The Bishop's Pawn

by Don Gutteridge

  He did not have to wait long.

  After several scraping and scratching noises, a key could be heard clicking into place. The thief was breathing as heavily as Cobb was, and even at a distance of four or five yards, gave off a nauseous, and vaguely familiar, odour.

  “Stand where you are, sir!” Cobb shouted as he rose out of the darkness like an avenging angel. “I am the law!”

  This command was followed by the crash and tinkle of spilled coins and the immediate retreat of the felon towards the oaken door he had left slightly ajar. But Cobb, never hobbled by his pot-belly, ran him down and felled him with a tackle that a rugby forward might have envied. He heard the air wheeze out of the villain’s body, and plunked himself down between the fellow’s shoulder blades.

  “Got ya at last, you thievin’ bastard! Robbin’ money meant fer widows an’ orphans. I oughta beat ya senseless right here in the site of the Lord!”

  “I ain’t done nothin’, Cobb! I swear ta God!”

  Cobb froze. “Jesus Murphy, it can’t be!”

  He got up, grasped the villain by the collar, and dragged him across the flagstones towards the nearest window, where a revived moon cast a pale lozenge of light. Cobb dropped his bundle onto the floor and rolled it over with the toe of his right boot.

  “What the fuck are you doin’ robbin’ churches?” he cried, beside himself with anger and chagrin.

  Nestor Peck, master snitch, blinked and stared up at Cobb. His entire body was quaking, but he managed to say, in a pitiable whine, “I ain’t taken a penny, Cobb. Not a farthin’. This ain’t what it looks like – honest to God!”

  “Don’t you go blast-feemin’ the Lord,” Cobb said. “You wouldn’t know honesty if ya stepped in it!”

  Nester looked even worse than usual. His eyes were like a pair of badly poached, bloodshot eggs, and his near-toothless mouth had begun to shrivel inward like a scarecrow’s knitted lips. It was obvious that he was terrified.

  “Ya gotta believe me, Mr. Cobb. I ain’t no robber. I wouldn’t take food outta the mouths of orphans. I was one myself!”

  “I know. Yer ma an’ pa took one gander at you an’ poisoned each other.” Cobb was disappointed at himself for letting his anger get the better of him, but of all the possibilities he had imagined regarding these thefts, this was not among them. And with Nester in prison, his steadiest source of information from the underworld would be cut off.

  “She asked me to do it!” Nester was snivelling at Cobb’s feet. “What could I do? I had to say yes.”

  Cobb reached down, grabbed an elbow, and slowly raised Nestor to his feet. Nestor immediately threw both hands in front of his face to ward off the blows he expected.

  “Who asked you to do this?” Cobb said so quietly that Nestor almost missed the change in tone – and purpose.

  “The lady up at the vicarage. It was all her idea, I just – ”

  “Mrs. Hungerford? The vicar’s wife?”

  “That’s the one. I’ll swear to it on a hunert Bibles – ”

  “Stop yer whinin’, man, an’ tell me what happened. All of it – now!”

  Nestor took a coughing fit, which oddly seemed to settle his nerves, for he looked Cobb square in the eye and said, “A couple weeks ago I was over here helpin’ Reuben fix up the broken boards on the front porch. The missus corners me afterwards an’ tells me she’s got an important job fer me. She says it’s gonna seem strange, but I’m to ask no questions about it, an’ the bishop – that’s what she calls him – is the one that wants it done. Well, right off, I’m gettin’ nervous, an’ when she tells me she wants me to take the money outta the Poor Box an’ give it to her, I start to panic. But she says it’s all about catchin’ a real thief, an’ the bishop is anxious to do that, an’ she promises me five dollars if I do things right. But I ain’t no robber, I say, an’ she says she’ll give me the key to the front door and another one fer the little box, so it ain’t really robbery. All I gotta do is slip past the watchman, come in here in the middle of the night, take out the money an’ bring it around to her first thing in the mornin’ – when nobody’s lookin’ – out behind the stables.”

  Cobb absorbed all this before saying, “So you come in here a week ago Sunday, the day before Mr. Dougherty got stabbed?”

  “I was supposed to. But I get cold feet. So the old girl sends a lad to fetch me, an’ she’s furious. She tells me the box ain’t been emptied yet because of all the fuss over the murder, and I’m to do the job that night. She promises me I c’n be the new verger – soon as the bishop is made inta a bishop an’ her husband becomes the rector. So I say I’ll do it.”

  “So you come in here that Monday night?”

  “No. I didn’t get up enough nerve till the Wednesday. But I was so scared I knocked the box off its pole. The missus was very upset with me ‘cause I was supposed to sneak the money out real careful.”

  “What about last Sunday?”

  “That was me, too. But nothin’ seemed to satisfy the woman. She said if I wanted the verger’s job I had to keep on with it.”

  “An’ this was to be the last time, I take it?”

  “She promised. She said the real scoundrel was gonna be ‘exposed’ an’ the bishop would be awful happy about it.”

  At this point, Cobb’s eye caught something shiny on the floor beside Nestor’s foot. He bent down. “What’s this?”

  Nestor gave Cobb a sheepish grin. He was still not sure what sort of ground he was standing on, as Cobb’s expression had given nothing away. “She told me I had to leave that thing beside the box.”

  “That thing” was a silver locket. Cobb knew that if he opened it, he would see David Chalmers’ sister staring up at him. He shuddered. Fantastic as it seemed, Nestor Peck was telling him something very close to the truth, and it was as ugly as it could be. He slipped the locket into his coat pocket.

  “What’re ya gonna do?” Nestor said, starting to quake just a little.

  Before Cobb could reply, they were interrupted by a loud and imperious voice at the other end of the nave.

  “What in Heaven’s name is going on here?”

  Constance Hungerford came storming up the aisle and into the pool of moonlight like a force of Nature. She had a florid dressing-robe wrapped ineffectually around her body’s aggressive angles, and metal curlers shook in the thickets of her hair like Medusa’s locks. She strode right up to Cobb, stopped with the precision of a drill sergeant, and skewered him with a keen, appraising, unblinking stare. Cobb stood his ground, thinking it best to let surprise have its way with her.

  Slowly, some sort of understanding registered, and Constance said, “It’s you, is it, Cobb? Sneaking about like a thief in order to catch one?”

  “I believe, madam, that it was you that wanted the thief caught.”

  “Don’t be impertinent, sir.” She swivelled and glanced once at Nestor. “However unsavoury your methods – and the racket in here might have wakened the dead! – it’s evident you have the felon in hand. My God, he looks as if he’s just crawled out of a sewer!”

  Nestor was trembling again, all over, and looking at Cobb with a desperate pleading in his bruised eyes. It was clear that he was incapable of accusing Constance Hungerford to her face.

  “I did catch this fella with his paw on the cheese, ma’am. An’ he’s confessed to bein’ in here twice before.”

  “Then do your duty. He’s stinking up my husband’s church!”

  “Well, ma’am, I intend to do just that but, you see, he’s been tellin’ me a strange tale of how he was purr-suaded inta robbin’ the Poor Box by a lady that lives right here in the vicar – ”

  Constance gave Nestor a cuff on the side of the head, and he yelped at the shock of it. “I had to tell the truth,” he wailed. “Cobb made me!”

  “Shut up, Nestor,” Cobb said.

  Constance stared at Cobb with a look that combined hauteur, malice and animal cunning. “I trust, sir, that you gave no credence to such a self-servin
g and implausible story out of the mouth of this – this cutworm!”

  It was not a question.

  “I take it you’re denyin’ you had anythin’ to do with – ”

  “What I’m doing, Cobb, is ordering you to haul this thief and prevaricator off to jail. This instant! I have seen the wretch only once before in my life – when Epp dragged him over to help repair the porch – and I do not intend to lay eyes on him again. Now go, at once!”

  “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”

  Cobb grabbed Nestor by one elbow. “Come along,” he said, but made no move to leave.

  Nestor, fearing the worst, pulled something out of his pocket and managed to babble, “But she give me these keys. How else could I have gotten ‘em?”

  Constance reached out and snatched both keys. “Don’t be absurd,” she snapped. “Look at these, Cobb. They’re cheap copies.”

  Cobb looked at them, and nodded his agreement.

  “Epp and this creature here were likely in the game together,” she said. This bald-faced lie prompted a new thought. “Have you searched him thoroughly?” she said with a malicious half-smile.

  Cobb sighed, but went through the motions of patting down the suspect. “Only the keys on him, ma’am. You was expectin’ somethin’ more?”

  “Of course not. I was just making sure you knew your duty. Now take him out of here before the vicar is wakened.”

  Cobb shoved Nestor along and they went out the oaken door. With Nestor squirming and whining, Cobb paused and glanced back inside. Constance Hungerford was bent over and feeling about among the flagstones below the Poor Box. Looking for the locket she had taken from David Chalmers’ desk, Cobb thought ruefully. He would return it as soon as he could.

  “But you can’t just cart me off to jail,” Nestor wailed.

  “If the magistrate has to choose between your story an’ the lady’s, who is he gonna believe, eh?”

  “But that silver thing, it ain’t mine!”

  “You had a key fer the church. You coulda got into the vicarage through the tunnel an’ filched it from Chalmers’ study.”

  “But I didn’t!”

  They had progressed along the single block between Church Street and the Court House. Suddenly Cobb pulled Nestor into the nearby shadows and whispered harshly, “Shut yer gob fer a second an’ listen. I ain’t throwin’ you in jail. I’d like to throw her inta some dungeon an’ leave her to rot, but I can’t, an’ you know I can’t. She’s a respectable Christian lady and a crony of his ever-rants.”

  “You’re gonna let me go?”

  “Only if you agree to vamoose fer a couple of weeks. If she asks, I’ll say you escaped. But I got a feelin’ that now her game is up, she’ll soon forget about you. An’ here’s two bucks ta tide ya over.”

  Nestor dropped to his knees and threw both arms around Cobb’s shins, knocking his forehead against Cobb’s tender kneecap.

  “Fer God’s sake, quit gravellin’ an’ get up, man! I ain’t no engraved image!”

  Nestor relaxed his hold, reluctantly, and got back onto his feet. He gripped Cobb’s right hand in his. “You always been good to me, Cobb. An’ you’re the only one. The only way I c’n think of thankin’ you is ta give ya a bit of information I swore never to tell – on my granny’s grave.”

  Cobb stared at Nestor with fresh interest. “Not about Reuben Epp?”

  Nestor grinned. “The same.”

  “Well, out with it! The sun’ll be comin’ up and I want you a long ways from here before it does.”

  “All right, all right. It’s like this. I was over at Swampy Sam’s havin’ a drink or two with him, an’ before we know it we’re both pie-eyed.”

  “Some news that is.”

  “Well, Swampy gets awful gossipy in his cups, an’ he tells me Reuben Epp was his best customer till he hung himself – payin’ up regular an’ sometimes even treatin’ the house.”

  “Reuben had come inta money somewheres?”

  “Yup. Started before Christmas. Seems a long lost cousin’d moved to town an’ Reuben was goin’ to her fer extra cash when he needed it – which was quite often. He told Swampy the gal was ashamed of him an’ give him money just ta keep him quiet an’ well away from her fancy house.”

  Cobb took a deep breath and said, “And who might this cousin be?”

  Nestor looked coy for a millisecond, thought better of it, and said, “You gotta promise not ta tell Swampy I told you – ”

  “Just spit it out, Nestor, or I’ll change my mind about tossin’ you in the clink.”

  Nestor told him.

  And here at last was the lead Cobb had been hoping for all along: a direct link between Reuben Epp and someone wealthy and presumptuous enough to be a willing accomplice in the murder of Dick Dougherty.

  TWENTY THREE

  Cobb knew that he should take the news straight to Chief Sturges. The name that Nestor Peck had given him was prominent enough to warrant the kind of special treatment that only a chief constable or attorney-general or even a lieutenant-governor could negotiate. On the other hand, he had been given a name and a relationship – that was all. Surely it was logical for him to pursue the matter to the point where its significance to the murder case became moot; after all, a cousin could be merely a cousin, couldn’t it?

  Deep down, though, Cobb knew full well that he was driven by his desire to solve the murder on his own, before the major got back from New York on Saturday or Sunday. There was also the matter of method. While Marc was a subtle and tactful interrogator with an intuitive grasp of human motive and behaviour, Cobb fancied that his own more direct approach, coupled with his vast knowledge of city-life and his network of snitches on the ground, was more likely to pay dividends. For example, his bold decision to stake out the church, taking advantage of Missy Prue’s attraction to him, had not only put the kibosh on the unchristian shenanigans of Constance Hungerford and saved David Chalmers from possible ruin, it had led inexorably to Nestor Peck’s startling revelation.

  Now all he had to do was confront the cousin and shake the truth out of her tree!

  ***

  To his surprise Cobb was shown immediately into Mavis McDowell’s sitting-room by a plump maid with a permanent blush.

  “Oh, do come in, Constable Cobb,” Mavis said, putting aside a sheaf of official-looking papers, rising from her brocaded settee, and smiling at him expectantly. “You’ve come to bring me news, I believe.”

  Taken aback by this effusive greeting, Cobb mumbled his reply: “Well, sort of, ma’am.” His helmet was in his hands, searching for a spot to settle, while the spikes of his hair reared up alarmingly.

  “I have been so worried about the thefts from the Poor Box,” she continued. “Mrs. Hungerford has been very understanding, but as treasurer of the Ladies Auxiliary I feel personally responsible.”

  Cobb was quick to respond. “Then you’ll be glad to know that the robber was caught – this very mornin’.”

  “That is wonderful news. I must say that I am impressed by the diligence of your constabulary. I shall be sure to inform Mr. McDowell of your success in this matter. You see, he is of the old school. He feels that the system of constables directed by squire-magistrates appointed from amongst the better classes is more efficient and safer from corruption than a municipal police force under the wing of ordinary aldermen. I shall enjoy disabusing him.” She reached out and touched his sleeve. “And I do want to apologize for the abruptness of my manner the last time we met. I was somewhat . . . distraught when I found the box empty.”

  Cobb’s nose was purpling, for more than one reason. Now that he was here and face to face with this tall and elegant woman with her diligently braided hair and large, probing eyes, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t know whether he was overawed, intimidated or disarmed by the touch of brittle vulnerability he detected in her eyes and her posture.

  “Who was the culprit?” she asked.

  “Oh, just some vagabond, ma’am. He won�
��t be robbin’ anybody else fer a long time.”

  “Ah, I see.” She smiled and added, “Would you like some tea?”

  “No, thanks, ma’am. Ya see, I’ve come about somethin’ else, somethin’ serious an’ . . . well . . . delicate.”

  “You have?” she said, stepping back but showing no real concern. After all, she was the wife of a very important politician and used to petitioners of every ilk.

  At this critical moment in Cobb’s effort to redirect the interrogation, however, they were distracted by the maid stumbling in the hallway and righting herself against the sash of the open door.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am. I was just takin’ this – ”

  “It’s all right, Muriel. But I hope you weren’t going off to the back shed with that waste basket?”

  Muriel’s blush threatened to burst her plump cheeks. “Oh. I did forget, ma’am. I’ll take it to the sewin’ room, as usual.”

  Mavis waved her away with an indulgent smile, watched her close the door discreetly, then turned back to Cobb, still unconcerned. “Now is there something you wish from me or Mr. McDowell?” she said with a note of disappointment in her voice.

  “Oh, it ain’t like that, ma’am. I ain’t come fer a reward or a favour.” He seized his helmet by the brim and squeezed. “It’s a police matter.”

  She smiled uncertainly, but said, “Then you had better sit down and tell me about it. I am not one of those wives who sits in her sewing-room embroidering pillows: Mowbray and I are partners in the enterprise of politics. I am privy to his thoughts and his efforts in the legislature. I managed his election campaign. If there is a ‘police matter,’ as you say, which concerns the McDowells, then please give me the pertinent details – all of them.”