CAPTAIN SQUARE AND THE SLEEPLESS KNIGHT

by Charles Mossop

“I fear he's dead, John,” said Colonel Edward Meredith, looking up from where he knelt beside the body of Admiral Sir William Gresham.

“I did not doubt it,” said Captain Square , as Meredith got to his feet.

Square regarded the inert form on the floor of the study, the eyes and mouth wide open, the features contorted in death as though by a seizure. A great scarlet stain covered the front of the dead man's white waistcoat, and at its center, close to the heart, Square could see a small, round hole.

“A musket shot,” he said, “or I'll be a Frenchman.”

“I heard nothing during the night,” said Meredith. “Did you?”

Square shook his head as shock and sorrow filled his very soul and robbed him of speech.

“You and the admiral sailed together, did you not?” asked Meredith, and Square exhaled a long breath.

“Aye, that we did. In those days, he was but a captain without a knighthood, and I a mere third lieutenant. I used to tell myself that if ever I were posted captain, I would be well satisfied to be accounted half the commanding officer he was. There was none finer in the fleet than he.”

Hot anger welled up inside Square, supplanting his grief, and he spoke with grim determination.

“I swear upon my life I shall find the scum who did this, Edward. God damn my eyes if I do not. I shall find the blackguard and see him hang.”

He paused and took a deep breath before continuing.

“Sir William Gresham fought French ships of the line, Spanish galleons, Sumatran pirates and American privateers. He served his country and his king as honorably as any man has ever done, and now he comes to this. Murdered in his own house. It is an abomination .”

Striving to moderate his tone, Square turned to the admiral's butler who stood nearby, white-faced.

“Matthews, be good enough to tell us the order of events last night.”

Matthews swallowed hard before replying. Now over sixty with iron grey hair and side whiskers, he had served the admiral's family in manhood and boyhood for fifty-two years.

“You gentlemen and Admiral Gresham played at whist until gone midnight, sir…”

Square nodded at the recollection. Whist had been Gresham 's favorite card game, yet he was without doubt the most startlingly inept player of Square's experience. The admiral almost always lost money – sometimes in large quantities.

“Correct,” said Square, “but what occurred after we retired?”

“I saw the master to his room and laid out his sleeping attire as usual.”

“You noticed nothing strange or untoward?” asked Meredith. “The admiral was entirely himself?”

“Not entirely, sir. I did mark he seemed somewhat distracted.”

“In what way?” Meredith asked.

“It is not easy to say, sir,” replied Matthews, frowning. “He was unsettled. He did say he had lost at whist, mind you, so perhaps that was the cause of it.”

“Perhaps,” said Meredith.

“Go on,” said Square.

“After putting a candle beside the master's bed, I left him and went to bed myself. That is all, sir.”

“And this morning?”

“The admiral was accustomed to rise at cockcrow, and I took hot water and his razor into his dressing room. I saw his sleeping garments were untouched, and so entered his bedchamber to find his bed had not been slept in.”

“You did not raise an alarm at that time, though,” said Square.

“No sir. I did not wish to disorder the household unnecessarily, lest there be a harmless explanation. You see gentlemen, Sir William did, on occasion, experience a sleepless night.”

“So what did you do?” asked Meredith.

“I came here to the study, and found the admiral as now you see him. God rest his soul.”

“And what prompted you to come here?” enquired Square.

“On those occasions when he was unable to sleep, Admiral Gresham was wont to come to the study to read or write.”

“Did you examine the body to be certain he was dead?' asked Square.

“The Lord bless you sir,” said Matthews, aghast. “I dared not. I ran to fetch you at once, Captain.”

Square recalled the urgent shouting and frantic knocking on the door of his bedchamber that had awakened him from a sound sleep. Scarcely able to make sense of Matthew's agitated chatter, he had hurried into a dressing gown and followed the butler out. As Square emerged into the upstairs passage, he had all but collided with Meredith who, having been awakened by the commotion, was similarly attired and equally curious. Together, they accompanied Matthews downstairs to the study.

“Very well, Matthews,” said Square. “Have the admiral's body taken to his bedchamber, and send for a physician to certify the death.”

“Very good sir.”

“And you had best acquaint the rest of the household with what has befallen, but see that no one is missing, and issue an order in my name that no one leave the house.”

“And post a reliable man outside this room,” added Meredith. “Make sure no one enters apart from Captain Square and myself.”

“As you wish, sir,” said Matthews, and walked, a trifle unsteadily, towards the study door.

Square surveyed the spacious, oak-paneled room. His eye took in the neatly shelved rows of leather-bound books and the dark, heavily framed portraits of the admiral's ancestors on the walls. Everything appeared to be in perfect order.

“That looks old,” he said, pointing to a suit of armor standing in the far corner.

“Sixteenth century, I'd venture,” said Meredith. “Probably French.”

“How so?”

“You can tell from the spike on the helmet.”

“Thank God sailors were never required to wear such tackle,” observed Square, and then looked down at the admiral's body once again.

“If a musket was used,” he said after a short pause during which he stroked his chin thoughtfully, “how is it we did not hear the report?”

“Perhaps he was shot from outside,” suggested Meredith, but Square shook his head.

“There are no broken windows, and they are all made fast from inside.”

“Damn.”

“But, see here, Edward,” said Square, striding to a set of French windows that afforded access to the lawn. “These are not locked. If the admiral, or some other person, had opened them, the shot could have been fired from those trees at the foot of the garden. They cannot be more than fifty yards away.”

“Indeed,” nodded Meredith. “And the sound would have been muffled somewhat by the foliage.”

“Quite possibly,” said Square, as he turned the key to lock the French windows. “But let us get dressed now. We shall examine this room further after breakfast. We can do nothing more for the present.”

***

Twenty minutes later Square, dressed in buff waistcoat and brown doeskin breeches, descended the wide staircase's sweeping arc into the entrance foyer of the admiral's house. He and Meredith were guests, invited to celebrate the occasion of Gresham 's becoming a Knight of the Bath - a signal honor in recognition of his years of service to the crown. A junior footman approached, inclined his head and Square followed him to the dining room where he found Meredith seated at a vast, polished mahogany table, about to commence his breakfast. Sunlight streamed in through tall, leaded windows, but its warmth and brilliance did little to alter Square's disconsolate mood.

“Come, my friend,” said Meredith, gesturing towards a chair. “This is not the best of days but let us have our victuals, if nothing else.”

Square sat down and helped himself to a slice of cold beef and some buttered toast.

“In truth, Edward, I scarcely feel like eating. I cannot believe the admiral is dead.”

“Nor can I,” said Meredith. “It is the very devil of a business. Can you make aught of it thus far, for I confess it baffles me.”

“Not yet,” said Square, “but I remain resolved to lay the murderer by the heels.”

Square placed his elbows on the table, put his fingertips together and rested his chin on his two thumbs in a pose he often adopted when thinking. The brilliant light from the windows cast sharp shadows that accentuated the thinness of his face and the slight hollow of his cheeks. The radiance illuminated the weathering of his skin, the result of long exposure to wind and spray during his twenty-five years in his Majesty's Royal Navy.

“So what have we?” he said, after a few moments' silence. “The admiral retires to bed, but does not go to bed. Instead, he goes down to his study. Was it just that he could not sleep, I wonder?”

“Why else?”

“He may have gone to meet someone. After all, we must ask ourselves whether it is probable the killer would be loitering near the study on the mere chance the admiral would be unable to sleep.”

“That is not inconceivable, however,” Meredith pointed out, “if the murderer is a member of this household and thereby acquainted with the admiral's habits.”

“Quite true,” agreed Square, “but the French windows were unlocked, which might well signify the admiral expected a visitor.”

“Or,” Meredith persisted, “that the murderer entered the study though the inside door, killed the admiral and then made off through the French windows.”

Matthews entered at that moment, shock still writ large upon his be-whiskered face. He brought coffee and the intelligence that Dr. Fowler would be there as soon as he was able, but was at that moment attending to a most serious case in a neighboring village. The butler poured coffee, gathered up the few dirty plates and was about to depart when Square spoke.

“Matthews, before you go… When did you last place new candles in the study?”

“Why, last night, sir, whilst you were playing at cards.”

“And did you light them?”

“No sir, there was no need.”

At a nod from Square, Matthews withdrew and Meredith raised his dark eyebrows.

“Candles, John? What are you thinking?”

“They may give us an approximate notion of when the admiral was killed.”

“How?”

“Matthews did not light the candles, but I observed they were about one-quarter burned when we were in the study earlier. I would estimate they burned last night for about two hours.”

“And so?” prompted Meredith, sipping his coffee.

“We all retired just after eight bells, midnight, so assuming the admiral waited a little time to be sure the household were all a-bed, we might say he reached his study and lit the candles at about two bells.”

“One o'clock?” asked Meredith, and Square nodded.

“Assuming the murderer snuffed the candles to avoid drawing attention to the study after his escape, we could then deduce the admiral died between one and three this morning.”

“All right,” said Meredith, inclining his head, “but how does that assist us?”

“I do not yet know,” said Square, with a slight shrug of his narrow shoulders, “but it may prove useful. I am simply clutching at straws like a drowning man.”

“There is little else to do,” said Meredith.

“We are not entirely bereft, though,” answered Square, rising form the table. “Let us return to the study and see if aught else is to be learned.”

A hefty young gardener in hobnailed boots guarded the door to the study, but stood aside as the two men entered, and then closed the door behind them.

Square carefully surveyed the room, and then crossed to the admiral's desk and began to go through the papers that littered its surface. He shuffled through assorted letters, statements of account, a congratulatory note on his accolade from the First Lord of the Admiralty in London , but discovered nothing pertinent. He pulled open the drawer, and as he rifled through the quills, ink and notepaper within, his eye at once fell upon a small, blue and white enameled snuff box.

Square thought it odd that the admiral should have had a snuff box, and he took it up in some surprise. Admiral Gresham had detested the use of snuff in spite of its present popularity. Square opened the small box and found within it a tightly folded wad of paper.

“Hello, hello,” he said, “and what might this be, I wonder.”

He unfolded the paper and read the crudely written words.

“What is it?” asked Meredith, joining Square at the desk.

“It is a threat against Admiral Gresham's life.”

“Good God.”

“And it smacks of blackmail, into the bargain,” he added, handing the note to Meredith. “See for yourself.”

“***I'll keep silent of what I seen,***” read Meredith aloud, “***but I'll tell the world of it if you shan't give me fifty guineas within this fortnight. And don't you go tricking me neither for if you do I will kill you, so I will.***”

“What do you make of it?” asked Square, his face expressionless.

“This is outrageous,” said Meredith. “Some bumpkin has written this. Some lout or other.”

“Whoever wrote that may well be the man we want.”

“It would seem highly probable,” agreed Meredith, “but what the devil does it all mean?”

Square was prevented from answering by a knock on the door.

“Come,” he shouted, and Matthews entered, closely followed by a short, rotund man wearing a tricorn hat, white breeches and a black coat.

“Dr. Fowler, sir,” said Matthews.

With little more than a cursory greeting to the two men, and without waiting to be introduced to them, Fowler turned to Matthews and in an officious tone asked, “Where is the body you have brought me all this way to view? Come, come now, I am a busy man.”

“Admiral Gresham's body lies in his bedchamber,” said Square, answering in the butler's stead. “It appears he was shot.”

“Does it?” said Fowler, with a disdainful sniff. “Does it indeed? Well, take me to the bedchamber then, and I will do what is necessary. I am pleased you had the good sense to have the body moved. I find working on the floor like a scullery maid to be more than disagreeable. Not to say undignified for a man of science such as I.”

“I trust your previous patient is recovering, Doctor,” said Meredith, and Fowler evinced a moment of surprise.

“No, no,” he said, his lips tightly pursed in disapproval. “A most obstinate case. I daresay we shall see him in the churchyard ere the week is out.”

Matthews led the way to the door, and without a further word, Fowler turned and bustled after him.

“Extraordinary little man,” said Meredith after the door closed.

Square nodded, and returned his attention to the note he had found.

“If we are to believe what is here,” he said, holding up the paper, “there is someone who believes he saw the admiral engaged in some sort of nefarious activity that he believes the admiral would wish to keep secret.”

“But what could that possibly be? Admiral Gresham was a gentleman and a distinguished officer.”

“Most certainly,” said Square, “but we must consider every possibility, even the distasteful ones.”

“But, surely, John…” began Meredith, but Square interrupted, almost as if he had not heard.

“And there is something else. This note is not folded as a letter would be, nor is there any address. It must have been delivered by hand. There is neither date nor signature, although that is hardly surprising, but the nature of the supposed secret is not disclosed. Thus, we might assume the admiral knew of the matter being referred to and perhaps even the identity of the writer.”

“Does that lead you to suspect someone in particular?”

“Not at this stage. I merely state that this note indicates the admiral must have been aware of what was afoot.”

“But why risk a shot to kill him?” said Meredith, “either from inside or outside the house? There would be considerable danger.”

“I agree,” said Square, “so let us first be sure there was a shot.” He glanced quickly around the room. “Damn, there is no bell here.”

He strode to the door and opened it.

“Fetch me a servant, lad,” he said to the young gardener, and the boy forthwith disappeared down the passage.

Within a few moments they heard the sound of running feet, and a footman in blue livery presented himself nervously at the study door.

“See here,” said Square, “get you to Dr. Fowler this minute and tell him Captain Sir John Square wishes him to probe for the musket ball that killed Admiral Gresham.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And Colonel Meredith and I will take another cup of coffee in the morning room, if you please.”

***

In the morning room, a sunlit salon overlooking the gardens, Square sat at a corner table poring over the note he had found in the snuff box. Meredith read a copy of *** The Daily Universal Register***, also known as ***The Times***, newly delivered from London . One of the servants had flat-ironed the creases out of it as was customary, and it crackled like small arms fire as Meredith turned its pages.

“It is reported France is descending into chaos,” he remarked, looking up. “Republicanism is rife and public order has all but broken down. I'll wager King Louis sleeps none too easily nowadays. There will be war at this rate.”

Square made no reply. He laid out the note in a patch of sunshine, smoothed it and studied it minutely.

“This writing is inconsistent,” he said.

“Inconsistent?” said Meredith, laying aside his vociferous broadsheet and coming to look over Square's shoulder. “How do you mean?”

“Look there,” said Square, placing his forefinger under a word, “do you see how the letter u is formed? And now see here,” he moved his finger, “it is different from this one.”

He pointed to several other letters.

“I think this was written by more than one person.”

“That is most singular,” said Meredith, “and now that I look, I perceive you are quite correct. But why would a note such as this be written by several persons?”

“I would say it points to the possible existence of a cabal.”

“A cabal?”

“A group of conspiratorial plotters. A note such as this is written by all of them in different parts in order that each shall bear equal responsibility.”

“And do such cabals exist for the purpose of committing crimes?”

“Not necessarily, but it would seem so in this case, I fear.”

“You seem to know a good deal about such things,” observed Meredith.

“Cabals can frequently be found on naval vessels,” said Square, “where men are thrown tight together. They form to demand a redress of grievances, to persecute an unpopular man or the like. I have seen a number of them in my time.”

At that moment, Dr. Fowler bustled unannounced into the morning room, and Square got to his feet.

“Well Surgeon Fowler, what have you found?”

“Nothing whatever,” said Fowler in a fastidious tone. “I probed for the ball as you requested, although why you would want it is beyond my conception since the man was already dead. However, I did not find it. There was no ball in the wound.”

“Did it pass completely through the body then?” asked Meredith.

“Of course not,” scoffed Fowler in a tone that suggested Meredith should have known better than to ask so foolish a question. “Had it done so, there would have been a second wound.”

“So the admiral died by some other means,” said Square. “That is why there was no shot to awaken us.”

“Well, that has nothing to do with me,” sniffed Fowler. “I came only to say I have certified Admiral Gresham died in an unnatural manner. Since there was no ball, I conclude he was stabbed. That is all I can say. I shall register my conclusions with the Parish Committee and the constables.”

The physician hurried to the door, then paused, his hand on the doorknob.

“Well gentlemen, I am a busy man, so good day to you.”

Fowler disappeared and Square looked at Meredith.

“A fig for the constables and the Parish Committee,” he said. “They can do nothing in this matter. It is up to us, Edward.”

Meredith nodded, and Square continued.

“The admiral was stabbed, it would seem, with a round, rod-like weapon of some ilk, with a diameter virtually identical to that of a musket ball. There was no struggle, and he was stabbed in the chest, presumably while facing his assailant. I'll venture that means he was acquainted with whoever killed him.”

“That would seem to follow,” said Meredith, “but how are we to proceed?”

“We shall begin by questioning the members of the household.”

Square called for Matthews and instructed him to assemble the staff.

“Exclude no one.”

Admiral Gresham had maintained a sizeable household, and for the remainder of the day, Square and Meredith questioned maids, grooms, footmen, gardeners and finally Matthews, the butler. Nothing of consequence was revealed, however, until Mary Crossman, a young parlor maid in a white mobcap and linen apron was shown in. She stood before the two men nervously twisting her apron strings around her fingers.

“Yes sir,” she said, in answer to Square's question. “I did hear something. I had to get up in the night, you see, ‘cause I remembered as how I hadn't put the beeswax furniture polish away and the housekeeper would have been ever so angry if…”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Meredith. “What did you hear, girl?”

“Well,” Mary went on, the words tumbling out in a nervous torrent, “I thought I'd left it in the dining room, but it weren't there, and I always does the drawing room after the dining room, and then I finishes up in the study. So I went to the drawing room, but it weren't there neither, so…”

God save us, thought Square.

“Mary,” he said, as patiently as he was able, “just tell us what you heard, and don't worry about the furniture polish or the housekeeper or anything else. We want to know what you heard, that's all.”

“Talking, sir. I heard two men a-talking as I went past the study door. One of them was the master, God rest his soul. I was ever so quiet, I was, so as not to disturb them.”

“What were they talking about?”

“I didn't hear much, but I know the master said how dare you threaten me , and he used a name, but I aren't just sure of what it were. Murdoch, I think, or some such as that.”

“And is there a man named Murdoch within this household?” asked Meredith.

“No sir. Not never so long as I've been here, and that's nigh on five year.”

“Thank you Mary,” said Square, and the girl bobbed a quick curtsey.

“And I found the polish, sir,” she said with a triumphant smile before she left, “and I doubt as how the housekeeper ever knew it were gone.”

When Matthews was questioned, Square enquired after anyone named Murdoch.

“Captain Murdoch, do you mean, sir?”

“Captain?”

“Why yes, sir,” said Matthews. “Captain Archibald Murdoch was flag captain in the admiral's last ship, HMS Andromeda.”

“Of course,” said Square. “Archie Murdoch. I remember now. Lost his right arm to a thirty-two-pound ball off Jamaica . He has an estate in Norfolk I believe.”

“He called upon Admiral Gresham two days ago,” Matthews continued, “and stayed for several hours. He was lodging in Portsmouth at the Mermaid Inn.”

“Matthews,” said Square, “send your best rider into Portsmouth this instant minute. He can be there in half an hour at most. Tell him to enquire at the Mermaid for Captain Murdoch. If the captain is there, give him the message that I request his permission to wait upon him as soon as may be.”

“At once, sir,” said Matthews, and hurried away.

The rider returned later that evening bearing the news that Captain Square was cordially invited to take breakfast with Captain Murdoch the following morning, and Square journeyed by coach into Portsmouth shortly after dawn.

The two officers, both resplendent in gold braid, epaulets and navy blue uniform coats, dined in a small private room at the Mermaid. Murdoch appeared stunned by the news of Gresham 's death.

“God's teeth,” he said. “And I was with him late that very night.”

Square bent a steady gaze upon Murdoch.

“I am aware of that, sir. You were overheard arguing with the admiral. That is why I am here.”

“Well good gad, man,” spluttered Murdoch, a stout man in his middle fifties, “leave off looking at me like that. D'you seriously think I killed him?”

Square noted the empty right sleeve of Murdoch's coat, neatly folded and pinned to his lapel in the naval fashion. He marked also how awkwardly the one-armed man used the fork he held in his left hand.

“You are…were…right-handed, Captain Murdoch?”

“I was. Does that signify?”

Square nodded.

“Perhaps it does. But if you would be so kind as to tell me what business took you to see the admiral?”

“Private business,” said Murdoch. “And may I ask by what authority you presume to question me, sir? I remind you we are of equal rank.”

“We are indeed,” nodded Square, “but Admiral Gresham was my friend, and he was murdered whilst I was a guest in his house. I have pledged myself to do all that is necessary to find the blackguard who killed him. I regard it as a matter of honor.”

Murdoch hesitated before nodding slowly.

“I see.”

“I'm obliged to you,” said Square. “Now may I enquire again as to your business with the admiral?”

“And I must repeat, with great respect,” said Murdoch, a wary look in his eye, “that it was private.”

Square put down his knife and fork.

“Come now, Captain, this will not do. Your former commanding officer has been killed, and by your own admission you were with him the night he died. You may, in fact, have been the last person to see him alive. I could summon marines and order your arrest upon suspicion alone. I beg you not to underestimate either the seriousness of your position or my resolve to see this matter through.”

Square's instinctive reluctance to believe a fellow officer capable of murder, coupled with the more tangible and significant knowledge of Murdoch's former right-handedness rendered him almost certain of Murdoch's innocence, but the man was clearly a source of potentially valuable information. He waited, his gaze unwavering.

Murdoch hesitated a further moment.

“Very well,” he said at length. “It was a matter of money. But I swear before God and St. George Admiral Gresham was alive when I left him.”

“And that was at what time?”

“About half past two o'clock in the morning I should judge.”

Close enough, thought Square, if we are to believe the candles.

“A servant overheard the admiral to say how dare you threaten me, Murdoch. Would you explain that, please?”

Murdoch exhaled, blowing out his cheeks. Square contemplated telling him about the blackmail note, but at once decided against it. If Murdoch were indeed guilty, the note represented a piece of evidence best kept secret for the time being.

“Captain Square , please understand I have no wish to impugn the admiral's reputation.”

“Nor have I.”

Murdoch took a sip of coffee.

“I was not threatening him at all. I was warning him.”

Square was about to speak, but Murdoch raised a restraining hand.

“I shall explain. The action in the Caribbean that took my arm was fought against a Dutch privateer. The Andromeda was victorious and took the Dutch vessel as a prize.”

“I read as much in the London Gazette at the time,” said Square.

“Of course. But what you did not read is that the Dutchman carried a chest containing four large bags of captured gold guineas. Now…through a letter from my nephew John Morrison, Fifth Lieutenant in the Andromeda, I was later made aware that amongst certain officers in the fleet the whisper is that Admiral Gresham appropriated the money for himself.”

“What?” Square blurted, incredulous. “ Such plunder is the indisputable property of the crown. It is a scurrilous accusation.”

“I make no accusation, Captain Square . I said it was a whisper. Malicious gossip so far as I was concerned.”

“But…”

“Hear me out sir,” said Murdoch. “The Andromeda was badly damaged in the engagement, and so we went about and sailed for England at once, rather than continuing to Jamaica where repair facilities are inadequate. I was wounded early in the action and Admiral Gresham took direct command. Upon our arrival at the Plymouth Dockyards I was ordered to the Greenwich Naval Hospital where I recuperated for nearly three months. Upon recovering my strength I waited upon their Lordships of the Admiralty and was greatly surprised to hear no mention of the coin. Some discreet enquiries revealed that no plunder of any kind was recorded in Andromeda' s log, nor had any been received at the Admiralty.”

“That is a strange circumstance, I grant you, but still scant proof of theft,” said Square. “Did you approach the admiral at that time?”

“How could I?” Murdoch answered. “As you have just this moment observed, it was but scant proof.”

“And you did not inform their Lordships?”

Murdoch laughed mirthlessly.

“That is a poor jest, Captain. You know as well as I their Lordships would not take the word of a captain over that of an admiral, particularly one so lately distinguished in battle. And furthermore, were I to have accused Admiral Gresham of a crime of which he might subsequently have been found wholly innocent, my pension would have been forfeit and I would find myself both ruined and disgraced. Not that either condition would have signified, mark you, for the admiral would certainly have called me out and dispatched me forthwith in a duel. I cannot fire a pistol in my left hand.”

“My apologies, Captain Murdoch, you are right of course. I can appreciate fully the dilemma which faced you, but tell me this, pray. You say you were wounded early in the engagement, and so how do you know of this gold at all? Did you see it?”

“No. By the time the Dutchman was boarded I was lying senseless in my quarters. What remained of my arm had been sawn off and the stump sealed with hot tar.”

“Well then,” said Square.

“The existence of this gold is not hearsay, Captain. My own coxswain, Percival Reynolds, was a member of the search party that found it. He was also one of the squad that carried it aboard Andromeda. He told me of it several days later when my wits had more or less returned to me. By that time, word of it had spread throughout the ship, but as you will comprehend I could make no mention of it in my report, nor could I record it in the log, for I was not in command at the time of its discovery or seizure.”

“Very well,” said Square. “I grant you the gold did exist, and also that it did not fetch up at the Admiralty as it should have, but neither circumstance proves the admiral took the plunder for himself.”

“I agree completely, and upon hearing the rumor of his theft, I wrote at once to Admiral Gresham acquainting him with the situation in case he was unaware of it. And by the by,” Murdoch added, “Reynolds is here with me, and you might wish to talk to him when we are finished here.”

“I shall indeed,” said Square. “Has Reynolds followed you onto the beach?”

“Yes, but not by choice. He was injured by a block falling from the mizzen tops'l yard during the passage home, and it cost him his right eye along with some slight loss of sight in his left. He was deemed unfit for further service at sea and discharged. I came to hear of it and offered him a position in my household in Norfolk .”

Square inclined his head in recognition of the deed. He knew only too well how many maimed and wounded sailors, honest men and loyal, were cast aside by an uncaring navy and condemned to penury and begging.

“That was generous, Captain, but may we now return to the matter of your visits to Admiral Gresham?”

“As I said,” Murdoch continued, “I knew the coin had not reached the Admiralty, but was loath to think the worst. I wrote to the admiral, but receiving no reply, I journeyed here to see him. My intent was to implore him to defend his honor and reputation. I felt certain there must be an innocent explanation for the apparent disappearance of the gold.”

“And what did he say?”

Square watched as Murdoch's face betrayed the discomfort he was feeling.

“I had expected outrage, righteous indignation, an immediate and vigorous denial, but such was not the case, Captain Square . The admiral's answers were evasive and self-contradictory. He blustered and prevaricated to such an extent I began to conclude - with the utmost possible reluctance - that he may indeed be guilty. Eventually he simply ordered me, as my superior officer, to leave his house.”

“But why on earth would he do such a thing?” asked Square. “Actually to steal the property of the crown.”

“You may be aware he was a notorious gambler at cards, dice, horses, anything, and it was always said he had prodigious debts. Perhaps…” Murdoch's voice trailed off.

Square chewed on his lower lip and nodded. He had heard those stories, and he remembered the admiral's losses at whist the very night of his death. But he also remembered Admiral Gresham as a man of unimpeachable honesty, and Square's thoughts dwelt upon the insidious way in which the lure of gambling could become irresistible; an obsession that seized a man's soul, consumed it, corrupted and destroyed his life as would a leprous canker. Square felt a sudden compassion for Gresham .

“Since you were rebuffed on the first occasion, how came you to visit a second time?” Square asked, “and why, in God's name, go in the middle of the night like a footpad?”

Murdoch paused again, this time to take a pinch of snuff.

“I proposed a second visit in hopes that my suspicions of the admiral's guilt would be proved incorrect through further discussion, but at first he would have none of it. Eventually he agreed to see me again, but insisted it be late at night lest I be seen. He said he would have guests, and did not wish my presence brought to their attention. I came as agreed, but we argued fruitlessly once again, and I left him at about five bells. Alive, as I said.”

“I see.”

Square exhaled a long breath and then came straight to his final point.

“So Captain Murdoch, you visited twice and came away believing the admiral guilty of stealing the gold. You departed after your second interview at about half-past two in the morning leaving the admiral alive. Is all that correct?”

Murdoch nodded.

“He was alive, although very much agitated and distracted.”

“I must now tell you, then,” Square went on, “that I have found an item that suggests not only that the admiral took the gold, but that he may actually have been seen to do so.”

“What on earth do you mean?” asked Murdoch.

“There is a blackmail note written to the admiral which demands fifty guineas in return for silence. It also threatens the admiral with death if he fails to pay.”

“This is calamitous,” said Murdoch, and then his eyes widened.

“See here, you surely do not mean to accuse me of…”

“Not at all,sir,” interrupted Square, waving a dismissive hand. “But I do believe on the basis of that note and what you have told me, I must now proceed on the assumption that the admiral did, in fact, keep the coin for himself.”

“Dreadful,” said Murdoch, more to himself than to Square. “I prayed my suspicions were infounded.”

“I should like to speak with your man Reynolds,” Square said. “Where is he to be found?”

“He lodges in the servants' quarters.”

Murdoch called for a potman and sent him to fetch Reynolds.

“If you will excuse me Captain Square ,” said Murdoch, rising from the table, “I think it best for the sake of appearance that you speak with Reynolds in private. He should be here shortly.”

The former coxswain presented himself within five minutes and touched his knuckles to his forehead in naval salute. He stood before Square with his hat held firmly against his chest. He had a full head of dark hair and Square judged the man to be about five and thirty. He wore a black patch over his right eye and squinted a little with his left.

“Now then Reynolds,” Square began, “you told Captain Murdoch of the coin found on the Dutch prize vessel. Is that correct?”

“Aye sir, that it is,” Reynolds answered without hesitation. “Four heavy bags it were. Golden guineas. T'were more money than ever I saw.”

“And you helped carry this booty into the Andromeda?”

“Aye sir. To the admiral's cabin.”

“And what happened to it after that? After you reached England ?”

“Why bless you sir,” said Reynolds with a deprecatory smile, “I have no notion at all.”

“You did not see it carried off?”

“No sir, I did not. God's honor.”

“Could it still be aboard Andromeda then?” asked Square.

Reynolds shook his dark head.

“No sir. I looked everywhere for it, so I did.”

“Why? It was no concern of yours.”

“All that money, sir? It weren't mine right enough, but I wouldn't want it left behind, now would I?”

Reasonable enough, thought Square.

“And when your master visited Admiral Gresham, did you accompany him on both occasions?”

“O' course I did, sir. I drove his carriage.”

“Tell me what happened on the second visit, if you please.”

“Nothing to tell, sir,” Reynolds shrugged. “Captain Murdoch orders me to stay out of sight. Then he goes into the house, stays for a bit and then comes out again. That's all.”

“And how did he enter and leave the house?”

“From the gardens, sir. There were doors that opened into a small room. That's all I could see.”

“How long did he stay?”

“Not certain, sir, but less than two hours, I reckon.”

“The admiral was murdered later that night, Reynolds. Did you know that?”

“Murdered sir? Gawd bless and save us.”

Square judged the man's shocked surprise to be entirely genuine.

“I wish it were not so. But be ready if I should wish to speak with you again.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Very well, Reynolds,” Square nodded, “you may go.”

Square sat staring at the closed door after Reynolds' departure. There was something amiss here, but how was it to be ferreted out? Was Reynolds withholding something connected to the whereabouts of the gold? Was he telling the truth? Square put his fingertips together and rested his chin on his thumbs. There is something I am not seeing, he thought.

***

“Do you believe Captain Murdoch, John?” enquired Colonel Meredith that afternoon as he and Square sat in the drawing room.

“The position of the wound suggests the fatal blow was struck with a weapon held in the right hand,” Square answered. “Murdoch could not have delivered that blow. It was plain to see he has not yet become fully accustomed to the exclusive use of his left arm. But beyond that, why should Murdoch try to blackmail the admiral for a beggarly fifty guineas?”

“And are we to assume Admiral Gresham stole the gold in question?”

“For the time being, it seems we must, although the evidence as it now stands would likely not convict him in a Court Martial.”

Matthews entered at that moment bearing a decanter of Madeira and two glasses on a silver tray. He served the two gentlemen and then turned to Square with a respectful inclination of his head.

“If I may speak, sir?”

“Yes, Matthews?”

“I took it upon myself to send news of Admiral Gresham's death to his only living relative, his nephew, Mr. Guthrie Small. I was sure you would not mind.”

“Not at all,” said Square. “You were quite right to do it.”

“Mr. Small lives at Meadowbourne House, about five hours' carriage ride from here, and I have this afternoon received a reply. Mr. Small sends his respects, says he is much encumbered with personal matters and cannot leave his estates. He instructs me to tell you he would be greatly obliged if you would both remain here until he is able to come himself, most probably in two or three days' time.”

Square glanced at Meredith, who nodded.

“Send a note to the good Mr. Small, Matthews,” said Square. “Present our compliments and tell him we shall await his arrival.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And Matthews,” said Square, “I have another question for you.”

“Sir?”

“After Captain Murdoch's first visit to Admiral Gresham, did the admiral seem annoyed or in any way out of sorts?”

“Oh, bless my soul, indeed he did, sir. He was enraged beyond all description, and eventually fell into one of his fits.”

“Fits?”

“Yes sir. The admiral was wounded some years ago in an engagement with an American warship off New York . A musket ball laid open his scalp and grazed the bone. Following that occasion, he became prone to fits, particularly when greatly agitated.”

“I see,” said Square. “And what form did these seizures take?”

“Oft times he would simply sit and shake as though with the ague, sir, but at worst, he would fall to the floor. At such times his breath came in a labored and quite alarming fashion. In that condition, he was helpless.”

“Most distressing,” said Square. “And did the worst occur after Captain Murdoch's visit?”

“Yes sir. In truth, we feared for the admiral's life, so great was his taking. We summoned Dr. Fowler, who bled him.”

“Did he cry out when in these fits?” asked Meredith.

“Not the bad ones, sir. He had not the breath.”

“Thank you Matthews,” said Square. “You may leave us.”

“Now then,” said Square, when he and Meredith were alone, “just where are we?”

“Nowhere at all, I fear,” answered Meredith, with a doleful expression. “It is a puzzle. A Gordian Knot.”

“Indeed it is,” agreed Square, “and since we do not possess the sword of Alexander with which to cut it, we shall have to unravel it for ourselves, little by little.”

Square reached out to a nearby table and took up a long-stemmed, white clay pipe and leather tobacco pouch. He stuffed the small bowl of the pipe with sedulous care and then ignited it with a taper, so that within a few minutes he was puffing out clouds of pale blue smoke. He had always found a pipe to be an indispensable aid to serious thought, and when he smoked aboard his ship, the entire crew, from the senior officers down to the lowliest powder monkey, waited in suspense for whatever might ensue.

He put his hand into the pocket of his brown frock coat and withdrew the snuff box. Turning it towards the light from the tall leaded windows he examined it closely and then removed the pipe from between his teeth.

“By God, Archibald Murdoch.”

“Your pardon?” said Meredith, who had been leafing through a volume of poetry.

“There are tiny initials here on the snuff box which I did not see earlier. A.M .”

“But,” Meredith said, “that suggests Murdoch's complicity, does it not?”

“By no means,” said Square. “Murdoch would not be such a lackwit as to put a blackmail note into one of his own snuff boxes and send it to the admiral, much less place it in the admiral's desk himself. So unless these initials betoken someone else's name - which I very much doubt, for I saw Captain Murdoch take snuff this morning - they tell us we are now looking for someone close enough to Murdoch to have stolen one of his snuff boxes.”

“And also someone who knew about the stolen gold,” added Meredith.

“Quite so…'

Square paused for a moment.

“And yet I cannot help thinking the appearance of this snuff box is far too apt. It may well be an attempt to incriminate Captain Murdoch, and if that be the case, the blackmail note itself is probably spurious. A mere humbug. The murderer most likely hid it after killing the admiral, and then escaped through the French windows.”

“But who the deuce was it?” Meredith asked.

“Amongst those we know thus far, only Reynolds both knew of the gold and would have been able to steal from Captain Murdoch,” said Square.

“But you said he was awaiting Captain Murdoch outside. He could not have gone into the house and done the deed without Murdoch's being aware of it.”

“Indeed,” said Square. “So if Reynolds did procure the snuff box, someone else placed it in the desk.”

“Perhaps well before the murder took place,” said Meredith, but Square shook his head.

“The box was in plain sight in a drawer with pens, ink and notepaper. The admiral could not have failed to see it had he but opened the drawer. If he had found the box and read the note prior to his death, he would not likely have carefully re-folded it and replaced both note and box in his desk.”

“That rings true,” nodded Meredith. “So we return to your speculation that someone, presumably the murderer, put the box and note in the desk to cast suspicion upon Murdoch.”

“Yes,” said Square, regarding Meredith through a dense fog of pipe smoke, “and that someone could not have been Reynolds, although I'll wager he stole the snuff box. This murder is beginning to acquire the appearance of careful premeditation.”

“But that servant girl, Mary Whatever-it-was, did not report seeing or hearing anyone apart from Captain Murdoch about the house that night when she went hunting for her polish.”

The memory of Mary Crossman's words flooded back into Square's consciousness. There had been something there, an inconsistency, a mere word or phrase which had caught his attention and then flown from it. Enlightenment now came with all the brilliance of a sunrise.

“Strike me down and the devil take me,” he exclaimed, all but biting through the stem of his pipe. “The polish.”

“What?”

“Well don't you see, man? Mary Crossman found her polish.”

Meredith looked blank.

“Yes, so she said. But what of it?”

“It means she went into the study that night.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“She told us she was looking for her furniture polish,” said Square, waving his pipe for emphasis as though leading a choir, “and she could not find it in the dining room or drawing room.”

“And so?” said Meredith, mystification still upon his countenance.

“She said she always finishes her polishing in the study, and since she did find the polish, it must have been in the study. She was there, Edward, I am sure of it, and may have killed the admiral.”

“But, look here,” said Meredith at once. “That won't do at all. She is a mere slip of a wench; the admiral could easily have defended himself.”

“Not necessarily.”

Square tugged at the velvet bell-pull and instructed Matthews to bring Mary in immediately, which he did within a few minutes. The girl stood before them, white-faced and nervous as before.

“Now Mary,” Square began, “I want you to tell us where you found your jar of furniture polish. The truth, mind.”

The girl seemed relieved at the apparent simplicity of the question.

“Oh, t'were here in the drawing room, sir,” she smiled.

“No,” said Square. “You told us yesterday it was not in the drawing room.”

The girl's lower lip began to tremble as fear showed in her eyes.

“I…I'm sure it were here… Or mayhap in the dining room…”

Square added a measure of severity to his tone.

“Was it in the study? Did you go in there?”

Mary's mouth opened and closed ineffectually, and then she lowered her eyes to the floor and nodded.

“Yes sir.”

“And what of the admiral?”

“T'weren't me as killed ‘im,” she blurted. “T'were that Captain Murdoch. He wanted money he did, fifty guineas, to keep silent about that gold what the admiral…”

She stopped abruptly, drawing in am audible breath.

“Fifty guineas?” said Square.

“Gold?” asked Meredith.

***

Guthrie Small made a mockery of his surname. As he strode into the morning room two days later and greeted Square and Meredith with great cordiality, he revealed himself a tall, robustly-built man of about forty. He wore a grey coat, white stockings, finely-tailored black woolen breeches and a well crafted horsehair wig of elaborate design. It was clear he was a man of means.

“I thank you gentlemen for remaining here,” he said, settling himself into an armchair, “but from what I read in the Portsmouth broadsheet, you have been far from idle these few days past.”

Meredith and Square offered condolences upon the death of his uncle, but Small waved them to silence.

“I scarcely knew the admiral,” he said, “but I would be obliged if you would tell me about these two malefactors who have been arrested for his murder.”

“One for blackmail and murder, the other for blackmail alone, sir,” put in Meredith.

“Tell me, then,” said Small.

“Shall I be spokesman?” asked Square, and Meredith nodded.

“Well sir,” said Square, after clearing his throat, “I fear I must begin by telling you your uncle was guilty of stealing a large sum of money found aboard a captured Dutch privateer.”

“The devil you say,” said Small, his eyes wide. “Is there proof?”

“Yes,” nodded Square. “The gold was hidden in this very house and one of the culprits led us to it.”

“So this stolen gold is the cause of the murder?”

“Precisely,” said Square. “As you have heard, we have two persons under close arrest. One is Mary Crossman, a housemaid employed here, and the other is a certain Samuel Reynolds, former coxswain to Captain Archibald Murdoch, Admiral Gresham's flag captain in the Andromeda. Reynolds, a man of considerable greed but only modest wit, knew of the gold's existence, and made it his business to keep track of it. He discovered it had been packed into Admiral Gresham's sea chests, ostensibly for conveyance to the Admiralty, and he volunteered to help carry those chests ashore in order to learn what was to become of them. He heard Admiral Gresham order a hired coach to take the chests, not to the Admiralty, but to this house. Reynolds then came into these parts himself and befriended Mary Crossman.”

“And she let him into the house and he killed my uncle,” said Small, with a knowing nod. “A simple enough deduction.”

“Not so, sir,” said Square. “With the promise of marriage as a lure, Reynolds persuaded Mary to try and find the gold, and she was quickly able to do so. There is a compartment behind some paneling in the admiral's bedchamber which he fondly believed was unknown to all save himself. In fact, most of the household staff were aware of it, and Mary correctly assumed the gold would be hidden there. All she needed was the key which, as everyone also knew, the admiral invariably kept in his waistcoat pocket. We found that key hidden in Mary's room.”

“And how did she get it?”

“Allow me to explain,” said Square. “According to Mary, their original intent was only to blackmail the admiral and nothing more. Reynolds stole a snuff box from Captain Murdoch who had by that time become his employer, and he and Mary wrote a crude note demanding fifty guineas in return for their silence. The note was placed in the snuff box. They did not sign it, of course, and thus would have had to reveal themselves to the admiral at some juncture to obtain their money. It was their pious expectation that if the plot came to light in some way, Captain Murdoch would be blamed by virtue of the note being in his snuff box.”

Small grunted.

“Diabolical they certainly are; skilled they are certainly not.”

“On the night of the murder, Mary went into the study to polish the furniture while we and the admiral were at cards,” Square continued. “She placed the snuff box with the note inside in the admiral's writing desk. I do not believe the admiral ever saw it.”

“Then how is it they decided to commit murder?” asked Small.

“It was Mary who decided,” said Square, “and it all revolves around the furniture polish she was using.”

“The furniture polish?” said Small. “Do you make game of me, Captain?”

“By no means, sir. That night, Mary remembered she had mistakenly left the polish in the study and went downstairs to retrieve it lest her misdemeanor be discovered in the morning. More importantly, she realized it might incriminate her in the blackmail. Once near the study door, however, she overheard the admiral arguing with Captain Murdoch. She hid in a cupboard until all seemed quiet, and then ventured into the study.”

“And there she found the admiral, I suppose,” Small interposed.

“Correct,” said Square, “but he was not dead. He was lying on the floor in the throes of a fierce seizure which rendered him entirely helpless - unable even to cry out.”

“God's body,” said Small. “This is most extraordinary indeed.”

“Observing the admiral thus incapacitated, Mary saw an opportunity to steal all the gold. Her first thought was to search the admiral's pockets for the key, but then thought perhaps, upon recovering his wits, the admiral might remember her. At that point, she decided to kill him, thinking Captain Murdoch would doubtless be condemned on the strength of his presence there that night and the blackmail note in his snuff box. She searched the study for a weapon and found a suit of armor on the helmet of which was a spike some nine inches long. She took the helmet and drove the spike into the admiral's chest. She wiped the helmet clean, replaced it and took the key, intending to tell Reynolds later and let him decide what should best be done next. She snuffed the study candles, and returned to bed after hiding the key.”

“A cold-hearted creature, and no mistake,” observed Small, and Square nodded.

“She believed that once the admiral was dead, she and Reynolds could simply carry off the gold at their leisure and do far better with it than with a paltry fifty guineas.”

“Has she admitted this, Captain Square ?” asked Small, “or is it all conjecture?”

“She has admitted everything,” said Square. “Reynolds had no part in the killing, and did no more than promise Mary they would obtain their fifty guineas. He faces transportation to Botany Bay for blackmail; she, the gallows for murder.”

“And the devil take them,” said Small.

“It is a remarkable tale,” said Square, and Small shook his head in wonder.

“There is one further thing, Captain. Do you know why my uncle stole the gold in the first place? It is scarcely the conduct of a gentleman and a king's officer.”

“We do not know for certain,” Square answered, “but probably to settle gambling debts.”

“Well then,” said Small, “I fear his creditors are to be disappointed.”