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One of the jurors smiled.
Wingfield looked irritated, but he was too confident of ultimate victory to take exception. Monk could see it even from where he sat.
Wingfield shrugged and walked a few steps farther forward.
“If my learned friend has finished…?” he said with slight sarcasm.
Rathbone sat down.
“Now, Mr. Hooper, you were, I believe, at Skelmer’s Wharf with the accused on the day Mr. Pettifer was drowned?”
“I was,” Hooper agreed.
“Why? What were you doing there?” Wingfield managed to look interested, as if he had no idea what the answer would be.
There was a rustle of anticipation in the crowd.
“Hoping to apprehend an escaped prisoner,” Hooper replied.
“A particular one?” Wingfield said sarcastically. “Or just any that might happen to pass that way?”
One of the jurors laughed nervously. A look of very light irony crossed Mr. Justice Lyndon’s face as well.
“A second one to escape the customs officers within the last couple of weeks, sir,” Hooper said rather loudly. “This one we hoped would be still alive. We were only called in when the first one was already dead.”
There was a rustle of movement in the gallery, and this time a quite unmistakable twitch of amusement in Mr. Justice Lyndon’s face.
“Drowned also?” Wingfield inquired with his eyebrows high.
“Yes, sir,” Hooper replied. “And shot! In the back.”
“Seems excessive,” Mr. Justice Lyndon observed. “Does this have something to do with Pettifer’s death, Mr. Wingfield? Are you accusing Commander Monk of having drowned this man as well?”
“No, my lord. However, it was this man Blount’s death that appears to have drawn the River Police into the whole affair,” Wingfield replied.
The judge turned to Hooper. “Do I understand it, Mr. Hooper, that you and Monk hoped to find the second escaped prisoner while he was still alive, for some professional purpose?”
Hooper looked as if he were relieved that someone was at last getting the point.
“Yes, my lord. We had been given the case of Blount’s death because of the bullet in his back. We believed there might well be a connection between his escape and this second man’s escape from the same force, that is the Customs service.”
“Proceed, Mr. Wingfield,” the judge directed.
“Thank you, my lord.” He looked at Hooper. “Why Skelmer’s Wharf? Did you have some information that made you believe he would be there?”
“It was a good, secluded place with a landing,” Hooper replied. “Tide was right, just on the turn. We thought the escapee would make for France and we’d had a tip-off that a fast boat was moored upriver and was maybe part of his escape plan. Good guess, as it turned out.”
“Just a good guess?” Wingfield sneered very slightly. “Is that how you usually apprehend escaped prisoners, Mr. Hooper? On a ‘good guess’?”
“We don’t usually lose ’em, sir,” Hooper answered.
There was a ripple of laughter around the gallery, and one of the jurors took out a large handkerchief to hide his amusement.
“Whose idea was it to go to Skelmer’s Wharf? Yours, or the accused?”
“We received the tip-off and immediately went in pursuit together.”
“How loyal of you! You are very loyal to your commander, aren’t you, Mr. Hooper? Risked your life for him, more than once, if I read your records right?”
