The Color of Death by Bruce Alexander

would be completely inappropriate for me to ask it of him. I will not beg from one such as he.”
    “But … but … but …” I sputtered and fumed, yet there was no more to be said. I, at least, could think of naught. “All right,” said I. “Consider the letter withdrawn. The matter is closed.”
    With that, I picked up the tray and delivered it to Sir John. “Your breakfast,” said I as I slammed it down before him.
    “Would you pour my tea, please?” said he, apparently once more as unperturbed as when I first entered the room.
    I mumbled some sort of assent and did as he asked. Once I had done, I set about buttering his bread.
    “It was well writ,” said he.
    “Pardon? What was?”
    “The letter to that fellow, Welch.”
    “What? Oh … that … well … thank you.”
    “My objections had to do solely with its content.”
    “Yes, of course, I understand.”
    “Well, I hope you do. I do hope I’ve made my reasons clear. But sit down, won’t you, Jeremy?”
    I grabbed a chair and pulled it over to beside the bed. As I seated myself, I noted that he had begun to munch upon his breakfast, a chunk of buttered bread in one hand and a rasher of bacon in the other. I waited until he had swallowed. Only then did he speak.
    “First of all,” said he, “about that theory which you voiced last evening.”
    “Yes sir?”
    “Interesting, truly interesting, but I believe you are but half right. Where you err, I think, is suggesting that that huge theft was planned and executed solely — or even chiefly — to bring me forth as a target. Their haul from Lord Lilley’s was far too rich to be considered a mere exercise for such a purpose.
    “But to me, it seems,” he continued, “that you are quite right about the rest. Which is to say, whoever organized this robbery — and there is something familiar about the manner of it — was certainly eager to use it to bring me there. I agree that he who reported it was probably sent there specifically to make sure I came. Well, I did come, and we know the result. And so I must ask you to stand again, pistols by your sides, through today’s court session.”
    “I will. I’ll be there.”
    “And what had you planned in the way of furthering the investigation?”
    What indeed? I had given some thought to it — though perhaps not sufficient, so intent was I upon dissuading Sir John from sitting his court as usual. But I put before him what had occurred to me.
    “Well, sir,” said I, “two avenues of investigation seemed possible, but I fear I know not how to pursue them — not in any practical way, that is. The first would be to find out what I can about Walter Travis, the man who was left dead by the robbers. If he had a criminal past, as Mr. Burley suspected, then knowing more of him might lead us to those who killed him — and perhaps tell us why.”
    “A reasonable assumption,” said he. “I’d talk to Mr. Marsden about that. Though Travis is no doubt an alias, Marsden may have heard some stories about who left criminal pursuits for a life in service. The novelty of that would assure that it would be circulated up and down Bedford Street. A good story is long remembered. Oh, and talk to Mr. Bailey, too,” added Sir John. “He got a look at the fellow, did he not?”
    “He did, sir — and I’ll do all that you suggest. But about that second avenue I mentioned …”
    “Yes, oh yes, what is it, Jeremy?”
    “It also occurred to me that if we could find the booty, we could also very likely find those who had stolen it. But beyond looking at those known to be fences up in Field Lane, I know not where to inquire, nor to whom.”
    “Yes, well, to search in Field Lane you would need someone who knew the stolen items by sight — the butler would do if you can locate him again. Didn’t he make up some sort of list of stolen items?”
    “I believe he did.”
    “But in truth,” he continued, “I am not sure that you are likely to turn up anything in