"Was Captain Hay's death immediate, or could he have spoken before he died?"
Hopkin looked at Hoare pityingly. "Since he crawled nearly twenty feet, sir, I would expect him to be able to speak a few words. It takes a pig a minute or more to bleed to death, and I'm sure you've heard their dying prayers."
Gladden paled.
"Now as to the wound," Hoare whispered. "You say it was triangular in cross section?"
"Yes," the doctor replied. "Or Kshaped., Narrow at the base, long on the edges. It was obviously inflicted by the Marine bayonet that lay on the deck halfway between the captain's table and the door. There it is, on the table, under those papers, where I put it.
"The man using the weapon worked it about in the wound before withdrawing it, as though he wanted to be sure to accomplish his fell purpose."
"Not my poor faint-hearted brother," said Peter Gladden. He rose and begged leave to excuse himself and go ashore. "I want to take Arthur a clean pair of his breeches, at least," he added.
"Of course," said Hoare. "Perhaps you would undertake a task for me when you get to shore?"
"Anything." Рђб
"Have the watch and the Portsmouth beachcombers keep their eyes peeled for a discarded Marine uniform coat. It might have come ashore on any of the last few tides, since we are coming up on the spring tides. Either on the Portsmouth or the Gosport side of the harbor mouth."
"A Marine uniform?"
After a pause, Hoare went on. "Lobsters. Captain Hay was dining on lobsters Friday evening, was he not?"
"That's what we are told."
"And the clerk said he overheard the captain say something about 'lobsters' as he died. But no one has even suggested the man was poisoned by tainted lobsters, have they?"
"Not that I know of," said Bennett.
"Then he would have been referring to the other kind of lobster."
"Eh?"
"The other kind of Lobster. Marines," Hoare whispered. "Yes. Find Jom York. He will dig the uniform out if it is there to be dug."
"A Marine uniform. Jom York," Gladden repeated in a bemused voice, rising to leave. "Aye aye, sir. Perhaps you will tell me about Jom York sometime?" he asked.
"Let us meet at the Anchor," Hoare said, "and I shall do so then. We must also question your brother, for there is not a minute to be lost. Thursday is almost upon us."
Upon Gladden's departure but before dismissing Mr. Hopkin, Hoare asked him if he had any notion of why Captain Hay would keep a Marine bayonet in his cabin.
"It's common knowledge, sir," Mr. Hopkin said. "He was in hopes of introducing into the Marine service a hilted sword bayonet of his own design, similar to the 'swords' carried by Riflemen. He kept two bayonets here: a regulation socketed one and one with a grip of his own design. Here."
Without asking Hoare's leave, Hopkin ruffled through the papers on the captain's table and uncovered two bayonets.
They were as described, Hoare saw Taking them from the surgeon, he inspected them closely.
"This one is clean, Mr. Hopkin, but the regulation one still has dried blood on it. Are you quite sure you did not wipe off the sword bayonet after removing it-as a matter of professional habit?"
Hopkin laughed with ill-concealed contempt. His breath was foul in Hoare's face. "Why should I do a thing like that, sir? Every properly apprenticed naval surgeon knows better than to clean off his instruments. Cleaning removes the protective film of blood. 'Wipe it off,' indeed!"
Chapter V
Hoare wondered what Dr. Simon Graves would make of Mr. Hopkins views on the maintenance of surgical instruments. After dismissing him with genuine relief, Hoare made a list of the other men he must question aboard Vantage today. They included his recent adversary, Mr. Wallace of the Marines; John McHale, master; Patrick Lynch, quartermaster; and Michael Doyle, sergeant of the Marine detachment. He sent Mr. Prickett in search of the three latter; he would go to Mr. Wallace himself.
At the time of their captain's murder, Mr. McHale and the quartermaster had been standing within feet of each other, separated from the crime by a mere two thin decks and adjoining an open skylight into the wardroom just below. Yet the statements of the two flatly contradicted each other. Looking intently at Hoare, Mr. McHale stated that during the time when the murder might have been committed, between six and seven bells of the afternoon dogwatch, he had heard only the ordinary sounds of shipboard life.
On the other hand, Lynch described overhearing an encounter fraught with melodrama.
"The capting begins to roar at Mr. Gladden the very minute I 'ears the door close be'ind him. He calls him hinsolent for interruptin' his dinner, an' lazy an' all like that-I can't remember all the words. Some of 'em I 'eard before, but he used some what I never wants to 'ear used again. Orful, they was.
"He says Mr. Gladden 'ad lorst control of his division an' wasn't supportin' his petty orficers like he orta. He starts givin' Mr. Gladden orders to carry out more hexercises aloft, an' then he starts off with more bad words. Well, then Mr. Gladden pipes up, a-squealin'-like, an' starts a-tellin' off the capting. An' then I 'ears the capting give a roar, and there's a thumpin' and more roarin', an' then I 'ears a scream. It was the captain's death scream, I know for sure, sir. It was orful. It makes me 'air stand on end just to think of it."
"You're no Irishman, Lynch," said Hoare. "You were born to the sound of Bow bells, I think."
"Seven bells, sir. But me da was a Dubliner, me ma always said. Though I don't know 'ow she knew, I'm sure."
"Be that as it may," Hoare said. "You know Mr. McHale says he heard nothing of the altercation you just described."
" 'Alter-what,' sir?"
"Argument. Dispute. Fight, if you will."
Lynch stood on his pride. "I've told you wot I 'eard, sir, and I'll stand by it. About Mr. Mc'Ale's 'earin' I've nuffin' to say." He was as good as his word and would say no more.
Unlike Lynch, Sergeant Doyle was so clearly Irish-born that Hoare was hard put to understand him. He said yes, there was always a guard at the captain's cabin door as well as at the spirit locker. He had placed the man there himself at the change of the watch. Doyle begged pardon for being derelict, but the entire draft was new to the ship and strangers to one another as well as to him, so for the life of him he could not name the man on guard during the time in question. The man was taller than average for a Marine; Doyle did remember that. He was not looking forward to hearing Mr. Wallace on the subject.
But Doyle could also more or less confirm the clerk's statement that there had been no guard at the captain's door when seven bells had sounded. At least none had been visible when Mr. McHale had summoned him to the cabin. And again he was sorry, but in the confusion he had not conducted the muster that Mr. Wallace had ordered as well as he should have, for he had counted off his men to forty at one time and thirty-nine a moment later. He had reported forty to his officer but would not be prepared to swear to the count. He again reminded his listeners that the Marines, like the rest of Vantage's crew, were a new draft and still largely strangers to one another.
"Has a uniform coat turned up missing?" asked Hoare.
Doyle looked at him as though he were a wizard. One of his privates had, indeed, complained about a missing uniform coat. Doyle had cursed the man, docked his pay for its replacement, and had the boatswain assign him to duty as captain of the heads until he could present himself in a new coat.
"Keep on searching for the coat," Hoare said. "Include the bilges and the wings. If you find it, have it brought to me at the Swallowed Anchor by a safe hand. Safe, d'ye hear?"