“Well, sir, I’m sure we can cross you off ourlist quickly if you’ll just answer one or two questions.”
Stoneham now looked bemused. “Only if they donot border on impertinence.”
“Of course, sir. Did you know ReubenEpp?”
“Everyone who has a pew in St. James knowsReuben Epp. The man’s been verger there for donkey’s years.”
“Did you ever chat with him?”
“Never. The fellow knew his place. I spokenot a single word to him – ever. And he did not dare approach me ormy family.”
“Were you with your family after church onSunday?”
Again Stoneham’s cheeks bulged crimson, buthe gathered himself and said, “I was here all day. My wife’scousins were visiting and we were together the entire time. You maybelieve me or check with them if you doubt the word of agentleman.”
Cobb considered the word of a gentleman to benot much more reliable than that of a horse-thief, but he said,“That won’t be necessary, sir. Thank you for yer time.”
At the door Stoneham said, “But I was right,wasn’t I? Doubtful Dick didn’t make it to the Bar. And it was overhis dead body.”
***
Back on the street, Cobb remembered that he hadneglected to ask Stoneham what brand of notepaper he used andwhether he kept American money about the household. He did,however, get the names of the visiting cousins from the maid beforehe left. And she herself had declared that the card-playing (on theSabbath!) had gone on till midnight. So it didn’t look as ifStoneham was a prize suspect. That temper of his was more suited toa sudden lashing-out than to elaborate conspiracy. Still, Marc wasassuming that Epp was motivated by the Archdeacon’s sermon and thathis accomplice had subsequently taken advantage of the verger’srage to set the deadly train of events in motion. But Cobb thoughtit was possible that any conspiracy might have pre-dated the Sundaysermon. If so, then knowing Epp’s whereabouts on that day, or theaccomplice’s, was useless. Stoneham and Epp could have plotted thewhole thing weeks before.
Cobb had planned to drop in to BartholomewBurchill’s shop after lunch, but was delayed when he was called tothe Market to assist Rossiter and Wilkie. Two wagons had collidedon West Market Lane, and the drivers had decided to settle thequestion of blame through single combat. Several bystanders chose afavourite and joined the dispute. It took the three constables morethan an hour to subdue the battered gladiators, untangle theharnesses, calm down the horses, and haul five people off to jail.Cobb then had to calm himself down at The Cock and Bull.
He was just returning to police quarters todictate the report of his interview with Stoneham to Gussie Frenchwhen he was accosted on the boulevard of the Court House by animposing, and extremely vexed, woman.
“Are you Constable Cobb?” she cried, comingright up to him and placing her own elongated nose next to Cobb’sblemished snout.
“I am, madam, though the wife calls me otherthings from time to time.”
“Well, then, come with me, sir.”
“Where to?”
“I’ve come to report a crime! A dastardlycrime!”
“Well, then, we need to go inside – ”
“We need to examine the scene of the crime.Follow me.”
“C’n I have yer name, ma’am?”
“Well, if you must. I am Mavis McDowell.” Sheuttered her name as if it were her most precious possession and oneshe suffered to be admired only by those personally selected to doso.
“You been robbed, or molested?” Cobbsaid.
“Of course not! No-one would dare harm thewife of Mowbray McDowell!”
Cobb had to think for a moment before saying,“Ah . . . the fella that give the fancy speech on Saturd’y.”
But his hesitation had been noticed: “You didnot recognize the name, did you?”
“Well, ma’am, it took a minute but – ”
“It won’t take a minute next time,” she saidwithout explanation. “Now follow me to St. James.”
St. James? What now? “Ya mean thechurch?”
“Of course, I do. An outrage has beencommitted there: our Poor Box has been vandalized!”
Cobb heaved a great sigh, but trailed alongbehind Mavis McDowell as they headed the half-block east to ChurchStreet. He had trouble keeping up, for that grand dame, hatless andwithout a coat, marched along in front of him with gazelle-likestrides. She was in every respect an angular woman – long-leggedand bony-hipped – with auburn hair rigidly curbed in several severebraids. Her eyes, when they pounced upon him, were as brown andvolatile as chestnuts in a bonfire. She was a woman to be reckonedwith.
“We’ve got to go in through the walkway,” shehollered back at him. “The front doors have been kept locked sinceMonday, except when one of the vicars is in the building.”
In order to enter the church through thewalkway, however, they had first to go through the rear door of thevicarage. Mavis McDowell did not bother knocking. She pulled openthe door, checked to make sure Cobb was at her heel, and bargedinto the narrow hall. Missy Prue, who had been expecting them, wasnonetheless startled enough to drop her broom on the carpet.
“It’s all right, Missy,” Mavis said in a muchgentler voice that the one she had used on Cobb. “Please wait forMrs. Hungerford to come back from her errand and then inform herimmediately. The vicar’ll have to be told as well when he returnsfrom Danby’s Crossing.” Then she turned to Cobb. “Follow me.”
Cobb meekly trailed her into the walkway thatconnected church and vicarage. As they went past the vestry andstepped out into the church proper, Cobb felt the hair on his neckrise. He wasn’t much of a churchgoer, but the mysterious, hushedsilence of a house of worship never failed to move him, not quiteto awe but something close to it. Mavis McDowell loped down thenave between the pews towards the big oaken doors. Beyond the lastpew there was a wooden stand upon which the Poor Box normally sat.At this moment it lay on the floor, its ornate wooden door wideopen, its interior empty.
“That’s the way I found it, constable. Rippedopen and all the money stolen! Such sacrilege! Such blasphemy!”
Cobb wondered whether the loss of a fewdollars or pounds was worth all that indignation. He bent down toexamine the pillaged container.
“I’ve only been in town since October andMrs. Hungerford was kind enough to make me treasurer of the LadiesAuxiliary. One month later, and what happens? Ten dollars goesmissing from the bazaar! And now this!”
“You ain’t responsible fer a thief robbin’you,” Cobb said.
“Perhaps not, but, you see, I am supposed tocheck this box every Monday morning – Constance trusted me with thekey – ”
“Why don’t the vicar just empty it after theevenin’ service?” Cobb said, puzzled as usual by the needlessintricacies of religious practice and protocol.
Mavis seemed startled by the question butsaid, “The Poor Box is the province of the Auxiliary, as are thebazaars and socials we use to raise money for the Widows andOrphans Fund.”
“Ah . . .”
“But everything was at sixes and sevens onMonday – as you know – and I was kept busy entertainingwell-wishers come to praise my husband’s speech and seek hisadvice. So I didn’t get around to it until half an hour ago. Andhere is what I found. You must apprehend the thief – atonce!”
“You say the box was locked?”
“Yes. It didn’t use to be, but after therebellion Dr. Strachan apparently insisted.”
“Who has a key besides you?”
Mavis had to think about that. “The vicars ofcourse have keys for every door in the church and vicarage. No-oneelse.”
“I hardly think the vicars’d rob their ownpoor box,” Cobb said, but he had read Marc’s notes on the interviewwith Chalmers and, like Marc, suspected that Mrs. Hungerford wasthe likely culprit. However, he noticed that there were two greasyand distinctly male thumbprints on the Poor Box, made very recentlyby the look of them. Perhaps the good parson’s wife had found somevillain from the town to do her dirty work for her. Or it waspossible, though not probable, that this incident had nothing to dowith the Chalmers’ episode.