“What did you make of that?” Edmund asked, clapping his brother on the shoulder as they walked down the long corridor toward Edmund’s office.
“Was anything accomplished, exactly?”
“Oh, Lord, no! We simply wanted to begin talking about this reform bill we’re expecting next year. Needed to find out what Russell thought.”
“He seemed unruffled.”
“That was the right form on his part.”
A man, dark, short, and striding quickly, approached them. Edmund said hello to him.
“Oh-yes, hello, Lenox. I can’t speak at the moment-something-something quite important. Forgive me.”
“Not at all,” said Edmund, and the man walked on.
“Who was that?” Lenox asked.
“Daniel Maran.”
“What! That’s a strange coincidence, to lay eyes on him.”
“Not that strange, of course-he haunts this little building. I must see him at least once a day. Why are you so surprised?”
“He may figure into this case of mine.”
“How so?”
Lenox quickly told Edmund what the September Society was, about Wilson, Butler, Lysander, and the shooting accident at Maran’s property that killed Wilson. He also mentioned that he had come by in part to see the file Arlington had sent over, and reminded his brother about James Payson.
Edmund’s brow furrowed. “That’s quite strange, you know, about Maran.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I could swear-yes, I feel certain that only the other day he was closeted with that man Lysander when I wanted to see him.”
“What do you mean?” said Lenox keenly.
“I popped into his office to ask him a question or two-I was with James Hilary, actually-and he said he couldn’t meet, and then introduced us to Lysander in a rather hurried way.”
“When was this, Edmund?”
“Oh, last… was it last Thursday? Yes, I think so.”
“Why have you been dealing with Maran?”
“Oh, just a small task they’ve asked me to do-nothing important, mind you. A few matters of ordnance. Some strange spending there, it would appear-though nothing that can’t be sorted out. But listen, Charles, what about Lysander?”
Lenox’s mind was racing, and he answered his brother’s questions distractedly. When at length they reached Edmund’s small, cluttered office, he sat down and jotted a few notes. Then he took the file on James Payson, which Edmund had found on his desk. It was thin and looked inconsequential. Lenox scrambled backward in his memory for some further recollection of James Payson in his early days of marriage but couldn’t remember any. He opened the folder expecting disappointment but still half hoping for a breakthrough. After a bit of boilerplate, the report of the 2nd Battalion’s medical staff read: Already there are rumors in the camp about Captain Payson’s final hours, some of them quite outlandish… it is the consensus of this panel that these rumors should be encouraged while a deeper investigation of the circumstances of Captain Payson’s death is undertaken, for it seems to us certain that, first, the subject was not injured by the enemy, and, second, that he may well have been the victim of foul play, intended to simulate suicide… whether or not this turns out to be the case, the death is not one which redounds to the credit of the 12th Regiment or the 2nd Battalion, and we believe that precautions should be taken against the revelation of the true facts of the incident in order to maintain morale… please see our initial findings below…
Following this introduction the report went on for some time, describing in great detail Payson’s wound and how it might have been sustained. Lenox scanned this quickly and flipped to the second page of the report, an addendum from the same pen, which read: After further investigation we must conclude that our original report’s conjecture about Captain Payson’s death was incorrect, and that in fact he was a suicide… it may be seen that the angle of the shot, while unusual, was not impossible… in re the question posed about the scars on his face and chest, an animal had obviously been at the remains between Payson’s death and the discovery of the corpse, not surprising given the emaciated state of the domestic animals in this region… the scent of aniseed around the body points to canines… added to the peculiarity of Payson having wandered off alone, quite out of his usual routine, we are forced to believe that he killed himself with aforethought…
Lenox read over the report a second time; his brother was sitting at his narrow window, tapping the ash of his pipe outside as cold air blew into the room. Nevertheless Lenox flushed as he read on, slowly realizing how this twenty-year-old description of James Payson’s suicide corresponded with McConnell’s report on the suicide of Peter Wilson. Was it possible that these two men, drawn from the same small circle of a battalion’s officers, had died in the same fashion, under the same cloud of uncertainty, coincidentally? No, of course it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.
Above all it was eerie that James and George Payson’s deaths were so similar: both bodies found in public fields, their bodies mauled, their lives over at the age of twenty.
“This damned Society,” Lenox muttered. “Look here, Edmund, I don’t suppose I can take this folder with me?”
They had both seen that Arlington had marked it NOT TO BE REMOVED
FROM GOVERNMENT PROPERTY.
“You know, I’m not sure you should, Charles. I hate to say so. Is it quite important?”
Lenox waved his hand. “Oh, I understand, of course-look here, would you mind if McConnell came in and had a look at it?”
“Not at all-as long as he does so before the end of the day.”
“Then I’ll fetch him right now. I won’t come back myself, Edmund-thanks awfully for lunch, and I’ll see you as soon as this business is resolved, all right?”
“Yes, all right. You can’t explain?”
“I wish I could,” said Lenox, taking his coat and heading for the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
A s he stepped out of his carriage by McConnell’s house, Lenox heard a piano and a clear, melodious voice accompanying it.
It was Toto, playing and singing. Her spirit was captured in music, often: evanescent, chatty, generous, warm. He almost hesitated as he knocked at the door, loath as he was to cut her off. Then again, Arlington’s file would only be with Edmund for the rest of the day.
“Charles!” she said. “You see how frivolously we pass the time.”
“Good for the baby, to hear such sweet sounds. Where is Jane?”
Toto looked cross. “Where is she ever! As secretive as the sphinx, and always in and out. I should chain her to this piano. But how’s your case?”
Lenox looked to McConnell. “In fact, I came here about it. Do you think you could go to my brother’s office and look over a file he has there?”
Toto looked unhappy at the request, but McConnell nodded. “Of course. What’s it all about?”
Briefly Lenox explained what he thought was the similarity between Wilson’s death and Payson’s. “I’m not sure, however, and I could use your opinion.”
“I’ll go straight away.”
“Thanks very much. I have to be off as well-let me give you a ride.”
“Perfect.”
In the carriage, Lenox said, “Thanks for your letter to Arlington, by the way. He thought it best to send the file through official channels, rather than handing it over. Sensible enough I suppose.”
“Don’t mention it. How did you find him?”
“I liked him. He seems to be straightforward about things. He says exactly what he means.”
As he dropped McConnell by Westminster Abbey a moment later, Lenox said, “Do you want to come around to see me afterward?”
“Yes-it shouldn’t be above half an hour, if the file’s as short as you say.”