“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Cobbsaid.
“About Sarie Hickson’s death, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, then, come in. I can spare youfive minutes.”
“You live here alone?” Cobb said as heentered the vestibule.
“My mother shares the house. The servants areall out, as it happens.”
Whitemarsh did not move any farther into thehouse, so Cobb removed his helmet and said, “You were at MadameLaFrance’s last night?”
“You know I was.”
“I been told, yes, but I needed to hear itfrom you.”
“I was there until about midnight.”
“When you left fer home?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you go straight home?”
“I did. I go south to St. James and KingStreet.”
“Did you hear or see anythin’ unusual in thevicinity of the brothel?”
“Nothing. It was very quiet.”
“Except fer the murder of Miss Hickson, whichmust have happened only yards away from where you were shortlyafter midnight.”
“I’m sorry to hear of her death, but I’mafraid I cannot help you.”
“You ain’t lost a scarf?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“May I see yer foot, sir?”
“Good God, man, what are you up to?”
Cobb ignored him and glanced down at thefellow’s feet. They were exceptionally large. “May I see the bootsyou were wearin’ last evenin’?”
“You may certainly not. Do you think I hadanything to do with the murder? You must be crazier than youlook!”
“The killer wore boots with a special patternon the sole. I can stroke you off my list of suspects by checkin’yer boots.”
“It so happens that the boots I wore lastnight are at the repair shop today.”
“Then I’ll come back when they’rereturned.”
“Now, if that is all, I have business toattend to,” Whitemarsh said, turning away.
Cobb put his helmet back on. “Thank you feryer co-opt-eration,” he said.
As he was going down the front steps, itoccurred to Cobb that the man’s lips had been excessively red.Could he have been wearing make-up? Was he into playing games, likeClough? What a nest of vipers he’d stuck his nose into!
***
Bagshaw was waiting for him in the anteroom. “I’vejust come from the Mayor,” he said, his taut body quivering like atuning fork.
“Had a nice visit, did you?”
“Don’t be funny, Cobb. The Mayor wanted toknow all the details so far. I told him the little bit you’vemanaged to gather. And by Christ, he agrees with you!”
“Me?”
“Yes, you! He’s convinced there’s a madkiller on the loose in his town. And so are a number of citizenswho’ve heard of the second murder. He’s afraid of panic in thestreets. He thinks men will keep their wives indoors. He wants thiskiller caught.”
“I’ve got to start over,” Cobb said. “I’msure the killer is a gentleman, one of the gentlemen at thebrothel. I’ve been lookin’ at the three Cavaliers, but there are adozen regulars or more in that whorehouse. I’ve got to go up thereand rout them out, one by one.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind, Cobb. You’vealready upset enough gentlemen. Gussie told me while I was out thatGardiner Clough came here and complained that you’d accused him ofmurder. I told you to go easy there, but you’re incapable oflistening.”
“But we can’t just sit on our hands.”
“We’re not going to. We’re going to go backto basic police work, the kind we did when I was with the Met.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I mean patrolling, that’s what. We’re goingto put three men on patrol all night in Devil’s Acre. If this is amad killer, then he’ll strike again. And we’ll catch him before hecan wield the knife. We’ll patrol for as many nights as it takes.And I want you to quit playing detective and join Wilkie andRossiter on the patrols. I want experienced men out there. And Ihear you’re pretty good at wielding a truncheon.”
“But, Chief — ”
“No buts. You’ve failed as a detective. Let’ssee if you can remember how to be a policeman.”
Cobb went out — seething. His career as adetective had been short, and not very sweet.
SIX
“A body?” Marc said to Robert in the dining-room ofthe Clarendon Hotel.
“One of the workmen apparently. Found on thesite this morning by the other workmen when they arrived.”
“On the site? You mean the Parliamentbuilding?”
“Yes. Bert Campion just passed the news alongto me.”
“An accident?”
“Afraid not. It’s definitely murder. Thefellow was pole-axed with a hammer. Died instantly.”
“But what was the man doing out there afterdark?”
“I don’t know, but he was definitely killedovernight.”
“Do you think I should offer to helpout?”
Robert thought about the matter. Marc hadhandled more than half a dozen murder investigations in the pastfive years, and had been very successful in aiding the Torontopolice. But they were not in Toronto, and there were no municipalpolice as such here in Kingston, only the magistrate and twoconstables under his watch. “We need you here with us very much,”Robert said at last.
Just then Bert Campion came into theroom.
“I’ve just been over at the magistrate’s,” hesaid breathlessly. “And there’s news.”
“About the murder?”
“They’ve just sent a constable to arrest oneof the workmen, a Quebecer named Jacques LeMieux.”
“On what grounds?” Marc asked.
“It seems that the victim was killed with hishammer.”
“Is that all the evidence?”
“No. He was heard in a dive last eveningmaking drunken death threats against the victim. One of the otherworkmen was there and told the magistrate.”
“Who was the victim?”
“Earl Dunham, the foreman.”
“Oh, dear,” Robert said. “An English-speakingworker murdered by a French-speaking one. That’s very bad newsindeed.”
“What do you mean?” said the architect.
“We’re involved in delicate negotiations herewith our French colleagues. This sort of thing could raisetensions. And I suspect it would poison the workplace out at theParliament site.”
“That’s true,” Campion said with a sigh. “Thecarpenters are due in to lay the floor of the Legislative Councilchamber next week, and half of them are French.”
“The magistrate is sure he’s got the rightman?” Robert said.
“It certainly looks bad for LeMieux,” Campionsaid.
Robert looked at Marc. “Would you mind goingover to the magistrate’s, Marc? If LeMieux is guilty, we want theproof to be incontrovertible.”
“And I could take you out to the site later,”Campion said.
“I’ll look into it,” Marc said.
***
By the time Marc reached Magistrate Wilson’s house,Jacques LeMieux had been taken to jail, protesting his innocence.“They all say they’re innocent,” was the magistrate’s summaryremark. The murder weapon and an eye-witness statement as to thenature of the threat made by LeMieux was all the proof he needed.Marc was given permission to speak to the accused in jail.
LeMieux was a wiry man of middle height withblack hair and dark, protruding brows. The eyes were brooding and,despite the surroundings, fiery and rebellious. Marc addressed himin French.
“I’m here to help you Mr. LeMieux. I am abarrister and I have carried out murder investigations before. Yousay you are innocent.”
“I am. And the only reason I’m in here isthat I am French.” The eyes smouldered.
“The claim is made that it was your hammerthat killed Mr. Dunham.”
“It could have been. We leave our tools onthe site. Anyone could have come along, picked it up and hit Dunhamon the head with it.”
“Someone who might want to throw suspicion onyou?”
“Of course.”
“You were heard making death threats againstDunham.”
“I was in Bernie’s dive last night afterwork. It’s a dump out near the hospital. I had too much to drink. Imay have said something I shouldn’t have, but I don’t remember. Iwas too pissed. I don’t even remember walking home.”