Free Jack, Knave and Fool by Bruce Alexander Page B

to indite a letter to our new coroner, Mr. Thomas Trezavant. Perhaps you, Jeremy, would take it down for me.”
    Responding that I should be happy to do so, I shifted my chair closer to his desk and took from him the paper and quill which he produced from his drawer; the inkwell stood, as it always did, at my side of the desk, at a safe remove from the sweeping gestures he sometimes made. I dipped the quill and told him I was ready.
    Yet he did not make an immediate start as was his usual. He sat a long moment, his chin raised, apparently deep in thought. I considered it likely that in this instance he had given no prior attention to the exact wording of the letter and was composing it in his mind ere he gave it forth. But no, I was wrong.
    “That fellow Roundtree,” said he, “I must say he does intrigue me.”
    “Oh? How is that?”
    “Well, he is actor enough to have deceived us both as to his true nature. I make no boast to say that I am not easily deceived. And bold! Good God, one would indeed have to be bold to steal a vase from the home of the Lord Chief Justice. He has a reputation for severity that must surely have reached Roundtree.”
    “Yet even he admitted there was no direct evidence against him. Perhaps one of the house staff took the vase, knowing that with carpenters in the house blame would naturally fall upon them.”
    “That would certainly seem a possibility,” said Sir John, “but much less likely considering Roundtree’s escape from you. Interesting that the Lord Chief Justice settled simply for the value of the vase.” Then, with a shrug, he ended his musing with an “Ah, well,” then launched into the letter: “To Mr. Thomas Trezavant, Coroner, City of Westminster. Dear Mr. Trezavant …”
    Having thus begun, he recapitulated the doubts regarding Lord Laningham’s death he had stated the evening before to Messrs. Donnelly, Goldsmith, and Humber, and briefly supported them as he had with questions and an argument or two. Sir John spoke in an easy cadence of phrases which made it easy for me, as his amanuensis, to follow close behind his dictation. His powers of summary were such that when he concluded, asking if an inquest might not be in order and arguing for an autopsy, I had near half the sheet of foolscap left unwritten upon.
    “Do you wish to add anything?” I asked.
    “Has something been left out?”
    “Nooo, but there is much space left.”
    “Then I shall fill it with my signature.”
    And he very nearly did. I put the quill in his hand, placed it upon the paper, and he did the rest, even adding a rare flourish beneath.
    “How is that?” he asked. “Something better than my usual scrawl?”
    “If scrawl it be, then it is a most impressive scrawl.”
    “Well and good. Signatures are not meant to be read, but rather to be respected.”
    Then did I fold the letter, seal it with wax, and stamp it with his seal of office.
    “You will deliver that, of course,” said he, “and ask for a written reply. Since this will be your first visit to the residence of Mr. Trezavant you must get address and directions from Mr. Marsden. He has a record of all such details. I know not what we should do without him.”
    I hesitated at the door, remembering a matter of some importance. “Sir John,” said I, “forgive me. I was so taken up with my own matters that I failed to ask about the search for Jonah Slade. Did it succeed? Has he been caught?”
    “Alas, no, but we shall continue to look. We cannot allow an attack upon a constable to go unpunished.”
    “And Mr. Cowley?”
    “He does well.” Then did I turn to go, only to be hailed back by Sir John. “Jeremy,” said he, “if on your return you pass near St. James Street, you might stop at the home of Mr. Bilbo and inquire of that matter with his Mr. Burnham and our Annie.”
    “I shall, Sir John.”
    “Though it be only proper to inquire first of Mr. Bilbo, since he is the master of the house. Remember that, please.”
    Mr.