“How can you be so certain?”
“The initials, of course. You did notice them, didn’t you? Not only that, but a woman at the greengrocer’s on the corner remembers seeing Foy watching Eisler’s house.” Leigh-Jones sighed and straightened, his hands coming to rest at the edge of his worktable. “One would think you’d be pleased to hear that evidence has come to light suggesting your friend Yates is not, in fact, the murderer of Mr. Eisler.”
“You’re saying that Jud Foy is?”
“Was,” corrected Leigh-Jones, pushing to his feet to putter around to the other side of his worktable. “In Foy’s case, the verb is most definitely ‘was.’”
“You’ll be releasing Yates?”
The magistrate’s focus was all for his model. “I believe so, yes. We’re simply waiting on a few more pieces of information.”
“Such as?”
Leigh-Jones looked at him over the rims of his glasses. “You can read about it in the papers along with everyone else.”
“So who are you suggesting killed Foy?”
“Footpads, most likely. Fortunately, the sexton frightened them off before they were able to relieve the scoundrel of his ill-gotten gains.”
“And Collot? Who killed him?”
“Who?”
“Jacques Collot. He was shot by a rifleman near Seven Dials last night.”
“Ah, you mean the French thief. What has he to do with anything?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
“I rather think not.” The magistrate’s protruding belly shook with his breathy laughter, although Sebastian could see little real humor in the man’s face. “I’ve no doubt it’s a blow to your pride, having some common East End magistrate solve a murder that stumped you. But if it’s any consolation, I myself was wrong about Yates, now, wasn’t I? The important thing is that Eisler’s murder has been solved, the man responsible is dead, and the good people of London can go to sleep in their beds at night without needing to worry there’s some madman wandering in their midst.”
Sebastian studied Leigh-Jones’s fleshy, florid face: the watery, blinking hazel eyes; the small mouth pulled back into a self-satisfied grin. He’d learned long ago that for far too many people, it wasn’t really important that justice be done. Unless they were personally involved in some way, most cared little if an innocent man was hanged. What mattered was that those in authority be seen as having successfully fulfilled their duty to keep the people safe from fear or any perceived threat that might disrupt the tranquility of their lives. In that sense, Jud Foy dead was far more useful than Jud Foy alive. Dead men told no tales and answered no questions.
Sebastian said, “And if Foy wasn’t actually responsible?”
The magistrate’s cheeks darkened suddenly to an angry hue as he punched the air between them with one glue-smudged finger. He was no longer smiling. “No one will thank you for that kind of talk. You hear me? No one.”
“I’m afraid I can’t agree that should be a factor here,” said Sebastian, and left him there with his bits of wood and hemp and his pot of simmering glue.
Chapter 49
S
ebastian was crossing Pall Mall, headed toward Carlton House, when he heard himself hailed by Mr. Thomas Hope.
“My lord,” said Hope, panting slightly from the unaccustomed exertion of hurrying up the street. “This is fortuitous indeed. If I might have a word with you for a moment?”
“Of course,” said Sebastian, moderating his pace to the other man’s slower gait. “Is something wrong?”
The banker’s mouth worked furiously back and forth. “You’ve heard, I assume, that Yates is to be released from prison?”
“I had heard, yes. Do I take it you find that troubling?”
“What? Oh, no. It’s not Yates’s release that worries me, per se. It’s what we’re hearing about the death of this fellow Jud Foy. All these deaths associated with the diamond! It’s as if it’s cursed or something. First King Louis and Marie Antoinette, then the Duke of Brunswick. And now Eisler and Foy and that French thief whose name for the moment escapes me. To be frank, I’m worried about Louisa.”
Sebastian studied the banker’s homely, haggard face. He wondered if Hope realized he’d just admitted to knowing the true origins of his rare blue diamond. “You don’t still have the diamond, do you?”
“No. But then, neither did the King and Queen of France when they lost their heads. Or Brunswick when he was killed in battle. Or—”
“People die all the time. I’ve no doubt if you knew the entire history of any large gem, you’d find many people associated with it who died violently. Apart from which, I don’t believe Jud Foy actually had anything to do with the diamond.”
“You don’t? But . . . They’re saying he’s the one who killed Eisler! Are you suggesting you now believe Yates—”