“You’ve got the strut of an army officer,”the fellow called Joe said to Marc.
“That’s because I was an officer in thearmy,” Marc said, facing the man down.
“We don’t take to barn-burning soldiersaround these parts,” Joe said, edging closer to Marc.
“I didn’t burn barns, sir. I did myduty.”
“Let it go, Joe,” Bernie said with a hint ofwarning in his voice.
“I’m about to leave,” Marc said to Bernie,and made the mistake of turning away from Joe to head for the door.Joe wound up and sucker-punched Marc on the back of the neck. Itwas a glancing blow and succeeded only in pitching Marc a couple ofsteps forward. Marc wheeled and faced his adversary, towering overhim. But Joe had already launched himself at Marc and pushed himover a stool. Marc fell backwards in a heap, and Joe was instantlyon top of him.
“Let him have it, Joe!”
“Don’t let him up!”
Marc heard the cries of Joe’s supporters andrealized he had walked into a hornet’s nest. These men were drunkand itching for a fight, at least itching for their champion tohave a fight.
Joe had both hands around Marc’s throat, andMarc felt his breath being slowly squeezed off. He tried to buckthe fellow off but was unable to detach him. Suddenly Joe’s fingersrelaxed, and he rolled sedately to the floor beside Marc. Standingover them both was Bernie, a chunk of firewood in his righthand.
“It’s a crude weapon, but it works,” Berniesaid. “Now, mister, you better go before things get ugly inhere.”
Marc got up, brushed himself off, and left.But he had got what he’d come for.
***
After supper Marc drove along Front Street past thelimestone façades of Kingston’s business section and on towards themighty fort, the fort that had held rebel prisoners after therevolt had been put down. He turned off onto a narrow side streetuntil he came to a substantial limestone house that he had beentold was the boarding place of Michel Jardin, the French-Canadianlather. Jardin had said he went for a walk about ten o’clock anddidn’t think his landlady heard him come in a little later on. Marcwanted to check out the details of that story. If no-one heardJardin come back in, then he would have had time to walk out to thebuilding site and kill Dunham. The walk could be done in less thanhalf an hour, even in the winter weather. Marc went up and knockedon the door. After a bit the door was opened by an imposingdark-haired woman in her late thirties. She had a ready smile forMarc, but there was a wariness in her deep brown eyes, as ifexperience had taught her to be cautious with her smiles.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Marc said in French.“My name is Marc Edwards and I’m investigating the murder of EarlDunham out at the Parliament building last night.”
“Yes. Michel told me about it just a fewminutes ago. Terrible thing, eh?”
“A brutal killing, yes.”
“You don’t think Michel had anything to dowith it?”
“I’d like to eliminate him and you could helpby answering a question or two.”
“Then please come in. I’ll put the kettleon.”
Marc followed her into a large kitchen inwhich the supper dishes were still being put away. A cooking-stovein one corner looked red hot, and the room itself was exceedinglywarm. Marc took off his coat and hat.
“I’m Madame Poulin,” the woman said. “I runthis boarding-house with the aid of my son. I’ve got water alreadyhot. I’ll just make the tea.”
While Marc watched, she made a pot of tea andserved Marc a mug. He sipped at the tea appreciatively.
“Now, how can I help you?”
“Well, Michel told me that he was in here allevening, but went out for a walk about ten o’clock. Did you see himdo so?”
“Yes, I did. I heard the clock striking tenwhen he told me he felt like a walk. He hadn’t slept well sincethat foreman fired his brother Denis off the job. Denis boards herewith his brother.”
“Were you awake when he got back?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t. He has a key for thefront door. He must have let himself in.”
So, Jardin had no real alibi, and a strongmotive: revenge for the firing of his brother and Dunham’s generalmistreatment of French-Canadians.
“So it might have been very late?”
Madame Poulin looked puzzled. “I shouldn’timagine he was more than an hour or so, but as I said, I was fastasleep.”
“Thank you. That’s helpful information.”
They sipped at their steaming tea.
“You’re one of them Reformers that aremeeting at the Clarendon, aren’t you?” Madame Poulin saidsuddenly.
“Why, yes. How did you know?”
“I saw you coming out of the hotel yesterdayand you were with Mr. LaFontaine.”
Marc looked up, alert. “So you are familiarwith politics?”
“One has to be, eh?”
“Well, I am indeed an associate of Mr.LaFontaine.”
“And Robert Baldwin?”
“And Robert Baldwin.”
“We hear that you are planning some sort ofalliance.”
“I see that word has reached ground level,”Marc said with a smile. “What is your opinion of what we aredoing?”
“Well, like most French people, I amsurprised that you would try, let alone succeed. There is so muchbitterness between the races — ever since the rebellion.”
“That is precisely why we feel we must try toreconcile the two races, especially at the political level. WeReformers by and large did not support armed rebellion, but we didsympathize with its aims.”
“So you are radicals, too? And you hope yourradicalism will be enough to overcome your natural dislikes?”
Marc realized he was in the presence of afine intelligence. And decided here was a chance to get somefeedback from the French trenches.
“You are an admirer of Mr. LaFontaine?” hesaid.
“Yes and no. He has been strong andconsistent in his denunciation of the terms of the union, and yetnow he is proposing to take part in the new Parliament andcooperate with those he’s denounced for four years. He is apuzzle.”
“But you are willing to accept his judgementon the matter of an alliance?”
Madame Poulin paused, and finished her teabefore saying, “He is a great man, a great Frenchman. Many people Iknow are willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“But he will have to tread carefully?”
Madame Poulin smiled, unwarily. “Indeed hewill. And he won’t be helped by this murder.”
“Oh. How so?”
“Well, Michel tells me they’ve charged one ofhis mates just because he’s a Frenchman. And here you are, comingaround to see if Michel might be part of this thing.”
“But I’m trying to find out who really didit,” Marc said. “I’ve talked to Jacques LeMieux and I believe himwhen he says he is innocent.”
“I see. Then I hope you’re successful,because to the French people in town — and there are a lot of themin the capital for the work that’s going on everywhere — it willlook like a case of racial bias.”
“That’s why LaFontaine and Robert Baldwinhave put me on the case. They are in the middle of negotiationswith possible supporters of our cause and any racial conflictlocally will not make them any easier.”
“Well, Michel and Denis are nice boys. Youcan safely look elsewhere.”
Marc stood up. “Thank you for your frankness,ma’am. I’ll convey your thoughts on the union to Mr.LaFontaine.”
Marc said goodbye at the door and left. Whilehe sincerely hoped that Michel Jardin did not kill Dunham, he stillcould not rule him out. Even his brother Denis was a possibility,though only Jardin, Manson and Leroy knew that Dunham was going tobe on guard duty that night. Unless, of course, Michel mentioned itto Denis. Marc turned back and surprised Madame Poulin at thedoor.
“Sorry to bother you again, Madame, but Iforgot to ask about Denis Jardin. Was he here last night?”
“He was here all evening with my son and me,playing cards. I saw him off to bed.”
Marc thanked her again and left, quitesatisfied with his visit.
***
Gregory Manson’s boarding-house was only a blockfrom the Clarendon Hotel, on Queen Street, so Marc returned thehorse and cutter to the livery stable and walked to the place, aone-storey clapboard cottage. He was shown in by the landlady, aMrs. Brownwell, who was as thin as a stork with a nose that wouldhave made that bird proud.