seal ring,’ he said, holding it up between finger and thumb. ‘It has a stag incised on it. The woman at the house where he lodges, the Widow Muller, swears it’s Pickett’s. He wore it on his left hand and she noted it most particularly – he was behind with what he owed, and when he said he could not pay directly, she asked him why he did not turn his ring into guineas and be done with it.’
‘I never seen it, master, I swear, sir. Hope to die, God’s my—’
‘But the shoes?’ I interrupted. ‘You’ve seen those before?’
The prisoner glanced at me again. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Of course he had,’ Marryot put in. ‘They were on his damned feet when they arrested him.’
‘And where did you get them, Virgil?’ I said.
‘I – I found them, your honour.’
‘On Mr Pickett’s body?’
‘Yes, sir. Poor gentleman was lying there, all dead. I thought he didn’t need them, so what’s the harm? Look, sir.’ He pointed down at his feet. ‘I lost a toe to frostbite last winter.’
‘He was dead because you’d killed him,’ Marryot said. ‘That’s how you knew, eh? So you helped yourself to his shoes and took the ring off his finger as well.’
‘No, sir, weren’t no ring when I found him.’
‘Then why was the ring in your bundle?’
Virgil shook his head violently. ‘Didn’t put it there, master, swear by—’
‘Hold your tongue, damn you.’ Marryot looked at the soldiers, who were staring blankly at the wall behind the table. ‘Take him away. Keep him in irons.’
No one spoke until the guards had led out the prisoner. Marryot stood up and went to the window.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, still with his back to the room. ‘This need not detain us much longer, I think? The evidence points to the knave’s guilt.’
‘No rational man could entertain a doubt about it,’ Townley said, yawning. ‘If someone else had killed him, he would not have left the ring on Pickett’s finger. Shall Noak write you out a fair copy of the proceedings?’
‘I’d be obliged.’
Mr Noak dipped his head.
‘When you write it up, you should mention that Mr Savill of the American Department was present as an observer,’ Marryot went on, turning to face us. ‘But anything he said may be omitted.’
‘Now what?’ I said.
‘Why, sir, what do you think?’ Marryot said. ‘We wait and let the law take its course. Martial law, that is.’
Chapter Twelve
On the night of Wednesday, I heard the child crying again. In the morning, I mentioned it to Josiah, the older of the two manservants. It must be one of the neighbour’s infants in the slave quarters, he said – he would investigate and have the nuisance abated. I said he should not trouble himself; it did not matter in the least.
The administration had found me an apartment to use as an office in a house it leased at the eastern end of Broad Street, not far from the City Hall. It was a pokey chamber up two pairs of stairs. My first caller was already waiting for me – a clergyman from Connecticut whom the rebels had turned out of his parsonage and parish. His crime had been to preach a sermon whose text had been Luke Chapter 20, verse 25. ‘And he said unto them, Render therefore unto Caesar the things which be Caesar’s, and unto God the things which be God’s.’ Caesar in this case was intended to be taken as George III rather than Congress. The poor man had lost all he owned, including a farm he had inherited from an uncle.
Shortly before dinnertime, Townley swept into the room. ‘Why, sir,’ he said without any preamble, ‘I have just this moment heard from the Major and I clapped on my hat at once and said to myself I should give myself the pleasure of bringing the news to you directly.’
I rose to my feet. ‘What news? A battle?’
‘Nothing of that nature. It’s the negro – Virgil. He came before the court this morning and they found him guilty of Pickett’s murder. Marryot says the fellow is to hang tomorrow
‘I never seen it, master, I swear, sir. Hope to die, God’s my—’
‘But the shoes?’ I interrupted. ‘You’ve seen those before?’
The prisoner glanced at me again. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Of course he had,’ Marryot put in. ‘They were on his damned feet when they arrested him.’
‘And where did you get them, Virgil?’ I said.
‘I – I found them, your honour.’
‘On Mr Pickett’s body?’
‘Yes, sir. Poor gentleman was lying there, all dead. I thought he didn’t need them, so what’s the harm? Look, sir.’ He pointed down at his feet. ‘I lost a toe to frostbite last winter.’
‘He was dead because you’d killed him,’ Marryot said. ‘That’s how you knew, eh? So you helped yourself to his shoes and took the ring off his finger as well.’
‘No, sir, weren’t no ring when I found him.’
‘Then why was the ring in your bundle?’
Virgil shook his head violently. ‘Didn’t put it there, master, swear by—’
‘Hold your tongue, damn you.’ Marryot looked at the soldiers, who were staring blankly at the wall behind the table. ‘Take him away. Keep him in irons.’
No one spoke until the guards had led out the prisoner. Marryot stood up and went to the window.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, still with his back to the room. ‘This need not detain us much longer, I think? The evidence points to the knave’s guilt.’
‘No rational man could entertain a doubt about it,’ Townley said, yawning. ‘If someone else had killed him, he would not have left the ring on Pickett’s finger. Shall Noak write you out a fair copy of the proceedings?’
‘I’d be obliged.’
Mr Noak dipped his head.
‘When you write it up, you should mention that Mr Savill of the American Department was present as an observer,’ Marryot went on, turning to face us. ‘But anything he said may be omitted.’
‘Now what?’ I said.
‘Why, sir, what do you think?’ Marryot said. ‘We wait and let the law take its course. Martial law, that is.’
Chapter Twelve
On the night of Wednesday, I heard the child crying again. In the morning, I mentioned it to Josiah, the older of the two manservants. It must be one of the neighbour’s infants in the slave quarters, he said – he would investigate and have the nuisance abated. I said he should not trouble himself; it did not matter in the least.
The administration had found me an apartment to use as an office in a house it leased at the eastern end of Broad Street, not far from the City Hall. It was a pokey chamber up two pairs of stairs. My first caller was already waiting for me – a clergyman from Connecticut whom the rebels had turned out of his parsonage and parish. His crime had been to preach a sermon whose text had been Luke Chapter 20, verse 25. ‘And he said unto them, Render therefore unto Caesar the things which be Caesar’s, and unto God the things which be God’s.’ Caesar in this case was intended to be taken as George III rather than Congress. The poor man had lost all he owned, including a farm he had inherited from an uncle.
Shortly before dinnertime, Townley swept into the room. ‘Why, sir,’ he said without any preamble, ‘I have just this moment heard from the Major and I clapped on my hat at once and said to myself I should give myself the pleasure of bringing the news to you directly.’
I rose to my feet. ‘What news? A battle?’
‘Nothing of that nature. It’s the negro – Virgil. He came before the court this morning and they found him guilty of Pickett’s murder. Marryot says the fellow is to hang tomorrow
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