Case in the direction of the potboy. It was hardly surprising that news of Dr Jonathan’s death should be spreading around the ship. If so, the lad seemed to be taking the information with the same equanimity as everyone else. More than equanimity, if one considered that no one had yet attempted to arrange the body more decently or reverently. I wondered what would be the reaction to the death on the part of Thomasina, the brothers’ cousin — except that she was more likely the mistress of one than cousin to both.
As I had this thought, the potboy placed a tankard at my elbow. Something about this individual’s manner and, more specifically, about his hand nudged my memory.
‘Thank you, Thomas,’ said Colin Case.
After he had gone I took a long draught of ale to fortify myself for what I was about to say. I jerked my head in the direction of the steps.
‘I wondered what had happened to Dr Case’s young cousin. She never left the boat, did she? Or he never left the boat, I should say.’
‘Cards on the table, eh?’ said the shipmaster.
‘Yes, cards on the table,’ I said. ‘We must be near the end of the game.’
‘It is not so difficult to guess, I suppose,’ said Colin Case, not even attempting a denial. ‘There is the coincidence of names, Thomas and Thomasina, which is not a coincidence at all, of course. Then there is the fact that both have the same height and build.’
‘And a mole just here,’ I said, indicating a point at the base of the thumb on my right hand.
‘I feel as though I have wandered into a real-life play,’ said Jack Wilson. ‘Young men dressing up as women, identification by means of a mole. What in God’s name is going on?’
‘My late brother had a preference for young men,’ said Colin Case. ‘There is no great shame in that, or at least it did not perturb me greatly. It is common enough among seagoing folk and, I dare say, in the stage-play world. Jonathan has — had — always been that way inclined.’
‘He followed the example of the King in two ways at least,’ said Henry Tallman, speaking with a mixture of amusement and disdain. ‘In his inclination towards youth and in his aversion to smoking.’
‘But Jonathan went further,’ said his brother. ‘He enjoyed sporting with others.’
‘Like encouraging Thomas to dress up as a young woman and taking him — her — to a play at the Middle Temple, a play in which a male plays a girl who disguises herself as a man.’
‘Yes. I thought it was an absurd thing to do. But Thomas agreed or was persuaded to agree, even though it seemed a kind of humiliation to me. And Jonathan actually went to collect the sky-stone rather than to watch a play. I am not sure whether he took Thomas along for colour, to make his presence at the Middle Temple more plausible, or whether he simply enjoyed the danger, the risk…’
‘The risk of pretending to be accompanied by his female cousin.’
‘That part at least was no pretence, Mr Revill. Thomas really is his cousin — and therefore he is mine, too. But a very distant one. There is no additional impropriety involved. Or not much impropriety. I believe, though, that Thomas was becoming tired of Jonathan. Not a tear has yet been shed for his death.’
‘Tired enough to put an end to him?’
‘You are very eager to find a murderer, Mr Revill.’
I do not know that I was very eager but suddenly I grew very irritated. Or simply tired. Tired of the whole thing. Tired of having been inveigled with Jack Wilson on to the Argo and carried away, if not out to sea then at least as far as Gravesend. Tired of having been taken from our fellows and our livelihoods at the Globe. Tired of being confined aboard a boat for what seemed like weeks rather than a couple of nights, and in company I wouldn’t have chosen. Tired, above all, of involvement in the violent murder of a physician who had a taste for dressed-up young men and who was about to trade a mysterious sky-stone, an object he had possibly acquired illegally and which might (or might not) be linked to his abrupt death. It was this irritation that caused me to say, ‘What about your other passenger, your hidden passenger, the person down in the hold? Couldn’t he have had a part in all this?’
Colin Case glanced at Henry Tallman. It was the occultist who answered me with the same phrase as the shipmaster. ‘Cards on the table?’
I nodded. So did Jack.
‘The person you are talking about is also called Nicholas — Nicholas Tallman. My brother, but dearer to me than Jonathan is or was to Colin here. For reasons that you can probably guess at, gentlemen, Nicholas needs to leave our country for a while, and perhaps leave for ever. I can assure you that he is not part of any plot or treason, but these are dark days for everyone who adheres to the old religion, the innocent as well as the guilty.’
‘You are such an adherent?’ said Jack.
‘No longer. I tell you I am interested in more arcane matters,’ said the occultist, swathing himself in a cloud of tobacco smoke. ‘But a brother is a brother. I arranged with Colin here that he should transport Nicholas to France. Nicholas was instructed to keep quiet in the hold until we were well clear of land, but he is a restless spirit and told me that he had encountered you. He also said that you had listened to him with, ah, deaf ears. For which I thank you.’
‘Was your brother aware that you were ferrying a priest to France?’ said Jack to Colin Case, nodding his head in the direction of the corpse behind the door.
‘Oh, no. He would not have been so understanding, not at all. In fact, knowing Jonathan, he might well have told the authorities, not so much to prove that he is a loyal citizen but out of malice.’
‘So neither one of you had a reason to love Jonathan Case,’ I said. ‘Not you, the ship’s master, nor you, Mr Tallman.’
‘And cousin Thomas and Nicholas the priest can be added to the roll,’ said Jack.
‘Let us fetch them in here,’ said Colin. ‘You can confront them and us with your suspicions. Perhaps one of us will confess. Isn’t that how things should be done at the end of the game?’
While the shipmaster was out gathering up the other suspects, Henry Tallman turned his attention to the loaf brought in by Thomas. He sawed the bread into sections using the knife that Colin Case had given back to him. True, he dabbed a little ale on the blade before wiping it on his sleeve to remove the marks of blood. His own blood, if we were to believe him. But I rejected the proffered chunk of bread, as did Jack. We sat in silence waiting for the captain’s return.
I would have welcomed the chance to discuss this peculiar situation with Jack, but it seemed somehow out of place in front of one of the individuals who might have killed Dr Case. There were at least four of them: the priest Nicholas Tallman, who feared exposure, the young man Thomas, who was said to be weary or even humiliated by his link with the physician, the occultist Henry Tallman, who bore a grudge (and might have wanted the sky-stone for himself — although, if so, why hadn’t he simply taken it after disposing of Case?), and the shipmaster Colin, whose distaste for his brother was not far from hatred.
Colin Case returned with Thomas and Nicholas. The young man was blushing, although that could have been the result of the fresh morning air. Nicholas was no longer wrapped up in his cloak and hood but dressed in a sailor’s jacket and slops. Wisely, he was adopting a disguise. His skin was pallid, as if he had spent his whole life shut up in small spaces. The Tallman brothers nodded at each other. There was no likeness between them. Henry was tall and gaunt, Nicholas was short and round in the face. Everyone sat down on the benches. The shipmaster opened proceedings without ceremony.
‘As you know, my brother is dead. The circumstances suggest that it might be murder, and our two player friends are keen to see that justice is done. Accordingly, the four of us are gathered here as the most likely suspects. Have you any question you wish to put to us, Mr Revill, Mr Wilson?’
There was more than a tinge of mockery in his voice. What was going on here? Why was there not more concern in Colin Case’s manner? He might not be sorry, might even be glad, that his brother was dead, but, surely, he should be showing a little concern for himself as a suspect? I could have said this but instead kept silent. Fortunately, Jack spoke up.
‘There was a disturbance last night. I heard voices raised overhead. This was long after everyone had gone to bed.’
‘I heard it, too,’ I said.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Henry Tallman. ‘I was tucked up snug. Slept well after my altercation with Jonathan.’
‘I was down in the hold among the rats and the wine casks,’ said Nicholas Tallman. ‘I am not certain I heard
