “to answer that question we need the permission of one who is not at this moment readily available to us.”

  Oddly, Sir Thomas Dexter had not left Hillsborough’s side. He stood by his chair so that he might be more immediately available to give advice.

  “I appreciate your frankness, if not your lack of response,” said the magistrate. “But perhaps now, since you’ve made clear to me your limitations, we can move through this a bit more quickly.”

  “I hope so,” said Sir Thomas.

  “Lord Hillsborough, you’ve made it rather clear what the stolen object was not, so perhaps nowyou can tell me what it was.”

  “It was a packet of letters.”

  “Indeed? Then I must repeat one of the questions I put to you the other night, and that is, to wit, whether these letters are of a private and personal nature, the sort that might be used to embarrass you?”

  “No,” said Hillsborough, dismissing the notion out of hand, “nothing of that kind — certainly not.”

  “Were you then the sender or recipient of these letters?”

  “Neither.”

  Sir John seemed truly puzzled. “These letters must then have come into your possession in your capacity as secretary of state for the American colonies. Is that true?”

  Lord Hillsborough was plainly annoyed at the question. He turned to Sir Thomas for advice — and received it. The two men huddled behind their upraised hands, buzzing away in whispers, first one and then the other. At last, fully informed, he turned back to Sir John.

  “I must decline to answer that question direct,” said he. “I can only say to you. Sir John Fielding, that His Majesty’s government attaches great importance to the letters and to their recovery and wishes them returned to me at once. That, I believe, is all I care to say at this meeting.”

  “Well,” said Sir John, rising from his chair, “since I was brought here specifically to hear what you had to say, and now you propose to stop talking, there is no point in remaining. I must say, though, that in spite of what I was led to expect from you by the Lord Chief Justice, I have gotten very little more from you than I did at my first visit here. Now I know what I did not know before, that I am to look for a packet of letters. How nice.” Then, after no more than a pause for breath, he turned round in my general direction and said, “Come along, Jeremy, let’s away from here.”

  I managed to push the chair aside and offered him my elbow. He felt the nudge I gave him and fastened onto me. But as we proceeded to the door, of a sudden he stopped, turned back to the two men, and spoke up once again.

  “I shall put another question to you. Lord Hillsborough. You needn’t answer it, for I believe I know the answer already. The question is this: Were you authorized to serve as custodian for these letters? Are there not rules against taking such important documents into your residence and keeping them there?”

  “I … Well … I …”

  “Just as I thought.” And so did we set out again upon our path to the study door. It opened magically before us, and I knew then that the butler had heard all, as butlers will. Yes, there he was, bowing solemnly before us, closing the door behind us, then reappearing just ahead to lead the way. Not o
nly had he sharp ears, he was also fleet of foot for one of advanced years.

  ‘Twas at the door which led to Craig’s Court that the butler paused and spoke out in a low, confidential tone.

  “Sir John,” said he, “there was a detail to the burglary which I failed to pass on to you. I don’t know why I neglected to do so. Perhaps I was so upset that I — “

  “Quite understandable,” said Sir John, interrupting. “Events such as these have a way of disturbing one’s equihbrium, so to speak, so that matters go forgotten and important details are overlooked. I’ve experienced it myself.”

  “Well, I’m not at all sure that this would be what one would call an important detail, but I could not help but note that the locks to this front door had been secured open with a stout strip of cotton. I discovered it thus unlocked.”

  “Hmmm, I know not if that be an important detail, but it certainly is an interesting one. And I thank you for passing it on to me, Mr… . Mr… .”

  “Carruthers.”

  “Yes, I thank you, sir.”

  So saying. Sir John bobbed his head in a proper little bow, which Carruthers returned as he threw open the front door and bade us good day.

  I knew not the worth of that bit of information passed on to us by the butler, but it was plain that Sir John valued it highly. He bounced along beside me like a schoolboy off to holidays. I wondered at this and put the question to him. He responded with little more than a laugh at first.

  “Really, Jeremy!”

  “No, truly, sir, I’d like to know just why that oddment from the butler has excited you so.”

  “Well, how may I put this?” said Sir John. “First of all, it’s physical evidence, and physical evidence is worth something — well, a good deal more than all those evasions and suspicions put forward by Lord Hillsborough. What did he tell us, after all? Only that a packet of letters was stolen — not who wrote them, who received them, nor what they concerned — simply a packet of letters.”

  Proceeding, he lowered his voice. As it happened, we were just entering the Strand from Charing Cross Road and were now part of a great crowd. Sir John must have felt that great gang of people milling about, and hoped to keep the matter quite between us.