***
The previous Friday morning, Cobb had run into MissyPrue at the Market and taken the opportunity to show her DavidChalmers’ silver locket, which he had kept in his coat pocket sincefinding it in the church early Thursday morning. He thanked her forhelping him catch the Poor Box thief, and then asked her if shewould quietly slip the locket back into the junior vicar’s desk,perhaps placing it under something so that he would assume he hadmerely mislaid it. When Missy inquired as to the reason for thissubterfuge, Cobb had put a forefinger to his lips and whispered,“Mum’s the word.” Which gesture prompted Missy to favour him with aconspiratorial nod and a very pretty smile. He then asked her ifher mistress had said anything more about the robbery, and Missyreplied that Mrs. Hungerford had merely mentioned, in passingalmost, that a constable had caught the villain red-handed andhauled him away. She offered no details and had even chastised thetwo maids when she overheard them speculating on the event. Itseemed that that particular case was closed. Moreover, the youngReverend Chalmers, she continued happily, appeared to be back inthe good graces of his superior, having been invited to dine withthe bishop-in-waiting at the Palace on Front Street. Dr. Strachan,it was rumoured everywhere and especially at the vicarage, hadbooked his passage for Britain and was due to set sail for QuebecCity a few days after Easter. “Well, at least he’s waitin’ fer theLord to resurrect,” Cobb had quipped, and drew an abashed blushfrom Missy.
***
Cobb was let in the front door of Briar Cottage by anexcited Charlene. Behind her, Cobb could see, in the parlour, thebacks of Marc and Brodie and, facing them, Celia, Beth with theswaddled babe, his wife Dora, and even young Jasper Hogg from nextdoor. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. He’d barged in on acamp meeting!
“I’ll come back,” he said to Charlene, happythat he had not yet been noticed.
“Mr. Edwards has been askin’ about you,” shesaid.
“How’s young Celia?” he said, recalling hisgaffe with Bartholomew Burchill.
Charlene smiled knowingly. “Oh, that. Well,sir, she’s taken a right fancy to little Maggie.”
“That’s good.” He turned to slip away, butwasn’t quick enough.
“Cobb!” Marc said with a huge grin. “I’m gladyou’ve come. Join the welcoming committee.”
“Good to see ya back, major. But I reallywanted to talk to you – alone. About Mr. Dougherty’s murder.”
“That’s fortuitous because I’ve got much totell you on the same subject.”
“I know who the accomplice was, but they sayI got no motive.”
“You do? So do I.”
“It’s that Tory speechifier, MowbrayMcDowell,” Cobb said a split second before Marc said, “MowbrayMcDowell.”
“There an echo in here?” Cobb said.
“I think you and I had better go for a walk,”Marc said, signalling his intention to Beth and Brodie.
***
“You go first,” Marc said, as they strolled downSherbourne Street towards the lake in the gathering dusk. “Justgive me the gist.”
While Cobb had a rough idea what giving thegist meant, he was not about to skimp on the details of his mostsuccessful bid at criminal investigation. He gave his mentor notonly chapter and verse but a good deal of the gloss to boot. He wasparticularly at pains to demonstrate the logical inferences he haddrawn at each phase of his relentless probing into Dick’s murderand the conspiracy behind it. Marc listened with much more thanpoliteness, and they were moving well along Front Street towardsCity Hall when Cobb finished up by saying:
“So there you have it, major. I’ve got anaccomplice but no motive, an’ the chief’s let me down terribly,callin’ me off the scent just as I got the creature treed.”
“Don’t be too hard on Wilfrid. Given what heknew at the time, he made the only choice he could. But don’t fret.I’ve got a motive for you.”
“In New York?” Cobb said. His desire to findout how Marc and Brodie could have come up with Mowbray McDowell’sname as prime suspect while sashaying about the streets of anAmerican city several hundred miles away had almost prompted him tosuggest that Marc tell his story first.
“Very much so,” Marc said, pausing to lookout over the desiccated marsh grasses, just beginning to green,towards the dewy haze that lay like a bride’s veil along the darkswelling of the lake’s surface. “Dick’s death is all about whathappened in New York, and what the would-be bishop bespoke from thearrogance of his pulpit.”
Cobb was taken aback by the vehemence andbitterness of this latter remark, but he realized that he felt muchthe same way about the machinations and pettiness he himself haddiscovered in the closed world of St. James, and the humanconsequences of its recklessness.
Marc proceeded to give Cobb a summary of whathe and Brodie had found out in New York, unglossed and unvarnished.Cobb did not interrupt, but several times Marc heard him whistlethrough the gaps in his teeth.
“Jesus Murphy,” was Cobb’s succinct responseat the conclusion of Marc’s story. “That’s some motive. We got thebugger, ain’t we?”
“Not quite. But we certainly have enough tobeard the lion in his den.”
Cobb turned, looked at his friend andinvestigative associate, and grinned: “An’ we’re only three blocksaway!”
***
Whatever song and dance Marc used to seduce Hudson atthe front door of the McDowell residence on George Street, it wasworking because the giant manservant gave him a welcoming smile,left Marc momentarily standing in the vestibule, and returnedshortly with a positive reply. To the butler’s astonishment – andchagrin (the grinding of his teeth being audible) – Cobb hadslipped out from behind a forsythia bush and popped up behind thegentleman he was leading towards the master’s study.
Mowbray McDowell greeted Marc with aready-made smile, which withered dramatically when he spied theimpudent constable.
“You told Hudson you wished to see meregarding a political matter,” he said coldly to Marc. “Do yourequire police protection to do so?”
“What we have come to discuss, sir, may verywell affect the politics of the province in the coming months,”Marc said. “I have been asked by His Excellency to pursue furtherthe investigation of Richard Dougherty’s death, in which we havegood grounds to suspect a conspiracy. Constable Cobb and I wish toask you a few questions in that regard. That is all.”
McDowell paled, though with his alabastercomplexion it was not easy to see him do so. But an anxioustightening around the eyes was clearly visible. He managed a smallsmile. “Well, then, if Sir George wishes to pursue such a matter,however frivolous it might appear to be, then I am happy tocooperate. But he mentioned no such operation to me when we lastshared a carafe of Amontillado.”
He directed Marc to a chair opposite his own.Cobb remained standing, helmet in hand. Hudson, who had alreadytaken Marc’s coat, stood outside the half-open door for a moment,then discreetly retreated. The study itself was lavishly furnishedin the French manner. An elegant escritoire took pride of placebeneath a bay window of exquisite leaded-glass. A bowl of Dutchtulips graced a swan-legged table. Several sombre paintings of theFlemish school brooded on the interior walls. Here was a man ofsubstance unashamedly proclaiming his worth.
“The reason we have come here so many daysafter the fact,” Marc began, “is that we have just recentlydiscovered that Reuben Epp, the man who did the actual stabbing ofDougherty, is a cousin of Mrs. McDowell.”
“Your henchman here has already made that alltoo clear,” McDowell said. Any initial sag in his confidence at theabrupt arrival of the police had quickly been corrected. McDowell’seyes, a translucent blue, had the capacity to contract amazingly,giving the impression of fierce concentration and cunningintelligence. Breaking through this barrier would not be a simpletask. “In addition, Cobb insulted my wife and uttered a series ofpreposterous accusations.”