“The police traced the guns to the river and onto a barge down as far as Bugsby’s Marshes,” he went on. “Whereas Breeland claims he took delivery of them at the railway station and went by train to Liverpool. Merrit Alberton swears to the same thing.”
“That doesn’t make a great deal of sense,” Henry said thoughtfully. “How competent are the police? I wonder.”
“Monk says the man in charge seems excellent. And regardless of that, Monk himself went with him. He says exactly the same. The guns went from the warehouse to the river, and downstream as far as Bugsby’s Marshes. From there it would be an easy matter to transfer them to an oceangoing ship, and across the Atlantic. Even Breeland doesn’t argue that he took them, and they arrived safely in America. Presumably they were used in the battle at Manassas.”
Henry said nothing, absorbed in thought.
“Hester believes the girl is innocent,” Oliver said, then instantly wished he had not. He had betrayed too much of himself. Not that Henry was unaware of his feelings. Hester had visited him often enough. She had sat in this room, watched the light fade across the sky and the last sun gilding the tips of the poplars, the evening breeze shimmering through the leaves. She had liked Henry, and she had felt at home here, comforted by more than the beauty of the place, the honeysuckle and the apple trees, also by an inner peace.
“Not that that is a reason, of course!” he added, and as Henry’s eyes opened wide, he felt himself blushing. It was exactly a reason. He had only drawn attention to it by denying it.
“There seems to be a great deal that you don’t know yet,” Henry observed, holding his pipe up and examining it ruefully. “The girl may have been used, and unaware of it.”
“That is possible,” Oliver agreed. “I need to answer a great many questions if I am to go into court with any chance of competence, let alone success.”
Henry looked at Oliver closely. “You have accepted the case, I assume?”
“Well … yes.”
Henry grunted. “A trifle precipitate. But then you are far more impulsive than you like to think.” He smiled, robbing his words of offense. There was deep affection in him, and Oliver had never in his life doubted it.
“I shall have to see Mrs. Alberton, of course,” he pointed out. “She may not wish to engage me.”
Henry did not bother to answer that. He had as high an opinion of his son’s professional abilities as had everyone else.
“What does Monk think?” he asked instead.
“I didn’t ask him,” Oliver replied a trifle tartly.
“Interesting that he did not tell you anyway,” Henry said, contemplating his pipe. “He is not usually discreet with his views. He is either being devious or he does not know.”
“I shall have more ideas when I have seen Merrit Alberton and heard what she has to say,” Oliver went on, perhaps more to himself than to his father. “I shall be able to make some estimate of her character. And naturally, whether I represent him or not, I shall have to speak to Breeland.”
“Do you intend to represent him?”
“I would rather not, but if he has any sense he’ll do everything in his power to see that they are charged and defended together.”
“What if he is prepared to defend her at his own cost?” Henry asked quietly. “If he loves her, he may do that. Will you allow him to?”
Oliver considered for several moments. What would he do if Breeland were willing to take the blame in order to exonerate Merrit, and yet he believed Merrit guilty?
“You had better consider it,” Henry warned. “If they are truly in love, they may each try to take the blame for the other, and make your task a great deal more difficult, whomever you represent. You had not thought of that,” he observed with surprise.
“No,” Oliver admitted. “It was nothing Monk said, rather what he omitted to say, but I had the impression Breeland would not sacrifice himself for anyone else. But I need to know a great deal more than I do, or I am going to run the risk of being caught in this.”
“Precisely,” Henry agreed. “For a start, could the story of Breeland’s be true, however unlikely?”
“About the agent, Shearer? I don’t know. Certainly I know of no reason that makes it completely impossible-I shall have Monk find out if there is such a person, and if so, what he is like. Could he have murdered Alberton and taken Breeland’s money himself?” He went on thinking aloud. “That would be the obvious line of defense, and presumably what Breeland will say. If I use that, either for Breeland or for Merrit alone, then I must be certain it cannot be disproved.”
Henry watched him in silence. Oliver realized he would certainly have to work closely with Monk, and he had resisted it until now. He wanted to take the case, but he would rather have been independent, presented Monk and Hester with the defense accomplished, rather than sought their assistance.
“Is it possible Breeland is guilty and the daughter did not know of it?” Henry suggested. “If she knew of it, unless she was taken by force to America, then she is an accomplice at least, and an accessory after the fact.”
Oliver said quickly, “I don’t know beyond doubt, but from what Monk told me, she cannot be unaware of the truth. She and Breeland were together the whole of the night Alberton was murdered, and she certainly was not in America under duress.” He hesitated. “And a watch that Breeland gave her as a keepsake was found in the warehouse yard.”
Henry said nothing, but his expression was eloquent.
Outside, the shadows were lengthening on the lawn and the air was definitely cooler. A three-quarter moon was luminous in the fading sky. The sun had gone even from the poplars.
“I am obliged to defend Breeland also.” Oliver stated the inevitable. “Unless he insists on his own man, in which case I imagine Merrit Alberton will choose to have the same person, whatever her family wants.”
“And will you accept him as a client, believing him guilty?” Henry asked. “Knowing that his condemnation will certainly mean the girl’s as well?”
It was a moral dilemma Oliver disliked acutely. He found the murders unusually repellent because they were brutal, and as far as he could see, also unnecessary. Breeland, or anyone else, could have stolen the guns without killing Alberton and the guards. They could have been left unconscious and bound, and still been unable to prevent the theft. By the time they were found Breeland had been safely away. The killing accomplished nothing and it was a gratuitous cruelty.
He would far rather have defended Merrit, even if it were no better than pleading her youth and a certain amount of duress or intimidation, and that she had not foreseen the violence. No such argument was feasible for Breeland.
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I need to understand a great deal more before I can even formulate what defense to make.”
The silence remained unbroken for some time. Henry stood up and closed the French doors, then returned to his seat.
“There is also the matter of the blackmail,” Oliver resumed, and to Henry’s surprise, told him what Monk had said briefly of Alberton’s urgent reason for consulting him. “I suppose that could be involved,” he finished dubiously.
“Well, you certainly need to find out who was responsible,” Henry agreed. “Perhaps they took revenge for not having been sold their guns.”
“But Breeland lied about the guns!” Oliver went back to the one fact that seemed inescapable. “Monk traced them down the river to Bugsby’s Marshes, not to the railway station and Liverpool.” He stared at the empty fireplace.
“But why murder?” Henry asked. “From what you have said, Breeland did not have to kill Alberton to take the guns. Consider this girl very carefully, Oliver. And consider the widow as well.”
Oliver was startled. “A domestic crime?”
“Or a financial one,” Henry amended. “Whatever it is, make sense of it in your own mind before you go into court. I am afraid you have no choice but to employ Monk to learn much more before you commit yourself to anything. I think you would be well advised to delay the trial for as long as you are able to, and know far more about the Alberton family before you speak on their behalf, or you will not serve your client well.”
