“Constable Baker, did you search this man? You had the right, you know.”
“I did, sir. I found naught but a few odd pence and shillings, a linen kerchief, some bits of string, and some keys.”
“No bag of sovereigns?”
“No sir.”
“Well, the keys may prove of some value. Have you encountered any locked doors?”
“Not as yet. We found the front door wide open, but we’ve not been through the servants’ rooms.”
“Well, let us do that now, shall we?” Then to Mr. Collier: “What say you to that, sir?”
He had naught to say, but went along willingly enough. Yet I, on the other hand, wished to stay, for I had an idea all of a sudden — one which made perfect sense, at least to me.
“Sir John,” said I, “might I remain and search a bit on my own?”
“Certainly you may,” said he. “If you’ve an inspiration, by all means pursue it.”
I took an unlit candle in a single holder and lit it from the candelabrum in Mr. Kelly’s hand. As they marched off together, Mr. Collier threw me a look of concern, while at the same time Sir John began discoursing on just how it was the location of the hiding place had come to the butler.
“It was that poor child Crocker who divulged the secret to Aber-nathy, chief of the robbers, on their visit. They threatened Crocker, and she quite rightly gave it up. But Mrs. Trezavant had then taken the jewels away with her. It was a stupid place to hide valuables, anyway. After all, just above the cistern in the water closet — people in and out all day long. You cannot expect …” And so on.
Sir John continued, yet I, though interested, set out upon my search — not for gold or paper money, but rather for a painting. That, it seemed to me, was the payment that Mr. Collier would have begged from Zondervan. He might steal for something from Zondervan’s collection.
In truth, I believed that Sir John was wrong. It seemed to me that just above the cistern in the water closet would have made an excellent hiding place — though it should have been altered after Jenny Crocker had told of it. Had she also told her master? Had she confessed to her mistress? Had she breathed a word of her betrayal of the secret to the rude Dutch woman who served as Mrs. Trezavant’s personal maid? Perhaps not. Perhaps only to me. And Mrs. Trezavant had doubtless told Sir John.
Furthermore, I believed above the cistern to be a good spot to hide such grand items as jewels because it was commonplace and indecorous. And so I resolved to look for the painting, if it be a painting with which Collier was paid, in the most ordinary places. I reasoned that the butler had not been long in the house when Constables Baker and Kelly came down the stairs. He had been found in the pantry, and so that was where I began my search.
Looking round it, I saw that there were not many places in the pantry where one might tuck away a good-sized painting in its frame — and all the paintings I had seen in Mr. Zondervan’s gallery had been rather large. I looked behind the two barrels (one of apples and the other of potatoes), but there was no such object hidden away there. I clambered up upon the apple barrel and looked on every shelf, feeling a bit foolish as I did so, for there was not room enough upon them to accommodate any package so large. I left the pantry.
Perhaps he had been longer in the house than I supposed. Why, then it could be anywhere. Perhaps I was wrong about the mode of payment. It might indeed be a bag of sovereigns that I should seek. In that case, he could have dropped it in with the apples or the potatoes. In annoyance, I began roaming the kitchen, throwing open drawers, looking behind doors, looking into every dark corner, even in such places as a framed picture such as I envisioned could not possibly be hidden.
Then came to me an impulsive notion which struck me as fitting, but a bit unreasonable. Feeding the sink where dishes, pots, and pans were washed was a capacious and, no doubt, efficient lead cistern. What if payment had been left for Mr. Collier atop the cistern, just as the jewels had been left atop the cistern in the Trezavant water closet? What if, indeed? Well, were that the case, then the payment, if a picture, would have to be very much smaller than any I had in mind — but no matter, I thought it worth a try.
I found a wooden bucket under the sink and pushed it over to what seemed a good vantage point, then upended it, making it an excellent stool. I stepped upon it and looked at what was there. Initially, I was disappointed, for there was no such object as a framed picture upon the cistern, neither wrapped nor unwrapped.
But there was something there — rolled up — at the very farthest reach there at the top of the cistern. I stepped off and pushed the bucket still closer, then stretched to the utmost and managed to get a tentative grip upon it and pulled it off. I stepped down and examined what I had.
It was indeed a large piece of canvas, but unframed and rolled up and secured by three separate bands of string. It was a good two-and-a-half or perhaps three feet high. And there was no telling just how much had been rolled up within, or what it might contain — but I was eager to find out.
As in so many of these kitchens below the stairs, there was a great deal table set back a bit from the cooking space. It ran nearly the length of the room. It was here that I might unroll the canvas and see what it contained. I worked excitedly to remove those lengths of string which secured the roll. I had one off and was working on the second when I heard the voice of Sir John hectoring Mr. Collier as the four approached the open door.
“Sir John,” I called out, “I’ve something here will interest you.”
Just as he was asking what that something might be, Mr. Collier came crashing through the doorway, wide-eyed, angered, and expecting the worst.
“How dare you!” he shouted. “That is not your property. I advise you to take your hands from it this very moment.”
With that, he flew to me and attempted to grab the rolled canvas from me. Quite taking me by surprise as he did, he almost succeeded. Though a moment later, the constables were there pulling him away, there was no silencing him.
“You’ve no right,” said he most petulantly. “That painting belongs to me and to no other.”
“Just what is this painting?” asked Sir John. “Is it one of great beauty? Of great worth?”
“Sir,” said I, “it is one of those I described to you that hung in the gallery in the floor above.” (I had unrolled enough of it to recognize the peasants at play.) “I believe this is what served as payment between Zondervan and Mr. Collier.”
“A painting?” said the magistrate, surprised near to disbelief.
“Mr. Collier values it highly.”
“You understand only its worth in pounds and shillings,” said the butler contemptuously. “There are other, higher modes of valuation.”
“Why, I suppose there are,” said Sir John, “just as there are other modes of valuating the worth of a human life. To most of us, the life of another would be worth a great deal, and to Jenny Crocker, her own life was of inestimable worth. But you took it, as if it were a paltry thing, did you not? You stole her life from her, just as you stole the diamonds, pearls, and rubies from the Trezavants.”
“You accuse me of murder?”
“What else am I to think? She ran out after you, suspecting what you had done, and you simply killed her in order to cover your crime.”
“Where is your proof? “
“Oh, we shall find a blood-stained knife in the garden that someone will identify as your own. Perhaps there is blood upon some item of your clothing. It could be, too, that one of the servants other than Crocker saw you depart for the back garden, may even be aware that the girl followed you. We have barely begun our investigation. There is no telling what we shall turn up.”
Mr. Collier fearfully considered what Sir John had just said. He seemed about to speak when the magistrate himself resumed his reasoned accusation.
“You should be aware, sir — though you may not be — that we successfully laid a trap for the robber band at the home of the Lord Chief Justice. We pulled in four of them — perhaps five, if another of them survives his wounds. Now Lord Mansfield is unlikely to show them any mercy, since it was his home they attacked, but if one of these can give witness against the rest, he might be given transportation, rather than the rope. But you, sir, you are in a position worse than any of those, for you committed murder to cover your theft. I see little possibility of leniency for you.”