already of Chessyre's murder, though the body was discovered only this morning and you have been in Portsmouth all day. How, pray, did you learn of it?”
“In much the same manner, I imagine, that you learned of my express. From the mouths of innocent men. The messenger you sent to Portsmouth this morning was the agent of my discovery.”
The magistrate glanced sidelong, his appearance for all the world like that of a long-beaked marsh crane. “So you are not above perusing my correspondence, though I may know nothing of yours. I see how it is. But my message, Captain Austen, was for Admiral Hastings alone.”
“I was aboard the Valiant at the moment the Admiral learned of Chessyre's death. Your note was read aloud to all in attendance at the court-martial.”
“Your friend Seagrave's court-martial,” Mr. Pethering reiterated pointedly.
“I was not aware there was any other, sir.”
“You are deeply concerned in that unpleasant affair, Captain Austen. I wonder that you risk your reputation and standing—a man of your pronounced domestic virtue—in such a cause.”
“I should always support a brother officer,” Frank replied tautly, “particularly when I believe him unjustly accused. But I do not think, sir, that an affair of military justice fells within the scope of your power.”
Here my brother was on uncertain ground. It was true enough that the original charge on Seagrave's head— the killing of the French captain after the surrender of the latter's ship—fell to the disposition of his naval superiors. That crime, if crime it were, had occurred at sea aboard one of His Majesty's vessels. The murder of Lieutenant Chessyre, however, was another kettle of fish. Chessyre had died in Southampton proper, while relieved of his dudes and turned upon shore. The disposition of his case must be considered the magistrate's; and anyone Mr. Pethering suspected of evil should fall within the temporal law, be they naval or no.
We turned into East Street and progressed the brief distance to Mrs. Davies's establishment. The magistrate seemed disposed to ignore, for the nonce, Frank's challenge to his authority. He preferred to pursue a different line.
“If Captain Seagrave ranks so high among your friends, Captain Austen, one must presume that Eustace Chessyre was chief among your enemies.'”
I stumbled slightly at a loose paving, and both men turned.
“It is nothing,” I cried. “Pray do not regard it”
Frank flashed me a brief smile; he must know that anxiety had tripped me up, not an obstacle at my feet. “I date my acquaintance with Mr. Chessyre only from Tuesday, and thus must consider him neither as a friend of the bosom nor an enemy of the heart To what do your questions tend, Mr. Pethering? Or should you like to enter my lodgings, and discuss them further?”
“You need only explain this, Captain Austen,” Mr. Pethering replied, “and I shall trouble you no longer.” With the air of a conjurer he withdrew a square of paper from his coat pocket and thrust it towards Frank.
“That is my card,” my brother observed, without taking it from Mr. Pethering's bony hand.
“Indeed. It was found upon Chessyre's corpse— one of the few things the man seems to have kept about him.”
“I gave it into the Lieutenant's keeping on Tuesday.”
“You met with him?”
“On … an affair of business.”
“You have written your direction upon the reverse, I see. Did you expect Mr. Chessyre to call in East Street?”
“He did call. Unfortunately, I was not at home.” Frank's lips had set in a thin line; he was holding his temper in check only with difficulty.
“How very inconvenient. One wonders what the Lieutenant might have said. Were you very pressing in your invitation, Captain, to seek out your lodgings? Or was the matter of business you wished to discuss better concluded… behind the Walls?”
“Good God, man, if you wish to accuse me of murder—then do so at once! I am confident you will be made to look a fool!”
But the magistrate was studying my indignant brother with calculation. He neither accused nor offered quarter. I understood, suddenly, that he hoped to frighten Frank with his suspicions—and draw forth some intelligence presently withheld. The contents of his express to Captain Seagrave, perhaps?
“Pray come inside, Mr. Pethering,” Frank said at last. “My sister is greatly in need of a warm fire and a glass of claret after her passage up the Solent, and I cannot believe you likely to refuse either.”
“I never take wine,” the magistrate rejoined. “It is most injurious to the health, in my opinion. But I should not