Blind Justice by Bruce Alexander Page B

saw?”
    “I saw the figure of a man. There was a great deal of blood, and I had an impression of terrible disfigurement. The posture of the body was such that he could only have been dead. That was when I sent Ebenezer to Bow Street.”
    “Then you, yourself, have not looked upon the corpus in such a way as to be certain it is your husband?”
    “I could not,” she said. “I cannot. In any case, Potter made certain identification, and Ebenezer has confirmed it.”
    “I see,” said Sir John. “And having sent the footman off, what did you then do?”
    “Then I came to this room and waited for you. Here I have been since.”
    “You sent word to no one else?”
    She seemed quite puzzled at that. At last she asked, “To whom?”
    “Oh, to friends, those as might give you bolster in such an hour.”
    “I have no friends in London,” she said simply. “Richard’s friends—Lord Goodhope’s—were not mine.”
    With that, Sir John nodded and rose to his feet. “Naturally,” he said to her, “I’ll not ask that you reenter the library.”
    “Potter will show you inside.”
    “That will be most suitable. I do ask, though, that you remain here until we have finished our inspection. There may be further questions. We take our leave then temporarily with thanks to you for your assistance in this painful matter.”
    He turned then and made straight for the door, we trailing behind. Behind us. Lady Goodhope called out the butler’s name in a voice that seemed almost unseemly loud. Yet there was little need to summon him. Potter was there at the door to the sitting room, his appearance so silent and swift that it seemed likely he had been eavesdropping.
    “At your command, Sir John.”
    “Potter?”
    “The same, sir.”
    He was a stout man of a little more than average height. Bowing, clasping his hands, he was the very picture of servility.
    “You will take us to the scene, please.”
    “Gladly, Sir John. This way.”
    The butler then cupped his hand at his elbow, thinking to conduct him thus down the long hall. But Sir John shook off his hand, just as he had mine earlier while walking in the street. He pointed forward with his walking stick and said, “You lead. We’ll follow.”
    Potter looked questioningly at Mr. Bailey, who answered with a firm nod, then he set off, looking back solicitously and often until he himself bumped into a chair along the way.
    “Careful,” said Sir John.
    “Uh, yes, quite.”
    A few steps bevond his mishap, the butler stopped at the last door off the hall. It gaped open, leaning slightlv, half off its upper hinge.
    “Just here. Sir John, to your left.”
    Hesitatingjust slightlv, the butler stepped inside and waited. But the magistrate delayed, examining the splintered wood at the doorpost and then the broken lock on the door.
    “Hal” said Sir John. “You did well to get it open at all, Mr. Potter. This is a verv stout bolt. \bu were aided in this … ?”
    “By one of the footmen, Ebenezer Tepper.”
    “Is he about?”
    “He should be, certainly. Shall I summon him?”
    “Not now. Perhaps later.”
    The butler, just inside the room, looked uneasily to his left. Something like a shudder passed through him. He turned quickly away, a look of pained distaste on his face. There had to be the body of Lord Goodhope, just out of our view.
    “At what time did you hear the shot fired?”
    “Just at seven,” said he with great certainty.
    “How can you be so sure?”
    “I have a timepiece.”
    “And you consulted it immediatelv? That seems passing strange. I should have thought your first concern would have been to get this door open to see what might be done to help your master.”
    “Oh, it was!”
    “But you delayed to check the time?”
    “Now I remember I” The man was quite flustered by now. “When Ebenezer and I went to fetch the log from the fireplace near the front door, I noticed the time on the clock on the mantel.”
    “And it said seven?”
    “Uh, no,