"Mendes." Dogmill spat. "This is some ruse by Jonathan Wild, then?"

"Mr. Wild ain't complaining, but Weaver asked me to stop by, and I did it as a favor to him mostly."

"You see, the matter is quite turned now," I said. "I think you should look rather shabby before the courts when you have Mr. Wild, the thieftaker general, sending his lieutenant to testify against you."

"It is a sad thing," Mendes observed, "much like the tragedies of the stage. Once all of this is revealed, Mr. Melbury will have the advantage."

Greenbill's lips trembled, for he understood at once that he was to stand sacrifice for his master's whims. "You bleeding curs," he said. "I'll negotiate your throats in my hands."

"I for one," I announced, "am getting quite tired of your misuse of words."

He grinned. "Well, I do it on purpose, don't I? It puts the likes of you quite off the mark in estimating me."

"I don't feel as though I've missed the mark," Mendes said. "As you'll find out when you come to your uncomfortable end at the bottom of a rope."

"The only uncomfortable end is your a.r.s.e, you b.u.g.g.e.ring Jews," he said, and raised his pistol at Mendes, fully prepared to eliminate my corroborating witnesses. Hertcomb and Dogmill shouted out, and with good reason-it is never wise to fire a pistol at such close quarters unless one be utterly indifferent to whom it might strike-and Elias opened his mouth in a pantomime of horror. Greenbill for all I knew was full of such indifference, but the rest of us were not, and we all dropped to the floor-all of us but Mendes, who appeared utterly indifferent to the prospect of a ball in his chest. The lead, however, hastily fired by an unsteady hand, missed its target entirely, lodging itself instead in the wall, where it propelled outward a nimbus of dust and smoke and chips of wood.

We all of us breathed our relief, but the duel was but half over. Seeing that Greenbill had spent his shot, Mendes retrieved a pistol from his pocket and returned fire, far more successfully than his opponent. Greenbill attempted to dodge the ball, but Mendes had either a better hand or better luck, and his adversary went down upon the floor. Within seconds a pool had begun to form around his neck.

He pressed his hand to the wound. "Help me," he gasped. "d.a.m.n you all, get me a surgeon."

We remained motionless for a moment, for there was not a superfluity of sympathy for Greenbill in that room. Mendes could hardly have cared if a man who had just tried to shoot him should be gathered to his fathers, Dogmill must surely have realized that the blackguard was of more use to him dead than alive, and I, for my part, felt that this man had received no more than he deserved.

"Is no one going to fetch a surgeon?" Hertcomb asked at last.

"What's the use?" Dogmill said. "He'll be dead before one gets here."

Elias had only now recovered his senses. "I'm a surgeon," he recalled, and began to rush toward the fallen man.

"No." Dogmill stood between Elias and Greenbill. "You've done enough harm for one night. Stand back."

"He's a surgeon," Mendes said, with apparent boredom. "He's not lying. Let him through."

"I presume he's not lying," Dogmill said, "but he will have to pa.s.s me to administer to that man."

Elias turned to me, but I was disinclined to interfere. Here, after all, was more evidence against Dogmill if we needed it, and as to the porter-well, I could not but think that he deserved no better than he got.

Greenbill, groaning in pain as he was, seemed to understand that Dogmill stood between him and his only chance at life. He attempted to say something but could not, and his breath began to come out rasping and wet. We stood in silence for three or four minutes, listening to Greenbill's gurgling breath, and then there was silence.

It is an odd way to pa.s.s the time, waiting for a man to die. I thought to lend him comfort. I thought, in his final moments, to torment him and tell him I knew his wife to be unfaithful. But I did nothing, and when he died I felt, all at once, that perhaps he had not been so bad as I thought. Perhaps I was the bad one, for doing nothing to save this life, wretched though it was.

"I'm glad that's done with," said Dogmill, who clearly had no such thoughts of remorse.

"It's a deuced thing, all this shooting and dying," Hertcomb said. "Dogmill, you told me there would be no mayhem. Surely this must qualify as mayhem."

"Only just," Dogmill said impatiently. He looked around the room for a moment. "Let us be frank," he said to me. "You have threatened me, I have threatened you, and a very low sort of fellow is now dead at my feet. I propose we retire to another room, one with fewer dead men in it, open a bottle of wine, and discuss precisely how to resolve this difficulty."

What else was there to say? "I agree."

As these matters touched him very nearly, I sent a note to Littleton-to whom I had related some small portion of my intentions for the evening, and who had been on notice to come if called. Though he was certainly an important player, Dogmill would not countenance that Littleton join us in our negotiations. He would not sit on equal terms with a porter, he said. It was disquieting enough that he would have to sit on equal terms with a thieftaker and convicted murderer. For my part, I thought it very hard that my status as a convicted murderer should be thrown in my teeth by the man responsible for the killing for which I had been convicted, but I saw that his position was weakening and there was little to be gained by pressing the point. In the end, Dogmill agreed that the porter might remain in the room if he stood. Littleton took no offense, gratified as he was to witness Dogmill's being pressed to the ropes, and would have agreed to stay on had he been asked to hang upside down.

The rest of us sat, and the innkeeper, whom Dogmill had given two shillings to stay his hand in calling the constables, provided us a bottle of canary. We therefore sat together as old friends.

"As I see it," Dogmill began, "Mr. Weaver has been hardly used by Mr. Greenbill, and though I am sorry that this came to a period in violence, I am delighted that the truth has been discovered while I looked on. The press has embraced Mr. Weaver as its darling, and it is only right that we all step forward together to announce how Greenbill tricked me into trusting him and the world into blaming Weaver for his crime. He surely would have killed us all had not Mendes behaved so bravely."

"Here, here," said Hertcomb. "I think that is a mighty fine solution to our troubles. Mighty fine."

"And all goes back to how it was," spat Littleton from across the room. "I don't very much like that."

Mendes said nothing, but he met my eye and shook his head, as though I needed further instruction-which I certainly did not.

"Wages can be raised," Dogmill grumbled to Littleton. "These things can be ordered. And I should like you to recall that if there is no Dennis Dogmill, his ships will no longer need unloading, so don't get too ambitious in your ideas of comeuppance."

"You may go to the devil, sir," Littleton said, "and London will still need its weed. On that you can depend, so don't think to frighten me into worrying after your well-being."

"I'll thank you not to swear at me," Dogmill said.

"Mr. Littleton," I said, before the porter could reply with more sweet words, "you may be sure there will be justice for you and your boys before we are done here tonight. One way or the other."

"I thank you, Mr. Weaver."

"Allow me to make a proposal," I said to Dogmill. "I will agree that the blame should be laid upon Mr. Greenbill, who did, after all, kill four men more or less upon his own initiative. I should like to see you hang for your role in it, but I am not so naive as to believe I could easily bring such a thing about, and I don't know that I am willing to risk trying the experiment. I will therefore not threaten you with the rope that so lately hung around my own neck. I will, however, threaten you with this election. Once my name is cleared, I may speak freely, and as the Tory press has already shown a willingness to be kind to me, you may be sure they will lap up any information I might choose to provide them."

"And you will refrain from doing this under certain circ.u.mstances?"

I did not like that Mr. Hertcomb should be returned to office, but I also did not like that a villain like Melbury should find a place in the House-not now that I knew of his treatment of Miriam. And if Dogmill could not have Hertcomb in his pocket, he would have another man instead. I could only do so much against this circuit of corruption, but I would do what I could.

"I will remain quiet until the end of the election. I may choose to speak at a later date if I believe it is in the public interest, but not until this race is long past decided."

"Unacceptable," he said.

I shrugged. "You haven't a choice, sir. You may allow me to remain quiet now, or you may encourage me to speak now. Later is to come later."

He stared at me, but I saw that he could not argue with my logic. He could do nothing to keep me quiet but have me killed, and I think that he might well have had enough of attempting harm to Benjamin Weaver.

"And in return?" Dogmill asked.

"In return, I want some questions answered. If the answers do not lead to the discovery of new wrongs, I will do as I say, and we may all leave here free of any threat of the law over our heads."

"Very well. Ask your questions."

"The first, and the most pressing, is why you selected me to take the blame in the death of Yate. Surely there was some other unfortunate who would have proved a more willing victim. I hope I do not flatter myself if I say that the world knows-or ought to know-that I am not a man to step with resignation into the noose. Why choose me for your victim?"

Dogmill laughed and raised his gla.s.s in salute. "I have asked myself that question. But you see, it was an accident. That's all. You were at the quays that afternoon dressed as a lascar, and Greenbill thought you were were a lascar. He saw you and said to himself, Why, there's the perfect fellow on whom to put the blame. By the time I realized who you were, it was too late to undo the accusations. We had no choice but to prosecute and hope for the best." a lascar. He saw you and said to himself, Why, there's the perfect fellow on whom to put the blame. By the time I realized who you were, it was too late to undo the accusations. We had no choice but to prosecute and hope for the best."

"But you did more than hope for the best. You exerted your influence to make certain that I would be convicted."

He shook his head. "You are wrong. To my knowledge, no one ever asked that judge, Rowley, to act so harshly against you. If you must know the truth, I wished he had not, for his prejudice was so blatant it could only have caused us harm. I, myself, preferred that you be acquitted and a new man found on whom to put the blame. Or, more likely, the victim would be forgot and the matter would close itself."

"So why did Rowley do it?"

"I don't know. Shortly after you sliced off his ear, he retired to his estate in Oxfordshire, from where he has refused to answer my letters. Were it not an election season, I should travel there myself and get the answers from his lips."

I could not believe what I heard. "And what of the woman," I said, "the one who provided me with the lockpick?"

"I know nothing of any lockpicks."

I ground my teeth. What could all this mean? I had begun my persecution with two cardinal a.s.sumptions: that I had been singled out for this murder to suit some purpose and that the person who had singled me out had controlled the actions of Judge Rowley. Now I learned that both a.s.sumptions were false, and while I was happily close to ending my legal troubles, I was no closer than I had been to the truth.

"If what you tell me is right, I must press you on some other details. I have operated on the a.s.sumption that you turned against Yate because he knew of an important Whig with Jacobitical ties."

"It ain't no a.s.sumption," Littleton p.r.o.nounced. "It is the Lord's truth."

Dogmill sighed. "He did claim to have such knowledge, yes, and I asked Greenbill to quiet him because of that claim. But as to the truth of it, I have ever been in doubt. He offered me no evidence, and it could well be he was only looking to make a bit of silver from my anxiety. Where, after all, would a man of that stamp have the opportunity to meet an important Whig that he might discover him to be a Jacobite?"

And there I sat up straight, for I knew the answer. The very obviousness of it struck me in the face. I had taken too much without question and ignored facts that stared at me boldly.

"You may be certain that Yate knew the Whig," I said, "and I believe I now know who he is too. I see that as soon as we are finished here, I must leave London for several days. Upon my return, I trust that your machinery will have resolved the legal troubles hanging over my head. If not, I promise you, you will have every cause to regret it."

Mendes agreed to contact the constables for us, for as Jonathan Wild's man he would be able to wield the most influence and keep us all out of the compter for the night. He strutted around in his glory while we waited for the magistrate's men to answer his summons. He sipped at wine, and picked at cold fowl he had ordered, and stared most oddly at Dogmill. It was almost as though Dogmill was some newly got printing Mendes hung on his wall.

At last, the tobacco man could no longer endure the rudeness. "Why do you gape at me so?"

"I must say, Mr. Dogmill," he answered, "I was only thinking that Mr. Wild will be most delighted with this turn of events. You and he have long been enemies, but now you will be friends, and he will relish having so amiable a friend as Mr. Hertcomb in the House."

"What?" I shouted. "Mendes, I did not call upon your aid so you could deliver Wild a Parliamentarian to order about as he pleases."

"It may not be why you done it, but you done it all the same. We now know something about Mr. Dogmill that is very d.a.m.ning, and Hertcomb is Mr. Dogmill's man. That makes Mr. Hertcomb Wild's man now as well." He turned to me. "And don't say nothing about it. I've pulled your neck from the noose, Weaver. You'll not gripe about my taking a thing or two for my troubles."

None of us said a word. I had grown so used to calling upon Mendes for his aid that I confess I had forgot who and what he was. In that instant I almost wished I had remained forever in exile rather than put into Mr. Wild's hands the member for Westminster. I had allowed the most dangerous man in London to become even more dangerous.

Mendes, sensing the horror of the room, glowed like a maiden in love. "There is one more thing," he said to Dogmill. "Some years ago I had a dog by the name of Blackie." And with that, he removed his pistol and struck Dogmill in the head.

The tobacco man collapsed in an instant. Mendes turned to Hertcomb.

"This filthy cunny crossed me. Three years ago it was, but I ain't forgot it. You see him there, lying on the floor, blood coming out of his head? You see it, all right. Don't you forget, Mr. Hertcomb. Don't you forget what happens to someone who crosses me."

We awaited the arrival of the constables in silence.

CHAPTER 26.

I TOOK THE TOOK THE mail coach to Oxfordshire-a journey of some length under the best of circ.u.mstances, and fortune was not to provide me with the best of circ.u.mstances. It rained hard nearly all the way, and the roads were in horrific shape. I remained in disguise as Matthew Evans, for I could not depend that news of my innocence would reach the provinces as quickly as I could, and I did not care to find myself arrested. However, I faced other trials of a nonjudicial sort. Only halfway to my destination, the coach became caught in the mud and turned over. No one was hurt, but we were forced to make our way on foot to the nearest inn and make new arrangements for ourselves. mail coach to Oxfordshire-a journey of some length under the best of circ.u.mstances, and fortune was not to provide me with the best of circ.u.mstances. It rained hard nearly all the way, and the roads were in horrific shape. I remained in disguise as Matthew Evans, for I could not depend that news of my innocence would reach the provinces as quickly as I could, and I did not care to find myself arrested. However, I faced other trials of a nonjudicial sort. Only halfway to my destination, the coach became caught in the mud and turned over. No one was hurt, but we were forced to make our way on foot to the nearest inn and make new arrangements for ourselves.

A trip that ought to have taken less than a day took me nearly three, but at last I arrived at the estate of Judge Piers Rowley and knocked upon the heavy doors of his house. I presented my card-that is to say, Benjamin Weaver's card-to the footman, for I would have no pretense with this man of the law. I hardly need tell my reader that I was invited inside at once.

I waited no more than five minutes before Mr. Rowley joined me. He wore a large flowing wig that effectively covered his ears, so I could not see the damage I had done him. I did perceive that he appeared tired, however, and much older than when I had last set my eyes on him. Though a heavy man, his cheeks looked sunken.

To my surprise he offered me a bow and invited me to sit.

I was not comfortable, and remained standing longer than suits a gentleman asked to be at his leisure.

"I see," said the judge, "either that you are here to kill me out of revenge or that you have discovered something."

"I have discovered something."

He laughed softly. "I hardly know if that is the answer I most wished for."

"I do not believe my arrival here is good news for you," I said at last.

"It could not have been, but I knew it would come. I knew no good would come from prosecuting you, and no good would come of your escape. But a man's choices are not always his own, and even when they are, they must often be painful."

"You sent the woman with the lockpick," I said.

He nodded. "She is my sister's serving woman. A pleasant sort of girl. I can arrange for you to meet her, if you like, but I think you will find her much less devoted to you than she once pretended."

"No doubt. Why did you do it? You both ordered me destroyed and set me at my liberty. Why?"

"Because I could not bear that you should be hanged for a crime you did not commit, and I had no choice but to see you convicted and to sentence you to death. I was made to do it, and I would have been ruined if I had not. You must understand that I was ready to face that ruin rather than commit murder, for I perceived what I had been asked to do as murder. But then I alighted upon this idea. If you could break free of prison, I thought, you would flee, and I would have done my part safely. I could hardly have imagined that you would be so determined to vindicate yourself."

"Knowing what I now know, I am sorry I was so hard with you."

He put a hand to the side of his head. "It is no less than I deserve."

"I cannot say what you deserve, but I think you deserved less, for you did try to tell me the truth. You were ordered to see me hanged by Griffin Melbury. You told me the truth that night. I accepted it as a matter of faith that you had lied. I presumed you were attempting to prey upon my ignorance and set me at your enemy, for you are a Whig and he is a Tory. But you told me the truth all along."

He nodded.

"And he could so command you because he is a Jacobite, and so are you."

He nodded again. "After your arrest, he convinced some high-ranking men in our circles that you were a danger to our cause. I cannot tell you their names, but I can only tell you they believed him, for Melbury is a convincing man. The order came to me, and I dared not disobey, so I tried to defy it as best I could."

"Why did Melbury wish me hanged?" I asked.

He smiled. "Is it not obvious? Because he was jealous of you-and afraid of you too. He knew you had courted his wife, and he believed that you suspected him of acting against the Hanoverians. He thought you would, out of love for his wife, inquire into his doings, discover his political connections, and expose him. When Ufford hired you, Melbury was beside himself with anger and fear. He was certain that you would discover his link to the priest and then expose him before the world. But then you were arrested, and he could not resist the chance to remove you forever."

"If the Jacobites wished me harm, why have I been spared and even held up as their darling?"

"After your trial, when the mob began to rally around your cause, and when Melbury could not show justification for his anger toward you, his wishes were disregarded. He longed to see you destroyed, but he had no support within the party. He was quite angry, you know. He was convinced you would do all you could to destroy him for his loyalties to the true king."