I believed him. The way he spoke, leaving out no detail but not embellishing, told me that here was a man not comfortable with lying.
The next person to speak to me was the man who'd beaten me on the boat a year ago, the same one who'd stood behind me in the dining room when Denis had explained that he owned me.
He sprawled in a chair, folded his arms, and grinned at me. "What am I supposed to tell you, Captain?"
I shrugged. "Where you think Cooper is, who you think killed Ferguson. Anything unusual you've seen these last few days."
"Besides you poking your nose into our business? Not a damned thing."
I went on asking the same questions I'd put to the others. "Cooper never mentioned wanting to leave, or wanting to follow someone?"
"Not to me. He never talked to me much. And I never talked to him. Never wanted to."
Very helpful. I kept my voice steady. "Is there anything else you would like to mention?"
"Only this." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Last year, when I did you over, I was going easy on you."
I remembered his ham fists in my face and the way he'd stomped his large boot on my bad knee, not to mention kicked me square in the groin-all of this after I was down.
"I was also half senseless with opium and unable to defend myself," I said. "I agree that a fair fight would produce different results."
The man's grin widened, and he lurched up out of the chair. "When you want to have a go, you just tell me."
"I'll do that," I said, and then he was gone.
I interviewed the rest, some of whom were quiet and spoke readily, some openly hostile. I was surprised how much they opened up to me, but I supposed Denis would have instructed them in what they could tell me and what they were not allowed to say. But they talked to me more readily than I'd thought.
None, however, had any idea where Cooper might have got to or who had killed Ferguson. None had gone anywhere near the windmill the night of Ferguson's death before Grenville had given the alarm, or so they claimed. Most hadn't had opportunity to know Ferguson well, although the last man I interviewed put forth the theory that Ferguson had it coming.
He was the man I'd yelled at to leave alone my mother's sitting room. He was the smallest of the lot and a bit older as well. He had a wiry build, but I'd seen him breaking my walls with his large sledgehammer without worry. He sat, arms folded, but not in resentment. He was the most evenhanded of the men I'd spoken to, not at all caring about our previous argument.
"Gave himself a lot of airs, did Ferguson," he said. "Stands to reason-he were a champion until he got himself the sack, like a fighting cock who's for the cooking pot. He'd been treated like a princess so long he didn't know how to be a slavey. Fancied himself his nibs' next lieutenant." He chuckled. "Cooper never will leave Mr. Denis's side. He'll die in harness." His smile faded. "Sounds bad now, don't it? Cooper probably got himself offed by the same bloke who did Ferguson."
"You believe Cooper dead, then?"
"Most like. Cooper is that devoted to his nibs. Like father and son, though Mr. Denis is more like the father."
"Is Mr. Denis fatherly to all of you?"
He burst out laughing. "You are funny, Captain. Most amusing. I see why he keeps you around. Mr. Denis ain't fatherly to no one. Me own dad was a drunken layabout, so he wasn't too fatherly either. It is nice to work for someone perpetually sober. As long as Mr. Denis don't expect me to be."
"I've never noticed drunken revelry in Mr. Denis's house," I said.
"Course not. He's got rules, and if you break 'em, you're out. Don't no matter what. But that makes sense, don't it? He's got to be so careful, and some drunken fool could muck up the works. His nibs knows how to get the most out of what he has."
He did. I finished with the man and prepared to retire, but the man acting as butler returned and told me that Denis wanted to see me.
I found him in the study as usual, but he was looking out the window into darkness. The storm still raged, rain beating against the windows with the sound of pebbles on glass.
Denis turned when the door closed behind me. "Have you finished?" he asked.
"I have."
"Did any of them confess to murdering Ferguson? Cutting off Cooper's hand and dragging him off into a convenient patch of quicksand?"
"No," I said. He'd known that of course. He'd been indulging me.
Denis did not invite me to sit down. He looked out the window a final time then pulled the drape across it. "I will have to appoint a new lieutenant if Cooper does not turn up. I do not relish the task."
"A change in the pecking order always causes troubles," I said.
He gave me an ironic look. "To be certain."
"One of your men suggested that Ferguson had been hankering for the post."
Denis's brows lifted. "Ferguson did? He never would have been offered it. He is-was-too volatile."
"Perhaps Cooper heard of Ferguson's ambition, did not like the idea, and so decided to give him a drubbing."
Denis sat down behind his desk. Instead of taking his usual upright posture, he leaned back in his chair and contemplated me. "You are fond of the idea that Cooper murdered Ferguson," he said. "You harp on it."
"And you seem to want to ignore the possibility." I stopped waiting for an invitation to sit and sank to the straight-backed chair before the desk. My leg was hurting after the long day. "Think on it-Cooper wants to teach Ferguson his place. Cooper meets him in or near the windmill, they fight, the fight grows violent. Cooper kills Ferguson, whether on purpose or accidentally, who can tell? Cooper comes to himself and realizes he needs to hide Ferguson and get away. He shuts Ferguson into the windmill, and runs off."
"Then what? He steals the horse, rides to the marsh, and cuts off the hand that did the murder in penance?"
"I mean nothing so Shakespearean. Perhaps when the fight grew violent, Cooper's wrist was severed."
"Ferguson had no weapon," Denis pointed out.
"Perhaps Cooper took it with him. Why leave behind a perfectly good blade? When Cooper reached the marshes, he realized that he'd die if he did not lose the hand. It is a difficult decision to make, but I've known men who've made it."
"That still will not wash, Captain." Denis tapped his fingertips together. "Why leave the horse? I understand why Cooper would not seek a local surgeon, lest he be discovered and arrested for Ferguson's murder, but he would have been able to run away faster with the horse."
"The answer could be as simple as Cooper having trouble mounting again. When I was on the marsh, I had to lead my horse back to the nearest village before I could find a way to climb back into the saddle. Add to that, he was injured and in great pain, and likely not thinking straight."
"You seem to have a solution for everything."
"You asked me to find out. This is why you are keeping me on a close tether."
"I asked you to find Cooper," Denis said impatiently. "I am not interested in your theories that he is a terrified murderer. If he killed Ferguson in a private fight, that is their business. He would know that. He would have come to me."
I gave up. I knew that my idea had many holes in it, which Denis was quick to point out, but I could not produce Cooper out of the air.
"I agree he needs to be found," I said. "For better or worse. While I am haring around the country looking for him, will you do something for me?"
Denis pulled his hands apart and slowly rocked upright. "You are working off your debt to me, Captain. Are you certain you wish to pile on more?"