“It’s a roll-call of the high and mighty,”she said. “Some of these names are a shock – beyond belief.” Thepaper now hung limply at her side. “I wish to God I had not lookedat this. Here, Marc, throw it in the fire. It will do none of usany good: you might as well try to bring down the Governor’smansion or the White House.”
She let the paper drift to the floor. Brodiemoved quickly to her side and guided her to the nearest chair. Theevents of the evening, and indeed the past two days, had takentheir toll on her.
Marc picked up the paper and walked over tothe embering fire in the marble-topped hearth.
“Please, son.”
Marc held it out towards a flickering blueflame. As he did so, he could not help but notice one of the nameson the list. He stared at it, momentarily bewildered.
“Don’t punish yourself – ”
“It’s all right, mother.” He let the paperfall into the fire. “I’ve seen enough.” But it wasn’t a sigh thatcoloured this latter remark: it was a rising, unquenchable surge ofexhilaration.
“I think we’ve found our second assassin,” hesaid. “To be certain, we’ll need to go back to Eliza’s place firstthing in the morning. And if I’m right, Brodie and I will be on thefirst boat up the Hudson to the Erie Canal.”
TWENTY TWO
By seven-fifteen Wednesday evening the streets ofToronto were completely dark, except for the modest glow from a fewdozen post-lamps along King and Front and the occasional, wobblyglimmer of a carriage-lantern. The moon would not be up for hours,and the meagre spillage of light from the homes, shops and tavernswas not bright enough to fire a cat’s eyes. A good time to besettled safely in one’s parlour. A better time for thieves,pub-brawlers and roustabouts.
Constable Cobb stood outside the policequarters and impassively observed the elderly watchman place hisstool at the base of the lamp-post on the corner of Church andKing. Even after the formation of the municipal constabulary in1835, the city fathers had kept four or five of the watchmen on thepayroll – to light the street-lamps and stand sentry at the majorintersections. For most of them, “standing sentry” meant finding acomfortable doorway and snoozing the night away. Cobb walked alongto the lamp just lit. He noted with some illicit satisfaction thatthe glow it cast did not disturb the shadows that covered the bigfront doors of St. James a hundred feet away. And the rear door ofthe vicarage was, as always, invisible; even a full moon would castno illumination in the dark alley leading up to it. Pleased withhimself, he returned to his regular patrol.
Having informed Dora of the particularingenuities of his plan (which apparently went unregarded by thatnormally perceptive woman), Cobb did not have to return home whenhis patrol duties ended around ten o’clock. Instead, he slippedunnoticed into the shadows alongside the eastern wall of St. Jamesand sidestepped his way northward until he stumbled upon the littlestoop at the rear of the vicarage, striking his kneecap on itssharp edge and uttering a muffled oath. He held his breath andlistened hard, but the excited rasping of his own breath and thethumping of his heart was all he could hear. He decided that beinga sneak-thief was not as simple as it appeared: give him a noisytavern brawl any day.
Satisfied that no-one inside had been alertedto his presence, he clambered up onto the stoop and fumbled in thepitch dark for the doorknob. As he took hold of it, it rattled likea dinner-bell. When his hand stopped shaking, he gave the knob aslow turn, heard a decisive click, and pushed inward. So, MissyPrue had been as good as her word. She had made sure the door wasunlocked and unbarred.
He stepped into the dark hallway, thenreached around and, fumbling again, found the key still in thelock. He gave it a turn and left it where it was. Although hedidn’t expect to have to use the door later, it represented anescape route, should he need it. He left the bar unlatched for theconvenience of the thief, should the fellow choose this port ofentry. Groping his way down the covered and windowless walkway tothe church proper was not as straightforward as it ought to havebeen. While Cobb assumed he was walking dead ahead towards the palerectangle at the far end, the frightful bumping that each of thewalls gave his shoulders and elbows suggested otherwise. Afterseveral more ungainly manoeuvres through the vestry area, heemerged at last into the vaulted chamber of the Lord.
He inched his way up the main aisle withoutmaking a sound, as if the Holy Ghost were indeed present andcasting a sceptical eye on his movements, however noble theirpurpose might be. Fortunately the moon was just beginning to risein the south-east, and so there was a wash of pale andwindow-refracted light beginning to fill the vast void of the nave.The Poor Box sat on its pillar beyond the last row of pews. And hewas pretty certain that it had not been emptied after thechristening ceremony earlier in the day.
Well, he had made it safely into the trap hehad devised. All he had to do now was find a convenient perch fromwhich to spring as soon as the miscreant got his fingers tuckedinto the cookie-jar. He chose a pew a few feet away, which nomoonlight now reached nor ever would if his calculations werecorrect. He sat down, swung his boots up onto the bench, and laidhis head on his helmet against the arm at the end of the pew.
Now all he had to do was wait.
***
Falling asleep had not been one of the ingeniousparticulars of Cobb’s plan. He had taken a long nap after lunch andhad restricted his intake of ale to the minimum his duty andconscience would allow. Nevertheless, he was in danger of driftingoff, and Dora was telling him so in no uncertain terms. He was inthe midst of a devastating retort when he realized that he had notbrought Dora along with him to St. James. If that were true, thenDora was part of his dream, and if he were dreaming, then he was -alas – asleep. With a gasp that shook the wart on the tip of hisnose, Cobb sat up and forced his eyelids upward.
The Poor Box sat on its pedestal, unravaged.The only sound was the wind strumming the belfry. The moon hadcrossed the southern sky and was now illuminating the windows inthe west wall, but very faintly. It must be near dawn. Damn! He hadslept the night away. With every limb protesting and a neck thatfelt as if it had been stiffened with a hot poker, he got up andhobbled over to the Poor Box. He tugged at the door. It was stilllocked. If the robber had come in while the police slept, hecould have unlocked the box with his contraband key, removed thecash, and relocked the confounded thing! And Cobb, keyless, couldnot find out one way or the other. There was nothing to do now butadmit defeat and hightail it out the vicarage door before hehimself was discovered and accused of being the thief.
That’s when he heard a loud click – at thebig front door.
With his heart doing sit-ups, Cobb scuttledback into the shadows. Just as he ducked low, one of the oakendoors squealed open and a dark-clad figure slipped into the church.Just then, a cloud must have blocked the fading moonlight, for thechamber went gray and fuzzy before Cobb’s straining eyes. Though hecould not see the intruder, he could hear him padding along towardsthe Poor Box. It was difficult to do so, but Cobb knew he had towait until that box was opened and the intruder’s intentionscrystal clear before he could pounce.
He did not have to wait long.
After several scraping and scratching noises,a key could be heard clicking into place. The thief was breathingas heavily as Cobb was, and even at a distance of four or fiveyards, gave off a nauseous, and vaguely familiar, odour.
“Stand where you are, sir!” Cobb shouted ashe rose out of the darkness like an avenging angel. “I am thelaw!”