Bones of the Buried by David Roberts

him out of gaol but from what he had been told the whole thing had happened too quickly for anyone to have intervened. The evidence had been
gathered and the case heard all within three weeks. In England, it took months before a man accused of murder came to trial, but not here in Spain. Edward wondered why there had been no significant
protests from the British government. He supposed they had no reason to love David Griffiths-Jones and no obvious justification for interfering in a murder trial carried out with transparent
fairness.
    The New Gazette had fulminated against the iniquities of ‘Johnnie Foreigner’ but, from what he had seen of Lord Weaver’s campaign to have David freed, it was based
solely on the principle that an Englishman – however distasteful his political views – could never be guilty of any crime, or, if guilty, should not be susceptible to the authority of a
foreign judiciary. It would be interesting to see if David had been surprised by the speed and ease with which he had been condemned to death. On second thoughts, perhaps that might not be a
tactful question to put to a man in the condemned cell.
    Edward had little doubt that something strange was going on. The evidence against David was absurdly neat and tidy but he seemed to be conniving in his own destruction. Edward had less than a
week to find out what was behind it all. If only Thoroughgood could get him two or three weeks more. Might David have something to tell him that he had not even told Verity? As he turned in his bed
for the hundredth time trying to get comfortable, he fell asleep.

 
5
    The prison was on the outskirts of the city on the Calle de la Princesa next door to the lunatic asylum. Edward’s stomach was churning with apprehension as Hester drove
him and Verity past the grim-looking barracks, the army’s headquarters in Madrid, to the fortress-like building in which David Griffiths-Jones was incarcerated. Verity tugged at a huge
bell-pull outside the prison gates and, as they waited for it to cease jangling, Edward was reminded irresistibly of a production of Fidelio he had seen at the Met while he had been in New
York .
    ‘Should you go in first, Verity, and make sure David is prepared to see me?’
    Verity ignored him and, after a wait of four or five minutes in the cold morning air, Edward was quite glad to be ushered into the great courtyard in which the prisoners exercised. They were
then conducted up a stone staircase to the governor’s office. Verity and Hester had been there often before, of course, and greeted Capitán José Ramón as an old
friend.
    ‘ Hola! José , conoce usted a Lord Edward Corinth?’
    ‘ Encantado ,’ said the governor, coming out from behind his desk to kiss the ladies’ hands and shake Edward’s.
    ‘ Perdone, no hablo español ,’ Edward faltered. He felt a bit of a fraud because he had picked up a little Spanish when he had been in South America but he was shy about
using it.
    ‘ No importa ,’ said the governor genially. ‘It does not matter. It is good I can practise my English. You are the friend of Señor Griffiths-Jones? That is such a
hard name for me to say,’ he smiled.
    ‘Yes,’ said Edward. ‘Is he well?’
    The governor shrugged: ‘As well as can be expected.’
    Edward cursed himself for having asked a foolish question.
    ‘I’ll stay here,’ Hester said, ‘if the Capitán permits. I think it’s better that we do not crowd the poor man. It is important you two go and talk to him. I
can’t contribute much.’
    Verity demurred but Hester was adamant. Just before they were escorted off to see the prisoner, the governor said, ‘You must know the day of the execution has been delayed dos
semanas .’
    Verity was delighted: ‘But that’s wonderful. It gives us the time we need, doesn’t it, Edward?’
    Edward thought her faith in him was touching. ‘Why is that?’ he asked the governor.
    ‘I do not know,’ said Ramón. ‘Orders from