Lord Bontriomphe closed his eyes and let his exceptional memory bring up a mental picture of the bloodstain. Then he opened his eyes. “All right. So I was wrong. The bloodstain was not a heel print. Then where did I make my mistake?”
“Your error lay in assuming that it was a bloodstain,” said Lord Darcy.
Lord Bontriomphe’s scowl grew deeper. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t a bloodstain!”
“Not exactly,” said Lord Darcy. “It was only half a bloodstain.”
CHAPTER 22
There were nine guests in the office of my lord the Marquis of London that night. Sir Frederique Bruleur had brought in enough of the yellow chairs to seat eight. Lord Bontriomphe and the Marquis sat behind their desks. Lord Darcy sat to the left of Bontriomphe’s desk, in the red leather chair, which had been swiveled around to face the rest of the company. From left to right, Lord Darcy saw, in the first row, Grand Master Sir Lyon Gandolphus Grey, Mary of Cumberland, Captain Percy Smollett, and Commander Lord Ashley. And in the second row, Sir Thomas Leseaux, Lord John Quetzal, Father Patrique, and Master Sean O Lochlainn. Behind them, near the door, stood Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme, who had told Sir Frederique that he preferred to stand.
Sir Frederique had served drinks all around, then had quietly retired.
My lord the Marquis of London looked them all over once and then said: “My lords, Your Grace, gentlemen.” He paused and looked them all over once again. “I will not say that it was very good of you to come. You are not here by invitation, but by fiat. Nonetheless, all but one of you have been asked merely as witnesses to help us discover the truth, and all but that one may consider themselves my guests.” He paused again, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It is my duty to inform you that you are all here to answer questions if they are put to you — not simply because I, as Lord of London, have requested your cooperation, but, more important, because you are here by order of our Most Dread Sovereign, His Majesty the King. Is that understood?”
Nine heads nodded silently.
“This is, then,” My Lord Marquis continued, “a Court of Inquiry, presided over by myself as justice of the King’s Court. Lord Bontriomphe is here as Clerk of the King’s Court. This may seem irregular but it is quite in accord with the law. Is all of that understood?” Again, there were nine silent nods of assent. “Very well. I hardly think I need say — although by law I must — that anything anyone of you says here will be taken down by Lord Bontriomphe in writing, and may be used in evidence.
“The Reverend Father Patrique, O.B.S., is here in the official capacity of amicus curia, as a registered Sensitive of Holy Mother Church.
“As official Sergeant-at-Arms, we have Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme of this City.
“Presenting the case for the Crown is Lord Darcy, at present of Rouen, Chief Investigator for His Royal Highness, Prince Richard, Duke of Normandy.
“Although this Court has the power to make a recommendation, it is understood that anyone accused may appeal without prejudice, and may be represented in such Court as our Most Dread Sovereign His Majesty the King may appoint, by any counsel such accused may choose.”
My Lord Marquis took another deep breath and cleared his throat. “Is all of that quite clear? You will answer by voice.” And a ragged chorus of voices said, “Yes, my lord.”
“Very well.” He heaved his massive bulk up from his chair, and everyone else stood. “Will you administer the oath, Reverend Father,” he said to the Benedictine. When the oath had been administered to everyone there, my lord the Marquis sat down again with a sigh of comfort. “Now, before we proceed, are there any questions?”
There were none.
The Marquis of London lifted his head a fraction of an inch and looked at Lord Darcy from beneath his brows. “Very well, my Lord Advocate. You may proceed.”
Lord Darcy stood up from the red leather chair, bowed in the direction of the Court, and said, “Thank you, my Lord Justice. Do I have the Court’s permission to be seated during the presentation of the Crown’s case?”
“You do, my lord. Pray be seated.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Lord Darcy settled himself again in the red leather chair.
His eyes searched each of the nine in turn, then he said, “We are faced here with a case of treason and murder.
“Although I am aware that most of you know the facts, legally I must assume that you do not. Therefore, I shall have to discuss each of those facts in turn. You must understand that the evidence proving these facts will be produced after my preliminary presentation.
“Three days ago, shortly before eleven o’clock on the morning of Tuesday, October 25, Anno Domini One Thousand Nine Hundred and Sixty-Six, a man named Georges Barbour was stabbed to death in a cheap rooming house in Cherbourg. Evidence which will be produced before this Court will show that Goodman Georges was a double agent; that is, he was a man who, while pretending to work for the Secret Service of His Slavonic Majesty King Casimir IX, was also in the pay of our own Naval Intelligence, and was, as far as the evidence shows, loyal to the Empire. Will you testify to that, Captain Smollett?” he asked, looking at the second chair from his right.
“I will, m’lud Advocate.”
“Very shortly after he was killed,” Lord Darcy went on, “Commander Lord Ashley of the Naval Intelligence Corps reported the discovery of Goodman Georges’ body to the Armsmen of Cherbourg. He also reported that he had been ordered to give one hundred golden sovereigns to Goodman Georges because the double agent in question needed it to pay off a certain Goodman FitzJean.”
Bit by bit, item by item, Lord Darcy outlined the case to those present, omitting no detail except the precise nature and function of the confusion projector. Lord Darcy described it simply as a “highly important Naval secret.”
He described the discovery of the murder of Sir James Zwinge, the attack upon the Damoselle Tia, the fight upon the bridge, the Damoselle Tia’s statement, the discovery of the body of Goodman Paul Nichols, and the search for and arrest of Master Ewen MacAlister.
“The questions before this Court,” Lord Darcy said, “are: Who killed those three men: And why? It is the contention of the Crown that one person, and one only, is responsible for all three deaths.”
He looked over the nine faces before him, trying to assess the expressions on their faces. Not one betrayed any sign of guilt, not even the one whom Lord Darcy knew was guilty.
“I see you have a question, Captain Smollett. Would you ask it, please? No, don’t bother to rise.”
Captain Smollett cleared his throat. “M’lud.” He paused, cleared his throat again. “Since we already have the guilty man under arrest, may I ask why this inquiry is necessary?”
“Because we do not have the guilty man under arrest, Captain. Master Ewen, no matter what his actual crimes, is not guilty of a single murder — much less a triple one.”
Captain Smollett said “Um,” and nothing more.
“You have before you, my lords, Your Grace, gentlemen, every bit of pertinent evidence. It is now the duty of myself as Advocate of the Crown to link up that evidence into a coherent chain. First, let us dismiss the theory that Master Ewen MacAlister was more than remotely connected with these murders. Master Ewen was, it is true, an agent of His Slavonic Majesty, working with the owner of the Manzana de Oro, the Sidi al-Nasir. This evidence can be produced later; let us merely accept these facts as true.”
He turned to the Chief of Naval Intelligence. “Captain Smollett.”
“Yes, m’lud?”
“I wish to put to you a hypothetical question, and for the sake of security let us keep it hypothetical. If… I say, if… you were aware of the identity of the Polish Chief of Intelligence for France and the British Isles, would you order him assassinated?”