The Resurrection Fireplace

by Hiroko Minagawa

  Abbott knocked as loudly on the door as the noise of the spectators would permit, but there was no answer.

  Anne summoned the proprietor.

  “On the orders of the magistrate’s office, open this door.”

  “The man who rented it has the key inside with him.”

  “You must have a spare.”

  “Magistrate’s orders or not, I can’t just open up… . And you don’t look like one of their officers, either.”

  “I am one—a Bow Street Runner.”

  “A female Runner? I’ll bet!”

  “In that case, by the authority of the magistrate’s office, I must close this establishment down.”

  More than Anne’s words, it was the way Abbott looked that made the owner give in.

  “Pardon me,” he called through the door. “Opening up.” He selected a key from his key-chain and tried it in the lock. “Trouble is, the key was inserted from the other side and left half-turned,” he said. “We can’t get in from here.”

  Abbott kicked the door open. There was no reaction within.

  “Please don’t break anything else.”

  Noticing the fuss, some of the spectators had gathered at the door instead, hoping for entertainment. Abbott shouted at them, teeth bared, and they backed away.

  “You owe me a door,” protested the publican weakly.

  Chapter 15

  “The deceased was lying on the sofa.”

  Sir John took his supper as he listened to her report. Anne sat at the table with him, her own place laid as well.

  “A white silk cravat was wrapped tight around his neck, so we suspect strangulation. Fortunately for my appetite, he was not stabbed.” Sir John heard her knife against the plate as she cut her steak.

  The cook had learned his trade in Paris, meaning that even a Frenchman could be invited to dinner without fear of snide remarks about John Bull and bird seed. But the sauce today did not seem up to the usual standard. This led Sir John to the realization that he had a blocked nose. Had he caught a cold despite its being summer? He blew his nose noisily, but found no relief.

  “It seems to have been his own cravat.”

  “And Robert Barton was nowhere to be found.”

  “The only person in the room was the cadaver.”

  “Describe to me the state of the room at the time.”

  “The door had been locked from the inside, with the key still in the lock. Abbott kicked it open. Viewed from the entrance, there was a table, and beyond that a sofa against the left wall. On the right were two elbow-chairs. A heavier chair was pushed against the wall facing the door, slightly to the left of the window. Tied to it was a long piece of fabric, with the other end hanging out of the window.”

  “He escaped through the window?”

  “It seems so. We pulled up the fabric to examine it. Hanging vertically, it was roughly two yards long. If he had used it to climb down, he would have reached its limit dangling about seven yards above the ground. Perhaps he leapt that final distance. It would be quite dangerous, but not impossible. He may have injured his legs. The window opens onto a very narrow alley with no traffic, and we are still investigating whether there were any witnesses… . But, to return to the room itself: on the right-hand side was an alcove and a canopy bed for assignations, with a curtain pulled shut around it. We looked inside, of course. It was empty, with no signs of recent use.”

  “Was there anywhere else he could have been hiding?”

  “No. The room had some shelves, but they afforded no hiding-place. There was a bottle of wine and a glass on the table. The bottle was open and the glass showed signs of having been used. Also, a bunch of grapes on a plate, a few of which seemed to have been eaten. According to the publican, when Evans used that room, the wine was placed there in advance. The owner laid on the grapes, too. Evans was a good customer, he said, so he provided these little services for him, and included the cost in the price of the room. The wine bottle and the grapes have been entrusted to Dr. Osborne to determine if either was poisoned.

  “Now, the publican gave the name of the deceased as John Smith. He did not know the names ‘Guy Evans’ or ‘Robert Barton.’ It seems that ‘John Smith’ had arranged some six months earlier to use the room from five to eight o’clock each Monday and Wednesday afternoon. Neither Abbott nor I know what Evans looks like, but under the circumstances it is hard to imagine who else it might be. Presumably he was using a false name. I believe that he made use of the Tom Queen for conversations too sensitive to hold in Jonathan’s. Although the proprietor was not familiar with any ‘Robert Barton,’ he did recognize him as a customer who sometimes occupied the room with ‘John Smith.’ I suspect that Evans also availed himself of several other locations for these secret meetings, as using one only would attract attention.

  “Regarding the body, we instructed a member of the staff to purchase the cheapest coffin he could find and have it delivered, with a letter requesting an autopsy, to Dr. Osborne.

  “I then sent Abbott to Evans’s residence, post-haste. If Robert Barton had killed Evans, he would surely move to destroy the IOU in Evans’s possession as his very next act. I had some officers who had returned to Bow Street join Abbott to assist with the arrest, and sent several others to Robert’s residence, in case he went there first. I also dispatched a message to Mr. Hume at the Temple Bank, requesting that he call at Dr. Osborne’s to confirm whether the deceased is Guy Evans. I hope you will forgive my taking these measures before delivering my report to you, Sir John. Time seemed of the essence.”

  “You have handled the matter flawlessly, Anne. Was Robert aware that you and Abbott were following him?”

  “I believe not.”

  “In which case, why would he not simply leave by the door, rather than flee through the window?”

  “Yes, that is hard to explain. Perhaps he did notice us. Or perhaps, in what may have been a dishevelled state, he did not wish to be seen by the spectators at the cock-fight.”

  “Why do you think he killed Evans?”

  “If your questioning revealed that he himself was under suspicion, he may have decided to ensure the other’s silence.”

  “If Evans died under those circumstances, Robert would be the prime suspect.”

  “Perhaps, during the course of their conversation, something happened to convince him that leaving Evans alive would put him personally at too much risk. In any case, no one else went into the room,” Anne said.

  “Could the corpse already have been there when he entered?”

  “It is not inconceivable… . But that would mean the culprit left without locking the door, as Robert opened it at once, entering without even waiting for a reply to his knock. I shall investigate whether anyone left the room before he appeared, but since all those present were intent on the cock-fight, it is quite possible that no one noticed… . Robert goes in, to find Evans there, dead; in shock, and fearing that he will become a suspect, he locks the door and escapes through the window… .”

  “Where, I wonder, did he obtain the fabric he made use of to escape? He cannot have prepared it in advance, surely.”

  “I forgot to look into that.”

  “Call an off-duty officer and send him to the Tom Queen to examine the rope. You and I have other business.”

  Sir John and Anne’s carriage raced towards Osborne’s premises.

  Hume was already there when they arrived. “It is indeed Guy Evans,” he said with some excitement. “He was in such a bad state that I could not tell at once, but I nerved myself to examine him closely. There is no mistake. What is this about? Who did this?”

  “My apologies for summoning you like this,” said Anne. “And thank you for your trouble. But there is no need to stay any longer now.”

  “Am I not to hear the details of this matter?”

  “Al
l will be explained eventually,” said Anne. “We still have much to investigate. For the time being, please do not speak of it to anyone else.”

  Once a clearly dissatisfied Hume had been sent away, Osborne showed Sir John and Anne into his examining room.

  “So this is Guy Evans,” Sir John said, touching the dead man’s face. It was beginning to lose its warmth, but the skin had yet to take on that eerie, penetrating chill.

  Someone was holding a candle nearby. Sir John sensed the heat of its flame.

  “The cause of death was strangulation,” declared Osborne. “That much is unmistakable.” Sir John’s hand arrived at the neck. “A cravat was pulled tight around the subject’s neck,” he added, confirming Anne’s earlier report.

  “Are there any signs of resistance?”

  “No. I suspect that he was not conscious when the crime was committed. Opium had been added to the wine that arrived with the coffin.”

  “Is it usual for people to have opium on their person, I wonder?”

  “Since relief from pain is one of its effects, a person suffering from certain medical conditions might carry laudanum with him. Toothache, or stomach pain.”

  “Might a doctor carry something like laudanum even if he himself had no such condition? Do you, Dr. Osborne?”

  “When attending a patient, I always take some with me, but when out on private business… No, I suppose I leave it at home. I am fortunate in having no tooth decay. Now, there was no sign of poisoning on the corpse. The remaining grapes were also untainted. In fact, I ate one or two of them—they were far from fresh, let me tell you!”

  “Are you able to give a precise estimate of the time of death?”

  “Not a precise one,” Osborne replied. “Rigor mortis has yet to affect the entire body, so it has been less than half a day. That is as much I can say.”

  Anne had not checked the time when Robert went into the room. When she decided to open the door, it had been thirteen minutes past seven by her watch. Her sense was that about an hour had passed, but she had not measured it exactly. Several more minutes had then passed before they had ordered the publican to unlock the door.

  “Before six o’clock in the evening, or after—which do you suppose it was?”

  “It is difficult to say,” said Osborne. He was clearly somewhat vexed. Still, Sir John preferred his stubborn caution to a putative answer offered only to protect professional pride.

  Sir John had known Osborne for many years. He had been physician to the Fielding family since before Sir John lost his sight. Although trained in surgery too, his speciality was internal medicine. Osborne had also attended Sir John’s wife before her death. He had always had this manner of speaking. Sir John remembered the doctor with a shock of black hair, but, according to Anne, he now looked old, his white hair so thin that his scalp showed through it.

  “The cause of death was strangulation. The time of death is unknown. Does that summarize your findings accurately?”

  “It does.”

  “Could more light be shed on the time of death if the body were dissected?”

  “Probe as much as you like, the time of death will not be revealed. The cause of death is readily apparent, making dissection unnecessary,” said Osborne. “Sir John, surely there is no need for you to involve yourself so directly every time a murder is committed. Cause of death, time of death—you might leave the investigation of such matters to those you employ, and concentrate on judging the case as a whole once the evidence is assembled. Attending the autopsy each time a corpse is discovered will leave you exhausted.”

  “Your advice is noted with thanks,” said Sir John. “This case, however, differs somewhat from a killing in the course of a robbery or a brawl. Now, please have your staff return the corpse to its coffin and load it onto the carriage waiting by your gate. And be so good as to get us one more carriage.”

  The vehicle with Anne and the magistrate on board led the way to Covent Garden. The one bearing the coffin followed closely behind.

  Sir John ran his hands over the cravat he had removed from the neck of the deceased. The silk was smooth to the touch, but creases remained where it had been tied firmly. One part of it was stiffer than the rest.

  “A bloodstain,” said Anne, noticing where his fingers were. “It seems that the deceased bled from his nose onto it. Or perhaps the murderer was himself injured.”

  “With no signs of a struggle, I doubt the murderer was injured. Anne, pray wrap this cravat around my neck.”

  “It was very recently around the neck of a murder victim, Sir John.”

  “I know it.”

  With the cravat in place, the magistrate toyed with the two ends.

  He then untied it, spread it on his lap, and stroked it carefully.

  Several Bow Street Runners stood guard at the entrance to Robert Barton’s residence in Leicester Square. “Dr. Barton is not inside, sir,” reported one. “He has yet to show himself.”

  “Send some men to his wife’s family home in Marlow. He claimed to have stayed there from the third of July to the seventh, but he must have returned to London at least once to kill Harrington. On that day, he would have been absent. Have whoever you send investigate that point thoroughly. I shall write a note that they can show the local magistrate if anyone is arrested. He is likely to be on good terms with the family. The better sort of people in a parish like Marlow tend to stick together, so the inquiry must be discreet. They may view outsiders with suspicion. One of you come with me.”

  They rode on in the carriages as far as the entrance to Daniel Barton’s house in Castle Street. Leaving the officer he had brought with him to guard the coffin, Sir John disembarked and announced their arrival.

  “Welcome, Sir John,” he heard the Professor say, and offered his hand.

  Anne laughed quietly.

  “What is it?”

  “May I tell him, Professor?”

  “Eh?” said Barton. “Tell him what?”

  “Mr. Barton appears to have been at dinner. His napkin is still tucked into his shirt, and is stained with gravy. Forgive me, Professor, but as Sir John’s eyes, it is my duty to report what I see. Mr. Barton is now hurriedly removing his napkin and wiping the corners of his mouth.”

  “I understand that Evans is dead?” said Barton.

  “You know already?”

  “From Mr. Hume. He called earlier and is here still.”

  “The gentleman is in fact just joining us,” observed Anne.

  “I heard his footsteps,” said Sir John.

  “I know I was told not to mention it,” Hume said awkwardly, “but as Mr. Barton is a party to the case, I thought there was no harm in it.”

  “We shall overlook the indiscretion. But, pray, leave us now to speak alone together.”

  “As you wish. I was on the point of going. Good day.”

  “Anne, have the officer and driver unload the coffin. Professor Barton, I wish to deliver a coffin to that room of yours with the corpse-productive fireplace.”

  “Is Evans in it? Are we to perform the autopsy?” asked Barton eagerly. “When and where did Evans die? Who killed him?”

  “I can tell you where. As to when, that is what I wish you to discover. Who is a question that your findings may help to answer.”

  Anne led Sir John into the house.

  “I imagine it will take some time. You must finish eating first.”

  “I was all but finished in any case. Am I to understand that a complete dissection of the cadaver is permitted?”

  “If more precise information can be obtained thereby, I shall permit it—even request it.”

  “Toby,” called Barton to his doorkeeper. “Go and summon the students.”

  The coffin was carried into Barton’s private dissection room and the cadaver removed and laid face-up on a dissecting tab
le. The empty coffin was then returned to the carriage outside.

  “This is Guy Evans?” asked Barton.

  Anne described how the Professor was examining the body with a lit candelabra in one hand.

  “Miss Moore,” he told her, “you are certainly worthy of your position as a Bow Street Runner and Sir John’s assistant.” There was no sarcasm in his voice; his admiration seemed quite sincere. “Most young women would faint at the first sight of a victim of strangulation.”

  “Compared to the condition Mr. Harrington’s face was in, this is rather less alarming,” she replied.

  “Nelly,” he called, “tell Nigel to bring his pencils.”

  “Yes, sir,” came Nelly’s voice from the kitchen.

  Presently they heard Nigel descending the stairs. The magistrate’s curiosity was immediately aroused.

  “Anne, how did she contact him? I did not hear her tread upon the stairs. Is some manner of bell-pull installed?”

  “There is a rear staircase,” explained Barton. “It leads to the roof, but there is a landing on the second floor. Little more than a steep ladder—only Nelly really uses it.”

  The smell of alcohol filled the room.

  Even Sir John, with his blocked nose, noticed it.

  “Have you been drinking?” asked Barton.

  “I was robbed of the chance to,” said Nigel. “Reaching for a bottle on the shelf, I knocked it off. The bottle broke and my clothes enjoyed the wine in my place.”

  “Mr. Hart’s shirt, breeches, and stockings are all soaked with wine,” confirmed Anne. “His hair, also. As if he had washed in it.”

  “Is there a shelf that high in your room?” asked Barton dubiously. “Was it on top of the closet, perhaps?… No, a bottle would not fit beneath the ceiling.”

  Nigel stammered. “Edward lost his temper,” he said finally in a small voice. “His fever will not go down, and it makes him irritable. I was about to drink some wine alone, which upset him. He snatched it away and poured it over me, then broke the bottle… . It is all due to his illness. He does not usually treat me like this… . Good evening, Sir John, and my apologies for the belated greeting.”