The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries (63 page)

Henry was petulant. “That’s only because you are so ignorant about affairs of state. I move among the great and the good, and know how corrupt their greatness and goodness really is.
What prompts them in the main,” he said, airily, “is envy, malice and perverse ambition. There are hundreds of people who seek to pull Monmouth down. What better way to do it than by
having his chief paymaster assassinated?”

“Lieutenant Stern has never heard of the Duke of Monmouth

“Has he confessed who suborned him?”

“No,” said Christopher. “He admits that he was one of the three men who shot at Mr Thynne but it’s all he will tell us. That’s why I must turn to you
again.”

“But I’m enjoying a coffee with my friends.”

“Thomas Thynne was a friend of yours once.”

“Yes,” said Henry, blithely, “and I mourn his death.”

“By carousing in here?”

“I gave you help. You can’t ask any more of me than that.”

“I can,” returned Christopher. “Your aid is crucial. You can provide information that is way beyond the reach of Jonathan and myself. We must learn more about Mr Thynne’s
wife.”

“Elizabeth, the former Lady Ogle? A pretty little thing.”

“Why did she betray her marriage vows and flee the country? Had her husband been unkind to her? Was any violence involved?”

“Tom Thynne would not harm a fly.”

“Then what made his wife desert him?”

“Covetousness,” said Henry, knowledgeably. “The fault that mars all women. She left one man because another one must have offered her more than he could. Tom of Ten Thousand
was outbid by someone with even more money and, most probably, with a title to dangle before her.”

“We need his name.”

Henry tried to move away. “I need my cup of coffee.”

“No,” said Christopher, restraining him. “It will have to wait, Henry. You are part of a murder hunt. Something is missing and only you can track it down.”

“Am I to be allowed no leisure?”

“Not until this case is solved. We have one villain behind bars but two others remain at liberty. Additional people may yet be involved but the person who interests me most is the
wife.”

“Any man with red blood in his veins would be interested in
her
,” said Henry with a lewd grin. “A most bed-worthy lady in every sense. Tom Thynne was by no means her
only suitor.”

“She must have preferred someone else.”

“I told you – she covets wealth and position.”

“Then give us the name of the man who offered it to her.”

The second arrest was made early that evening. Bribed by Christopher Redmayne, the landlord of the Black Bull had not merely supplied the name and whereabouts of
Lieutenant’s Stern’s favourite prostitute. He had told them that the Swede’s closest friend was a Polish sailor called Borosky. Jonathan Bale went in search of him but not in the
guise of a constable. He first returned to his house on Addle Hill to change into the clothing he had worn in his former life as a shipwright. Bale then worked his way through the various taverns
frequented by sailors.

He was at ease in their company. Bale talked their language and shared their interest in a seafaring life. He met more than one man who had sailed with Stern and Borosky, but it was not until he
called at the Blue Anchor, the fifth tavern on his list, that he actually came face to face with the Pole. Borosky was a sturdy man of middle height with a flat face and high cheekbones. He had
clearly been drinking heavily and was off guard. Bale had no difficulty getting into conversation with him.

“Where do you sail next, my friend?” he asked.

“To the Baltic,” replied Borosky.

“Under which captain?”

“Captain Vrats of the
Adventure.
”

“I helped to build a ship of that name once,” confided Bale. “She was a frigate of thirty-two guns with a crew of a hundred and twenty. But your
Adventure
is just a
merchant ship, I daresay. What do you carry?”

Borosky talked freely about the vessel and mentioned that it would be sailing in a few days. Bale acted promptly. He enticed his new acquaintance out of the Blue Anchor with the promise of a
meal at another tavern. As soon as they stepped into the fresh air, however, Bale arrested him. There was a brief scuffle but Borosky was too drunk to offer much resistance. He was marched off to
join Lieutenant Stern in a dank cell.

Buoyed up by his success, Bale went immediately to Christopher Redmayne’s house in Fetter Lane to tell him what had transpired. The architect was delighted to hear of the second arrest
and, like Bale, guessed the name of the third suspect.

“Captain Vrats of the
Adventure
,” he said.

“The Polander talked of him with affection.”

“Did he say that the captain instigated the crime?”

“No,” admitted Bale, shaking his head, “he swore that the man had nothing to do with it. He told me over and over again that Captain Vrats was innocent.”

“What conclusion did you reach?”

“He was hiding something.”

“I think we should pay Captain Vrats a visit.”

“But he’s aboard his ship in the Thames.”

“So? You know how to row a boat, don’t you?”

“Of course, Mr Redmayne.”

“Then let’s go out to the
Adventure
,” said Christopher, reaching for his sword. “My instinct tells me that we’re getting closer to solving this crime. We are
entitled to congratulate ourselves – all three of us.”

Bale was mystified. “All
three
?”

“Do not forget my brother.”

“What has he done to help us?”

“Henry discovered that Mr Thynne was a regular visitor to the Golden Fleece in Westminster. All that the villains had to do was to lie in wait nearby, knowing that he would eventually turn
up there.”

“Reuben Hopkiss was far more use to us than that,” contended Bale. “He guided us towards Lieutenant Stern. With respect to your brother, sir, he has not pointed us towards any
of the suspects.”

“But he has,” said Christopher, holding up a letter.

“What’s that?”

“A message from Henry. It arrived minutes before you did.”

“What does the letter contain?”

“The one thing that I wanted above all else.”

“And what was that, Mr Redmayne?”

“A name.”

The
Adventure
was anchored in the middle of the river, its masts pointing up into the clear night sky like giant fingers. Two watchmen had been left aboard but they were
too busy playing dice by the light of a lantern to see the boat that was being rowed out to them. A call from below alerted them to the fact that their ship had visitors.

“Ahoy, there!” yelled a voice.

“Who’s below?” asked one of the men, leaning over the bulwark to peer at the boat. “Give me your name.”

“Christopher Redmayne.”

“What’s your business?”

“I wish to see Captain Vrats,” said Christopher. “I have news for him about a member of your crew – Lieutenant Stern.”

“Has something happened to him?”

“He’s been badly injured and cannot be moved. But he’s calling for your captain. We promised him that we’d convey the message.”

The watchman pondered. “You’d best come aboard,” he said at length. “The captain is in his cabin.”

Jonathan Bale secured the rowing boat then, in spite of his bulk, shinned up the rope ladder with consummate ease. Christopher found the ascent much more difficult and he was grateful that the
ship was so stable. He clambered over the bulwark and stood on the deck. One of the watchmen held up a lantern so that he could study them carefully. Satisfied that they presented no danger, he led
them to the captain’s cabin and introduced them. The watchman returned to his post.

Two lanterns burned in the cabin, illumining a room that was small, cluttered and filled with curling tobacco smoke. Captain Vrats took one more puff on his pipe before setting it aside. He
appraised the visitors shrewdly.

“What’s this about Lieutenant Stern?” he asked.

“He was stabbed in a fight at the Black Bull,” replied Christopher. “It seems that he was drinking with a young woman named Jenny Teale when another man tried to take her away
from him. There was a brawl and the lieutenant came off worst.”

“You don’t look like the sort of man who’d deign to enter the Black Bull,” said Vrats, suspiciously, looking at Christopher’s fine apparel. “It’s not
for the likes of you, Mr Redmayne.”

“Too true, captain,” Bale put in, “but I drink there from time to time. And I saw the fight with my own eyes. I helped to carry the wounded man to Mr Redmayne’s house
nearby and he sent for a surgeon. There was not much that could be done, sir.”

“Stern is dying?”

“He’ll not live through the night.”

“And he’s calling for me?”

“He has something important to tell you,” said Christopher. “He begged me to fetch you so I asked Mr Bale to row me out to your ship.”

“I see.”

Captain Vrats sat down behind a table that was littered with documents and maps. He watched them through narrowed lids. He was a handsome man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His
command of English was good though he spoke with a strong German accent. He pretended to search for something on the table.

“Lieutenant Stern and I are old shipmates,” he observed.

“That’s what he told us,” said Christopher.

“And he’s no stranger to tavern brawls.”

“He fought well,” claimed Bale. “Then a knife was pulled on him. He was stabbed in the stomach. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“You’ll lose some of your own if you tell me any more lies,” said Vrats, seizing a pistol from beneath a pile of papers. “I don’t believe that Stern is injured at
all. This story is just a device to get me ashore.”

“Is there any reason why you shouldn’t come with us?”

“I’m holding it in my hand.”

Captain Vrats stood up and pointed the pistol at each of them in turn. Their ruse had failed. Bale bided his time, hoping for the opportunity to disable the man. Christopher took over.

“That weapon is a confession of guilt,” he decided.

“I confess nothing.”

“You ambushed Thomas Thynne with the aid of two others.”

“I spent the whole day aboard,” asserted Vrats, “and I have members of my crew who will vouch for me.”

“Then they’ll be committing perjury,” said Christopher. “You are right about one thing. Lieutenant Stern was not injured in a brawl. He and Borosky have been arrested.
They will hang for their crime and you will take your place on the gallows beside them.”

Captain Vrats laughed. “Nobody will catch me.”

“You can only kill one of us with that pistol,” noted Bale. “Whoever survives will arrest you on the spot.”

“What chance would one man have against three? As soon as they hear the sound of gunfire, the watchmen will come running.”

“Then we must be ready for them,” said Christopher.

He had been edging slowly towards the table and now made his move. Diving suddenly at the captain, he grabbed the barrel of the pistol and turned it upwards. The gun went off with a loud report.
Bale reacted quickly. As Christopher grappled with the captain, Bale stepped forward to fell Vrats with a powerful punch to the ear. He then indicated that Christopher should stand behind the door.
After blowing out both lanterns, Bale took up his position on the other side of the door. It was a matter of seconds before the two watchmen came hurrying down the steps to see what had happened.
Bale knocked the first one senseless and Christopher held his dagger at the other’s throat.

“Find some rope,” ordered Christopher.

“No shortage of that aboard a ship,” said Bale.

The constable left the cabin but came back with some rope almost immediately. He trussed up both of the watchmen then hauled Vrats off the floor. The captain was still dazed. Christopher lit one
of the lanterns before holding it a few inches from the captain’s face.

“Tell me where we can find him,” he demanded.

“Who?” asked Vrats, clearly in pain.

“The man who set you on to kill Thomas Thynne.”

“Nobody set me on.”

“His name is Count Konigsmark.”

Captain Vrats was astounded. “How ever did you find that out?”

“My brother, Henry, kindly provided the name,” said Christopher, cheerfully. “He has a gift for smelling out scandal.”

Gravesend was rimed with frost. The passengers who waited at the harbour that morning shivered in the cold. A rowing boat arrived to take them out to the ship. Before they
could climb aboard, however, they heard the clatter of hooves and half-a-dozen horsemen came galloping out of the gloom towards them. Reining in his mount, Christopher Redmayne leapt from the
saddle and surveyed the passengers. He was disappointed. The man he sought did not appear to be among them.

“Count Konigsmark?” he asked.

Nobody answered. Some of the passengers shrugged, others shook their heads. Christopher’s gaze shifted to the man on the fringe of the group. Tall and lean, he had long, fair hair that
spilled out beneath his hat to reach his waist. He was shabbily dressed but, when Christopher took a closer look at him, he saw how impeccably well-groomed he was. The man had poise and striking
good looks. There was an aristocratic disdain in his eye. Christopher gave a signal and two of the riders dismounted to stand either side of the passenger.

“You must come with us, Count Konigsmark,” said Christopher.

“But my name is Lindegren,” argued the other, reaching into his pocket. “You may see my passport, if you wish. I am sailing back to Stockholm.”

“No, you are fleeing the country to avoid arrest. The passport is a forgery. This, however,” Christopher went on, producing a letter to wave in front of him, “is not. Do you
recognize your own hand?”

“I told you. I am Oscar Lindegren.”

“Then we will arrest you in that name, though we know full well that you are Count Konigsmark. Your countrymen will be shocked to learn that one of the leading figures in their kingdom is
party to a brutal murder.” He snapped his fingers. “Take him.”

The two officers grabbed hold of the man. He was outraged.