Free The Bishop's Pawn by Don Gutteridge

referred to is found with his eye plucked out.”
    “And the man who called for the barbaric act
just happened to be Archdeacon Strachan,” Withers added
solemnly.
    “Who’s hopin’ to be made our bishop,” Sturges
said.
    “This is a crime we’ve got to clear up
quickly and cleanly,” Withers said. “Governor Arthur will be
apoplectic if any ill wind blows, even faintly, in the direction of
John Strachan.”
    “I’m gonna send fer Marc Edwards,” Sturges
said, “before the Governor does. I’ll have Rossiter fetch him here
right away, then go on to inform the young lad an’ his sister of
their guardian’s death.”
    “And I’ll have the body removed now to my
surgery for a more thorough examination. Tell the magistrate that a
written report should reach him by early afternoon.”
    “I’ll get Wilkie, an’ we’ll begin to question
the locals,” Cobb said. He wasn’t sure yet whether he was pleased
that Marc would be invited to join (lead?) the investigation or
irritated that the notion had come so readily to his chief.
     

SEVEN
     
     
     
    Constable Rossiter, a large, taciturn man who was
happiest when carrying out explicit commands, arrived at Briar
Cottage on Sherbourne Street before nine o’clock with the news of
Dougherty’s murder. When Marc recovered from the shock of the
constable’s blunt announcement (“The Yankee lawyer’s been stabbed
to death beside the jeweller’s an’ the Chief wants you to come”),
he pressed for more details. But Rossiter merely repeated the last
half of his message (“Sarge just wants you to come”), tipped his
hat to Beth, who had come up behind Marc in her kimono, and started
to walk away.
    “You’re sure it’s Mr. Dougherty?”
    Rossiter paused. “Ain’t too many fellas over
three hundred pounds wearin’ a gentleman’s duds,” Rossiter said.
“Now I gotta go an’ tell the young ones about it.”
    “Marc, you mustn’t let Mr. Rossiter break
such news to Brodie an’ Celia!” Beth said as she squeezed into the
doorway beside her husband.
    “You’re right, darling,” Marc said, wishing
Beth had not come out of the kitchen to hear Rossiter’s report.
“You go on back to your chief,” he said to Rossiter, “and I’ll go
to the Dougherty cottage. Tell Wilf that I’ll come to police
quarters as soon as I can.”
    Looking much relieved, Rossiter turned and
hurried down the walk.
    “I can’t believe this has happened,” Beth
said. “Who would want to hurt Dick?”
    Both Marc and Beth had got to know the
curmudgeonly barrister quite well during the McNair affair in
January. Beth in particular had befriended his young wards, having
had them over for supper and gentle conversation several times
since then.
    Marc sighed at Beth’s question, fighting
against the anger rising in him, knowing that it was at least a
temporary antidote to the welling sorrow. “Unfortunately, love, I
can think of a dozen or more who might have wished him dead.”
    Beth insisted on coming with Marc, despite
his plea that she should neither upset herself nor strain herself
physically.
    “The horse is already hitched up,” she said.
“Charlene an’ Jasper were plannin’ to go shoppin’. I’ll throw on
one of my tents an’ be ready to go in three minutes.”
    “But – ”
    “But I’ll be better doin’ somethin’
than stayin’ here alone cryin’ my eyes out.”
    Ten minutes later they were on their way to
Bay Street.
    ***
    Normally both Brodie and Celia would have been away
from home by nine-twenty – Brodie to the bank and Celia to Miss
Tyson’s. But the failure of their guardian to return from his
constitutional by eight o’clock had worried them. Not at first,
even though his schedule was usually precise to the minute. But
once or twice before, they knew, he had been persuaded to stop for
a coffee at Baldwin House. However, he had never failed to return
before they left home at eight-thirty, for he insisted on hearing,
over his breakfast, from