Dark Matter

“You may be right,” said Newton, in a voice that demonstrated some continuing source of concern in the matter of St. Leger Scroope. Usually he was most keen to see a man arrested as soon as he had sufficient evidence to obtain the warrant against him. But now he sounded strangely reluctant to proceed. And seeing my puzzlement moved him to explain himself to me:

“I hold myself partly responsible for Scroope’s fall from grace. I paid him very little heed while he was at Cambridge. I failed him, Ellis, and I can see no excuse for it.”

“No sir, not failed. From what you have told me earlier, Scroope failed himself. Even then he had perhaps the want of character that made him choose the wide and not the strait gate.”

I also spoke some other things to assuage my master’s sense of guilt; but it was to little or no avail, and while he sat in The Grecian, he drew up and signed a warrant for Scroope’s arrest—which power he had as Justice of the Peace—with a heavy heart.

“Did we have but time,” said he, “I would go to the Sessions House in Old Bailey to do this, for the history that lies between myself and Scroope persuades me that it would have been better if the warrant was obtained from a judge in the Middlesex court of quarter sessions. But there is no time. No, not even to fetch some sergeants and bailiffs to assist us, for this bird might fly the coop at any time; and needs must that we go and arrest him ourselves. Have you got your pistols, Ellis?”

I said I had, and within the quarter hour we were on our way back to Scroope’s place of business at the sign of the Bell to arrest him.

Upon seeing our warrant, Scroope’s Marrano servant, Robles, who had returned, let us in. A strange sight met our eyes: the furniture had been piled in front of the hearth, as if someone might have wished it to catch fire; but we hardly had time to pay this much heed, for Scroope met us from behind the door, with a pistol in his hand, which was levelled at us.

“St. Leger Scroope,” said Newton, ignoring the pistol and more in hope than expectation, “I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“Have you indeed?” said Scroope, smiling.

Seeing our situation, Newton sought to trick Scroope, promising that much could still be done for him, as if he still held all the best cards:

“I have men outside who are well armed and there is no way out of here. But it is in my power to plead for your life before the Lords Justices themselves,” he explained. “There is every reason to suppose that you may not be hanged and that you may be transported instead. With a proper sense of remorse, some diligence, and the grace of Almighty God, a man might rebuild his life in the Americas. Therefore I entreat you to give yourself up, Mister Scroope.”

Robles stared desperately out the window.

“I’ll not go to Tyburn on a hurdle, sir,” said Scroope. “To be untrussed like some spavined mare, and given my last suit of tar, and that’s a fact. I don’t fear death, only the manner of my dying. A musket ball has more attraction than putting myself in your bloody hands.”

“I’ve not done murder,” said Newton. “The Law is behind me, sir.”

“The Law murders many more innocent than I am, Doctor. But I have no complaint against the Law. Only your religion.”

“My religion? What, sir, are you Roman Catholic?”

“Aye, unto death.” He glanced anxiously at Robles. “Well? What can you see?”

“Nothing. There’s no one there,” said Robles at last.

“What” said Scroope. “You think you can cozen me, Doctor? You promise much more than you can deliver. Well, it was always thus. Despite your solemn oath at Trinity, it was well known you never performed a single act of divinity. You were always more interested in alchemy than you were in the affairs of the school. You were no pupil monger, I will grant you that, Doctor, but your own affairs did always tread closely upon the heels of your duty. Even so, I will regret having to kill one such as you, Doctor, for I believe you to be a great man. But you leave me with no choice. And it is very convenient that you have come by yourselves. Mister Robles and I were just about to set this house afire, in order to conceal our disappearance. But of course you would hardly have been satisfied, Doctor, without the presence of two charred corpses. But now you have solved all our problems. By killing the two of you, we can also furnish the bodies that will doubtless be taken for our own.”

“Be assured that your position is hopeless,” declared Newton. “The house is surrounded by my men. In our zeal to arrest you, we came but a moment or two before our men. Where can you go?”

Scroope glanced uncertainly at Robles. “Are you sure there is no one out there?” he asked. “For the Doctor’s manner persuades me that there might be.”

“There is no one,” insisted Robles. “Look for yourself, sir.”

“And take my eye off these two gentlemen? I think not. Light the fire.”

Robles nodded and went over to the hearth where he produced brimstone matches from a tinderbox, and put a flame to some dry kindling.