An Experiment in Treason (22 page)

“Bring him in, Jeremy,” cried Sir John, beating upon his desk with the flat of his hand. “Bring Benjamin Franklin to me, and I shall have at him again.”

Never, I think, had I heard him so full of purpose as at that moment. I, who had for weeks been clamoring for Ben Franklin to be brought in for another, less accommodating interrogation, found myself actually pitying the poor fellow as I anticipated the ordeal he soon would endure.

I jumped to my feet, ready to depart. Yet he had not done with me.

“If this were later in the day,” said he, “I would send one of the Beak Runners to bring him in. Since Mr. Fuller must be responsible for the rowdy prisoners in the strongroom, a particularly nasty bunch this morning, I ask you to play the role of the runner once again. But show Franklin no sympathy. He is not a prisoner, but he is to suppose himself such. Wear a brace of pistols and look like you would be pleased to use them. Is that clear?”

“Most clear, sir.”

By the time I left Number 4 Bow Street, I not only had round me the brace of pistols Sir John had told me to put on, but I had also in my coat pocket the cosh which Mr. Baker had taken from one of our overnight guests. For some reason, it came to mind that it might be useful — and so it did prove. Weighted down as I was with pistols and such paraphernalia, there was no possibility for me of going there at a run, or even jog-trotting the distance. Yet I felt a sense of urgency that seemed to call for such haste. After all, I had been pushing for this, had I not? To be ordered at last to bring in Dr. Franklin, even at this late date, seemed to me a vindication. And so I walked as Swiftly as I was able down the Strand, and there, across from St. Martin in the Fields, was Craven Street.

Yet when I turned down it, I found that a considerable crowd, more than a dozen though less than twenty — had gathered before Number 10, which I knew to be Benjamin Franklin’s address. They shouted, and the gentlemen waved their walking sticks in a most threatening manner. It seemed that Dr. Franklin’s notice in the Chronicle had angered quite a few.

What, I wondered, was I to do to get him out of this situation? It appeared to me that it would not be long till certain of the crowd began throwing stones or paving bricks through Mrs. Stevenson’s windows. I could not allow that to happen, could I? I studied the situation for a moment and came up with a plan. Taking a place to the rear of the crowd, I shouted out at them.

“ORDER! Let there be order!”

There was none. One or two turned round and regarded me briefly, yet, if anything, the uproar increased following my cry for silence. Just as I expected.

From its holster upon my right hip, I drew the pistol which Mr. Fuller had reluctantly supplied. I cocked it and fired it into the air. Then did the crowd fall silent as swiftly as they might if the king himself had called for it. Mouths were left open in midyell. Shock and astonishment were written upon their faces. I had their attention.

“I am come,” said I loudly, “upon the orders of Sir John Fielding, magistrate of the Bow Street Court, to collect Benjamin Franklin and bring him to Number 4 Bow Street. I would now have you make way and give me access to the door. If you do not, I shall take it as an insult to the Bow Street Court and to Sir John himself and I shall deal with it accordingly.”

I looked round the gathering as I tucked away the pistol I had just discharged.

“How do you plan to deal with it?” asked one of the braver of the bunch. “You only got one bullet in that other pistol. You can’t arrest us all.”

“That may be,” said I, reaching into my pocket, “but I have this to use on those who block my way.”

Wherewith I produced the cosh and held it up for all to see. They were impressed. No longer silent, they began mumbling and whispering, one to the other, yet they fell back and allowed me passage to the door. I made my way through them and mounted the two or three stairs to the stoop. Each step of the way I allowed the cosh to bounce in the palm of my left hand, so that all might note the weight of the thing. Having reached my destination, I turned and addressed them once again.

“Gentlemen,” said I, “my advice to you all now is to go about your business. In other words, be gone.”

I did not wait to assure myself that my order was obeyed. Rather, I turned and, with the cosh, beat upon the door of Number 10 Craven Street thrice, loud and hard. The sound made was like unto the very strokes of destiny.

The door came open in a most timid manner: slowly and no more than a foot. It was just enough to recognize the face of Mrs. Stevenson. She sighed, more or less in relief.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”

“I am here to conduct Dr. Franklin to Sir John Fielding.”

Then another voice, a whisper. “It’s all right, Margaret. Let him in.”

That she did, throwing the door open wider, grasping me by the arm, and pulling me inside in a swift movement. She was much stronger than I had suspected. Then did she push the door shut behind me.

Benjamin Franklin cowered in a corner of the entryway. He seemed less in every sense — even physically — than he had been. Had he shrunk? It seemed so. His cheeks had hollowed somewhat since last I saw him. And he now stooped, perhaps trying to make himself smaller, less visible to his enemies, who must now number a great many. I addressed him direct.

“You heard what I said to Mrs. Stevenson, did you? I’m to convey you to Sir John. ‘

“Yes, yes,” said he, “and I’m greatly relieved to hear it. I count Sir John Fielding as a friend.”

I gave him as hard a look as I could. “I should not count overmuch on Sir John’s good will, if I were you.”

He looked as if he were taken somewhat aback at that. “Oh, I … I … oh.” His lower lip trembled. “I’ll get my hat.”

So saying, he disappeared into the depths of the darkened house.

Mrs. Stevenson watched him go, then turned to me fretfully.

“Are they still out there?” she asked.

“I’ve no idea, but they’ll cause us no trouble.” I managed to sound more confident than I felt. “How long have they been there?”

“Well … we began to hear them shouting just a few minutes before you came.”

“And what did they shout?”

“Oh, terrible things, some of them I would not repeat. They were too … too crude. But Dr. Franklin was called ‘traitor’ and ‘thief and I know not what more. It’s so unfair!”

“Unfair? Do you think so?”

She looked at me in surprise. “Well, don’t you?”

Before I could answer that, I heard the rush of feet upon the stairs. He then appeared, properly hatted, with his walking stick in hand. Pausing for a moment, he set his jaw and cleared his throat.

“I’m ready,” said he.

I threw open the door and found — nothing. All who had threatened Dr. Franklin but minutes past had disappeared from the front of the house. Then did I step out the door and look Craven Street up and down. I caught sight of what might well have been the last of them, turning into the Strand.

“Come along,” said I. “Sir John is eager to have at you there in Bow Street.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

By the time I arrived with my charge, it was late enough so that I knew that I must get on with my duties as clerk to the magistrate’s court. And so it was that when I had delivered Dr. Franklin up to Sir John, I went off to interview the prisoners and prepare the docket. Sir John was correct in calling them a nasty bunch; they were fractious and uncooperative, and so what ordinarily took no more than the half of an hour, lasted well over a full hour. As a result, I had no chance to listen in to the first half of Sir John’s interrogation of Franklin. I called the magistrate out to impart to him the substance of my interviews that he might ask pertinent questions of the prisoners — this was my usual — and he asked me, when I was done, if there were time to resume with Franklin before commencing his court session. I told him that there was not.

“Well then,” said he, “we shall have to keep him here through the session, I fear, for I am not through with him. Where shall we do that?”

“Not in your chambers?”

“No, I fear not. I want him to feel less at liberty than he would feel in such circumstances.”

“If that is your wish, then why not have Mr. Fuller lock him up in the strong room? It will be empty of prisoners when Fuller has brought them out to sit in the courtroom till they be called.”

“Quite impossible, Jeremy, as you must know. Dr. Franklin cannot be locked up till he be arrested, and I am not yet ready to charge him.”

“Yes, I understand you.”

“I have it,” said Sir John. “Why not install him in the front row, directly in your view. You can give him hostile stares, and I shall be even more stern than is my wont. That should do quite nicely, don’t you think?”

“It should, certainly, but tell me, sir, have you got anything from him yet? “

“Yes, a great deal of annoyance is what I have from him thus far. He maintains doggedly and monotonously that he did not lie to me when I questioned him earlier, for at that time he knew naught of the theft of the letters but what he had read in the newspapers, and that the letters fell into his hands — charming figure of speech, eh? — only after we had our talk. He claims, in fact, that it was the very next day.”

“How convenient,” said I. “Has he named the individual who put the packet of letters in his eager hands?”

“That he refuses to do so far. It was, if I’m not mistaken, also omitted from the statement in today’s Chronicle.”

“So it was. I believe I can supply that name.”

“Yes, of course — your man, Arthur Lee. He is a key, connecting element in your theory of the crime. Perhaps we should try it on Dr. Franklin after our court session. And this, for that matter, may be the time to question Lee.”

“Ah, well,” said I, “I’m happy to hear you say it.”

All was done as Sir John had suggested. We two sat at the table, as was customary. Opposite me, sitting in the first row, was Benjamin Franklin. During the court session our eyes often met, yet not happily for either of us. Franklin seemed altogether miserable. I could tell that he had been often flustered by Sir John’s questions and by his badgering manner. His eyes were red-rimmed, and it seemed to me that his hands shook slightly. Just to intimidate him further, I had laid the cosh on the table just off to one side of my right hand. His eyes had widened when I put it there. He knew what it was. I thought that interesting.

Most of the prisoners had been taken by Constables Bailey and Patley in the course of breaking up a great battle in Bedford Street. The two sides in conflict, it seemed, were members of rival robber gangs. Such melees were common enough, and most often had to do with who might have the opportunity to rob whom in which part of town. There were a great many who were chained together and marched into the courtroom by Mr. Fuller. I had interviewed them all and read the arrest reports left by Constables Bailey and Patley, so that I knew in advance that none had been killed in the affray, nor had any received grievous bodily harm. There were a few bloodied heads, a broken arm or two, some missing teeth — that sort of thing. A certain restraint had been exercised: clubs had been used, neither pistols nor knives. I knew, too, that all meant to plead guilty and pay the fine of a pound that they might get out and get on with more serious matters of larceny. All this I passed on to Sir John. He said he would handle that case first.

Seventeen had been arrested, and seventeen it was who hobbled in with Mr. Fuller, the day jailer, at their head. There was little room to seat so many, and so he herded them before us as I called the case and charged them to give their names. This they did, I following carefully to make certain that the names given in Sir John’s court matched those given me in the course of my interviews. That was the last of my duties with regard to the prisoners; the rest was now up to the magistrate of the Bow Street Court.

“Have you elected one among you to speak for all?” asked Sir John. “I should be greatly disappointed if I must try each of you separately.”

Not one, but two shuffled forward a step or two. One of them spoke up immediately.

“There’s two of us will speak for the rest,” said he. “There was two sides of the fight, after all, so it’s best we do it so.”

“What is your name, then? Is it Falker? So I remember it.”

“Yes sir, Daniel Falker, at your service.”

“And who speaks for the other side?” asked Sir John.

“Henry Tinker,” said the other — his name and no more.

“Very well, are all the rest of you in agreement with this? These two may speak for all?”

There was an affirmative chorus in which all of the remaining fifteen seemed to sing forth.

“And none opposed?”

Silence.

“In the report of the arresting officers, it was told that half of you were quite willing to give up the fight, but the rest were not. What was the course of this? Which side was the more pacific, and which the aggressor?”

“We was peaceable,” said Tinker. “We did just like the two Beak Runners said. ‘