Chapter 41

The friends, neighbors, and family of Tom Green declined the generous offer of comfort in the office of the “’ead o’ them Peelers.” They headed off to the nearest gin shop to treat their sorrow in their traditional manner. I, however, returned to his office with him, while, on the street, a group of Bobbies attended to the scene.

The Superintendent fell into his chair and began rubbing his forehead. “Perhaps the gun flew out of his left hand and just landed by the right hand accidentally.”

“Well, sir, there is one more piece of evidence to consider. If the lad was shooting at you, he would be facing you. If he was facing you, how did Sir Percy shoot him between the eyes? He would have been standing behind the poor fellow.”

“I don’t know. Something is very wrong with this whole thing.”

The office door opened and a handsome, well-dressed man entered. “What is this emergency?”

“Ah, my lord, please, first let me present Mr. Duff, the detective. Mr Duff, this is Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Duff. Superintendent, I was in a discussion with Her Majesty when your summons arrived. What is so urgent?”

“My Lord, we may have a problem concerning your cousin.”

“Percy? What has he done now?”

The Superintendent explained about what had just occurred. “Mr. Duff, using the perspicacity acquired as a member of the Bow Street Runners, pointed out some physical evidence that does not support Percy’s account of the incident.” He outlined my objections to the theory that Tom Green was the shooter.

He continued, “Furthermore, I am told that Percy is holding prisoners at Newgate without providing for an appearance in court. He seems to be just throwing them into gaol on suspicion and leaving them there, all very illegal.”

At this point it appeared that the two men forgot my presence.

The Iron Duke rubbed his hands together. “We need to be very careful here. This is a delicate political situation. Since the Catholic Emancipation Act, certain forces have been, shall we say, very hostile to us. There is a growing fear that things English are being lost, that we need to take drastic steps to protect the realm.”

“Things English are being lost. English freedoms are being lost. The right to trial is as old as the Magna Carta!” The Superintendent was turning red.

“You don’t have to preach to me, sir. I know exactly how you feel, but if we lose our political position, we will be unable to do anything to protect English freedom. Being in power is what is important, and the power comes from the people, people who are afraid. We must keep them believing that if the Tories lose power they will be in danger.”

“But, but!”

“Never mind the but, but. Percy is our man to remind the people that our party is serious about security.”