Yet I had still to be convinced. “Could you be more specific?” I asked him. “If there was such an abundance of good information, it should be easy to supply an example or two.” (Perhaps since Sir John forgave me these occasional bouts of priggish self-conceit, you, reader, can also find it in your heart to do so.)
“I can do that easily,” said he. “Let us take as an instance the trap we were able to lay for the robbers at Lord Mansfield’s residence. That was done largely through information you provided.”
“Oh? How … how was that, sir?”
“You will recall that when you went off to Mr. Bilbo’s to check Mr. Burnham’s story with residents of the house, you were discouraged because you felt it was quite inevitable that they would lie to protect him. Do you remember what I told you then?”
“Well … yes. I believe you advised me to pay strict attention to them, because it is often only through the lies that we can get to the truth — or words to that effect.”
“Very good,” said he. “I’d no idea you listened to me so closely. Now think, Jeremy, who did you run into there, evidently quite unexpectedly?”
“Why, it was Mary Pinkham,” said I, surprised at the memory.
“Indeed, and what did she tell you?”
“That she was going to seek employment.”
“Where?”
“Why, of course! How could it have slipped my mind? At Lord Mansfield’s in Bloomsbury Square.”
“And next time you saw her, that’s where she was.”
“Acting as one of the robber band.”
“Right you are! But you checked her story later, and found she was not employed there and had not even applied. I foresaw that and reasoned that since she was under suspicion as the distressed female who persuaded the butler to open Trezavant’s door, she had likely heard Lord Mansfield’s residence in Bloomsbury Square mentioned as the next place to be robbed. That was enough for me to seek Lord Mansfield’s permission to place two men in his house to guard it.”
“Constables Perkins and Brede.”
“Exactly! You took the letter to Lord Mansfield yourself. I couldn’t allow the Lord Chief Justice himself to be robbed so rudely. If I had done, it would have been an insult to the entire legal system. So I posted Perkins and Brede there, even though I had no proper idea of when the attack might come. Yet you helped supply information there, too.
“I did?”
“Certainly. Do you recall when you went off to fetch Mr. Donnelly to look at the girl’s body out in back of Trezavant’s?”
“Yes, of course I do. I had to wait, for he had been at a dinner parry at Lord Mansfield’s home.” Then, remembering, I added excitedly: “Mr. Zondervan was there, too. In fact, he drove Mr. Donnelly home in his coach. When I told you about it the next day, you became quite interested and sent me to invite him here for a talk.”
“Ah yes, and while you were there, you noted the intense activity in the house, which seemed to you quite like preparations to move the household — and householder. And you thought the move would be very soon, that very evening perhaps. You also heard Mr. Patley somewhere in the house, and that frighted me a bit. But he, by the bye, had confirmed your suspicions and believed that an early departure was planned.”
“Why ‘early,’ Sir John?” I asked.
“Well, yes, why indeed? Because, you see, that letter you brought me from Mr. Humber contained some very interesting information. First of all, it told me that there was indeed a ship which seemed too heavily insured for the cargo that it carried — at least that which was listed upon its manifest. It was a ship of Dutch registry, the Dingendam, which was to sail on the 21st for some part in the North American colonies — Boston, I believe it was.” He smiled broadly just then. “That’s right, Jeremy, that is today’s date. In other words, taking the tide, as they did last night, put them out of port a day earlier than the time of departure they had registered with the London port authority. Oh, and yes, perhaps most interesting of all, the owner of the Dingendam was listed as a Mr. Hans Zondervan. That confirmed your guess from Mr. Martinez’s clews — a very clever guess, I might add.
“Let me see, now, where was I? Ah yes, when Zondervan arrived — you know, I never did find out how you persuaded him to come.”
“I described you to him as a rather pathetic “sort, one who would be happy to have a visit from one in the great world.”
“Excellent! We were then wonderfully in harmony,” said he, “for I, in my role as an eccentric old codger, drew from him the names of a few of those in the great world at whose grand houses he had dined — how he was received with his silly Dutch tales, et cetera. And among those who entertained him thus were Lord Lilley and our friend, the coroner, Mr. Trezavant. In other words, he had scouted these houses and decided what they might have that would be worth stealing. Since he had just visited Lord Mansfield and charmed the great company present, and since both you and Mr. Patley agreed that Zondervan was preparing to leave a day earlier than we had been advised, I decided that the raid upon the home of the Lord Chief Justice had to be that very evening — and it was.”
This was, I admitted to myself, a very full accounting. And it was apparent that indeed I had played an important part in the gathering of information, but nevertheless …
“Now, that is but one instance. There were others,” said Sir John. “Do you wish to hear more?”
“Well … no,” said I hesitantly. “I wonder only why you did not apprise me of the importance of these bits of information when I brought them to you? In short, why did you not keep me better informed?”
He fell into a troubled silence. I could tell that there was something he wished to say, but could not quite put into words. Yet I would hear it from him, and so I pressed him on the matter.
“Do you not trust me, sir, to keep your confidence?”
“Oh, but of course I do,” he declared hastily. “It is just… well, let me tell you a story.” Then, taking a breath, he began: “It was when I was about your age and a midshipman in the Navy. We were part of a squadron sailing about the Mediterranean showing the colors. We put in at Naples which, traditionally, has been a friend to England. To demonstrate this, the Duke of Naples sent to us a troop of entertainers who performed right there aboard ship. There were acrobats and jugglers, all of them most expert in their skills. Yet none could be called a true artist, except for one: a magician. Now, I know not why it should be — perhaps it may have something to do with the Neapolitans’ talent for thievery — but it is said that they produce the very best magicians in the world, though one does hear tales of great wonders done in the Orient. I am well aware that there is no such thing as true magic. It is all illusion and sleight of hand. Still, when it is done with great knowledge, talent, and ability, it does approach true artistry. And the magician who entertained us that day in Naples possessed all those qualities: He was a true artist. He spoke not a word during his performance, which made it all the more mysterious. The man may have been mute for all I know. Yet I had no trouble understanding when he pointed to me, seated in the front row, and beckoned me up there beside him before them all, captain and crew. He brought forth a broad-brimmed hat and gestured that I might put it on. That I did, and found it was much too large. It covered my eyes completely, and there was much jollity at my expense, but I minded not a whit, for it was just such a happy occasion. In any case, he showed me and showed all the rest that apart from its size, it was a perfectly ordinary hat. Then, sent back to my seat by him, I sat and watched him do something quite marvelous. He turned the hat upside down and covered it with a cloth. Then, after making a few passes over it, he removed the cloth, reached into the hat, and pulled out … a rabbit!”
(Reader, I myself had by that time seen the same trick performed two or three times on a Sunday in Covent Garden, yet it was the first and last time Sir John had witnessed it, and even as he spoke of it, he seemed rather awestruck by the memory.)