The wager

It was a raucous bar. One would, under normal circumstances, not have heard this man speak. But it is not every day that one challenges Lord Birkbeck.

“I am not sure we have been introduced – Stuart Birkbeck. And you must be…”
“Oh, I know who you are Sir Mayor. I am just a carpenter Sir, Carpenter Paul. I was called in to work on some of the doors here Sir, and your bartender was kind enough to offer me a drink before I left.”

“And was it you, Mr. ‘Paul’, who shouted out his opinion just now?”

“Yes Sir. Pardon me sir, but I have been following your conversation from over there sir. I heard you say there is no perfect crime…. I would have to humbly disagree on that sir”.

Birkbeck looked around. There were sly smiles on people’s faces. “Well, nothing wrong in some fun now and then”, he thought to himself.

“So Mr. Paul, are you saying you have heard of this ‘perfect crime’ then?”
“Yes sir, my lord. There was infact one that I once saw unravel right in front of myself”.

Birkbeck pulled out a wad of cash and put it on the table. “Gentlemen, May I demand your attention for a moment please? I place a wager. Paul here will now be recounting his experience of having been a witness to a ‘Perfect Crime’. This wad here on the table goes to Paul if he does succeed in standing by his claims.”

Paul ran his hand behind his collar. He looked like the kind of person who found comfort in anonymity. All this attention was certainly not doing any good to his constitution. His hand quivered as he emptied his glass.

“I have seen a crime happen sir, which I think is impossible to attribute. It happened a while back sir."

He lifted his glass and emptied his drink.

"My memory fails me…but I do remember that it was a cold day sir. London was covered in snow and I was hauling out snow outside my place there.
I say my memory fails, but I find it hard to drive the picture of this man from my mind. He was tall sir, about your height I would say, and had the bearing of a man with considerable means. He wore a beaver hat, which had ostrich plumes on it and a jeweled band too... Yes, I would say he was quite well to do.."

"You never know...Lot of questionable hatters these days in London. I am not sure a lot of people can afford a jeweled ostrich plumed beaver. I remember Lord Birkbeck was one of the first to have one, weren't you Sir?" - shouted out one of the mayor's companions. The mayor smiled and looked at Paul, as if asking him to ignore and continue.

"There was some commotion in the city then Sir", Paul continued, "Anyway, as I was filling in my pipe Sir, I couldn’t help but notice that this person had stepped into a puddle twice. Twice Sir, in the London winter. Now no man can be that careless unless ofcourse his attention lay elsewhere. I deduced therefore that this man had a lot of worries.

He hailed a Hackney from across the street sir. As he stepped into it, his bowgett fell off onto the road. Now this was not a small pouch – and it fell into a puddle with a splash. But this man seemed to be in a tearing hurry to get into the carriage, because he did not notice the pouch fall off or the splash afterwards. I felt it appropriate to bring his attention to this Sir, so I shouted out loud. I called out for him, but the carriage had left by the time I reached the spot.

I picked up the pouch and ran after the carriage Sir. I could not bag the pouch myself Sir, I may not be a man of means, but I am still a man of God. And I assumed that returning this pouch might result in a reward, a guinea may be.

I was walking towards the police station Sir, when I realized that the very same Hackney was standing at the doorsteps of one of the houses. I realized that it might be a good idea to ask the driver as to where this person was dropped off and perhaps return the bowgett to the person directly. I assumed that the reward, if any, would be bigger that way.

I was walking towards this place that the driver pointed out Sir, one near West end. I ended up at the place Sir, and before I could enter, I noticed a very strange thing Sir. I noticed that the window on the first floor was open. It was winter Sir, quite a brutal one at that – it caused the highest number of deaths in London I remember.”

Another of the Mayor’s companions interrupted: “Ah! This must be 1678 then. That is the year you first became our Mayor my lord! This must be during the elections then!”

Paul continued – “So you see Sir, it was very weird, seeing a window open. As I wondered about this, I noticed that the air now was filled with the smell of gunpowder, which I thought explained why the window was open. Someone was trying to let the fumes out! I did not know what to do sir – I could not possible call the police – this was West end! I waited in the cold Sir, trying to make up my mind.
A couple of minutes later Sir, I notice this woman walking out. She had fur all around her, and I could barely see her face. But she seemed to be in as much of a hurry as the man I saw earlier. As I looked at this woman walk, I couldn’t help but notice that she reminded me of that man! The gait, the appearance – the bearing of this woman was so startlingly similar. And then as she hailed a hackney from across the street, I caught a glimpse of a leather belt around her waist. It had a broken hook, and it appeared as if it was damaged, as if a piece was missing.

It occurred to me then Sir. This was no woman! This was that very man! He went in, shot someone, dressed up as a woman, and walked out! I felt this incredible sense of surety sir, that this was indeed him. I was scared sir. I am a humble man you see, one who lives by the day – and I did not want any trouble with the Police… which was why I never told anyone about this.

Imagine my surprise then Sir, when I saw this very hackney stop at the Piccadilly and this women get down to a huge reception. There were people from the newspapers all around her. She had her face covered, and the fur pulled against her and she rushed into the ball before any of them could get close to her. It was the grand ball Sir, and everyone was there, the lords, the earls, everyone.

This is where the night ended for me Sir. I left for home that day. I had seen everything and nothing. What was I to say to the police? That I had smelt gunpowder and deduced that a man had shot someone and later walked out dressed as a lady form the crime scene? Who would believe me?

I woke up the next day Sir, and walked out for a spot of breakfast. I was turning the papers, when I noticed something that made me spill my coffee. It was that very man, sir!! The paper said that his sister, was…”, his hands quivered as he continued. “…was murdered! At the same place in west end that I had been to last night!...But the strangest thing was yet to happen Sir…”

“I turned the page to find a portrait of this lady. She was exactly like her brother in her bearing, in her height, her appearance….she was exactly like him! I read on Sir. The papers said that the lady had been spotted walking into a ball on the Piccadilly that very evening, and her body was found at her home the next morning. The police were of the assumption that a robber had broken into her house that night, and a possible confrontation led to her death…

But I knew what had happened Sir! The brother, he killed his own sister, dressed up as her, walked amidst the press into the ball, changed again into his man’s costume before anyone in the ball could notice him, and stayed there! The people inside the ball saw him and would swear by his alibi. The people outside the ball would swear by their knowledge that they saw the woman walk in!!

It is perfect Sir! The murderer and the victim were the same! How will they ever find out? How will they Lord Mayor?”

There was silence in the bar. Not one murmur, not a clink of ice in the glasses.
Lord Birkbeck was staring at Paul. Like he had seen a ghost.

Paul walked over. He removed his hat as he approached the mayor. Someone handed him his cash from the counter. Paul walked away. No one noticed him dropping something into the Mayor’s jacket.

As the Mayor left the bar that night, he felt something heavy in his pockets. He put his hand in to dig out a leather pouch. It was the bowgett he had dropped two years ago.