The Protégé

June 8th, 1905

To my good friend Reginald, 

Something fascinating happened at my pub 3 days before I sent this letter. A murder of all things occurred here and as it caused quite a stir, the constable arrived in order to investigate the matter. On the floor lay the body, with a gunshot wound to the chest. Everyone surrounded the poor fellow on the floor, safe an old drunkard, out of his wits, poor chap, and a boy near him. Now, the constable was the first to speak. 

“You claim that all you heard was the victim shout, and then heard the table, get upturned then drop to the ground, rather loudly.” The constable wrote in his notepad. He was none too pleased about the statement. He was trying to make his way to each person in the pub. There were too many patrons to send in more officers into the building, as it was a festive evening. A system was then put in place that would have each person giving their statement, then their name and home, and the person was then dismissed until further notice. Slowly, each patron would leave, dreading another visit from the constable. 

After some time, they made it to the upturned gambling table, with all the chips and cards thrown about the floor. The opponents gave their testament at last. It was long past closing time, and even after giving my own statement, I was not able to leave, as it was my pub, and unable to close down. 

“Sir, what is it that occurred? I pray you tell the truth.” The constable spoke to one of the opponents of the victim.

“Pardon officer, but I am innocent in this crime. I never would-” The man was cut short by the constable, who seemed far more peevish than before. 

“Sir, I am not enquiring if you are innocent or guilty. I wish to know the truth.” The constable reminded the suspect with a harsh tone. This got the result the constable wished.

“What happened was that we were playing our game of cards, and as the poor chap was claiming victory. After victory and I confess, I was peevish and I started accusing him of rigging the deck of cards. I am ashamed to admit that I threatened him…” 

“Therefore, after threatening him, you proceeded to shoot him?” The officer growled, looking like he was going to reach for his club. However, a cough was heard from the old man in the corner. 

“Gunshot… Angle…” was coughed out twice by the old man. People turned to the old man. 

“Pardon? Do you have something to say, Sir?” The constable calmed down and was rather more polite, yet still suspicious. 

“Inkblot… Bangles…” This got everyone to return to the scene of the crime. The representative of the law looked back at the corpse, before he continued the conversation with the gambling rival of the deceased. 

“Which position were you when the table was thrown about?” 

“To his left at the table.” Looking at the rest of those around the table, who nodded in agreement. 

“Did you stand after the accusation of cheating? Picked up the table?” A harsh look was sent the gambler’s way. 

“I did stand… After slamming my fists on the table. But thrown? No, I did not…” The man looked frightened.

“Then you shot him, correct?” The constable approached, ready to make an arrest. That was when I interjected. 

“Unfortunately sir, he approached me for another order. That was when we heard the ruckus.” I was calm, but my heart was beating out of my chest. Of course, the man may have always been a mite temperamental and aggressive, but he never would kill another. Reginald, were you to see him with his children, you would know him to be a rather tender sort. 

Then came the next gambler. He was a rather short and stocky sort. 

“And you sir, you can agree to the accusation of the man being a crooked player?” The enforcer of the law stepped forward.

“Aye. He always did have a way of changing the game when he was losing quite a bit.” The accent was more of one who lived closer to Scotland, but still was English enough. 

“How did you respond? Were you cross on the matter?” 

“Aye, but a nasty look was all I gave the man.” The man was always more quiet, yet honest. “It was him I started brawling with, I did.” He motioned to the third gambler.

“And following that, you tossed the table?” Before the man could protest his innocence, the old man was heard coughing again. 

“Table… Irrelevant,” When everyone turned to look at the senile man, he mumbled. “True fable… at the Riverbend…” Everyone turned back to the murder scene. 

That’s when the boy at the table asked the old man something. “Were you once a detective?” The boy looked eager and excited. Smiling, the daft one replied. 

“Love justice.” The old man muttered, his smile looking melancholic. I have seen old men who have lost their wits come in all the time. Often, they would recall past memories when reminded of a place, a time or event, but not always. But there was something about this man that intrigued me. He recalled the gunshot, and how the table probably didn’t matter. If we do consider that the murderer shot him in the back, the two men remaining at the table could not be the murderer, and the table would be a false lead, as it would mean that the men would have shot him from the front. The boy answered gleefully.

“Do you already know who has done such a horrendous crime?” The constable meanwhile was questioning, or perhaps we shall say accusing the third man. 

“You are the only one with a proper motive who could have murdered the man, if the others had not done the crime. Confess assassin!” 

“How dare you accuse me of such a crime! Do you know who I am?” The young man was always well dressed. And it was the first real time he joined in the game with the victim. 

“It was the first time he gambled, at that particular table. He never did interact with the murdered party.” I spoke up. The constable then approached me, with a rather peevish look in his eye.

“You seem to have a good eye for clearing the lot of them from justice. I suppose you would have seen the murder take place?” 

“No. I simply know my clientele. I am well aware of who comes through my doors, who is new, who is a returning client, who is a repeating gambler, as I am well aware of their home lives. The one may have a temper, but when he gets too upset he comes to me with a request for a drink. He does so to distance himself from the situation. The next one always does like his back to the window. And the final one is far more well-to-do, however, since his promotion he has begun to return here once a month as he enjoys the environment. But none would murder the man.”  

Before the constable could accuse me of many foul deeds, the old man coughed again. “Halfwit.” This time the constable looked irritated at the senile old fool. 

“I shall teach the old man some respect.” This got my temper to flare.

“He has lost his wits! He is an old gentleman, whom is due some respect. Understood?” The last thing I wished for was for such a man to be accosted by a man abusing his authority. Needless to say, I must agree with my one patron that the constable was indeed a half-wit. 

Turning back to the scene, he proceeded to interrogate several other patrons. In the meantime, the lad questioned his elder on the crime. 

“How would you find who the killer was? There was a brawl that broke out, moments before the gunshot was heard.” The boy was insistent on learning from an elder, with a mind that is waning. A pity what age can do to a man, even the most brilliant of men can lose everything they value to time. 

“Gun…” Was what the old man muttered. He looked at the boy square in the eye. The boy’s eyes widened in alarm. The boy tried to get up to leave, but with surprising speed, the old man grasped the boy’s arm. Even I, with my sharp eyes, barely saw him move. 

In the meantime, the fool was trying to force an arrest on the man who ordered a beer earlier, whom I tried to defend.. “You are the only one that could have shot him! Confess.” He went to take out the cuffs, but before I could protest, I saw something that astounded me. 

“Constable, you are mistaken, you half-wit.” The old man got up, and had his hand wrapped around the boy’s arm. I wasn’t aware that he was able to put together a full sentence outside of his ramblings. 

“You dare… I am in the middle of-” The enforcer of the law was cut short. 

“What of the gun? There was a gunshot, but we have no gun.” The elder had a much more stern tone to his voice, and his eyes were displeased. “Perhaps you shall take a closer look at any of their hands for any trace of gunpowder.” Everyone was baffled by the aged elder speak so coherently, on a matter that was rather detailed. 

“Wha…” the constable stammered before recovering. “What, pray tell, are you saying, you old fool? Do you dare interfere with an arrest?” 

“No, I am not interfering in the arrest of a murderer, but that of an innocent man. Since you have been holding his hands did you see any powder on his hands, or on any piece of cloth nearby?” The officer looked at his hands, and the hands of his captive. The other constables listened closely to the suddenly intelligent elder. I must admit, I too was intent to listen to the gentleman. I decided it was time to give this man a chair. It would have been rude not to offer such a service. “Well?” 

“No powder.” The constable flushed a shade of red that would make any apple or tomato jealous. 

“What of the gun he had in his jacket?” This shocked everyone. With his hands released, the suspect looked into his coat. He looked in the pocket, and paled. 

“My wife’s gun… It is missing.” 

“Perhaps he got rid of it-” The constable tried to reach, but this got the old man to roll his eyes. “And how did you-” 

“Never you mind.” At this point the boy was struggling to escape. “What of the bullet wound. Was he standing or sitting when he was shot?” He turned to one of the gamblers. 

“Well, he stood up.” The first suspect answered curiously, speaking to the old man, as if he was the head constable. 

“Very well, what can you tell me about the wound? What was the angle of the shot?” Looking at the doctor who was present, analyzing the body. 

“It was pointed at an angle of about 40 degrees.” The doctor seemed to have clued into something. 

“Therefore, you have no gun that matches the gun, no gunpowder, a bullet wound from the back at a 40 degree angle. Well, constable. What can you tell me about the man you have deemed guilty?” The constable looked so cross, that he might have blown up in a similar way to dynamite in a mine. He removed the cuffs rather harshly. The boy paled and tried to fight against the old man. 

After managing to free himself quite rudely and roughly like a little ruffian, the old man grabbed the young rogue with his other hand, faster than I can see, very much like a cobra, and he pulled the boy in. He twisted the boy’s hand, and motioned to an officer, who came forward, and looked at the hand. It was black with gunpowder. The officer looked surprised, as the elderly gentleman pointed at the boy’s coat. 

“Young man, I will have you remove your coat for inspection.” Seeing the boy look around, he removed his coat, acknowledging he could no longer run. The officer felt inside, and found the gun in one of the inside pockets. 

“That is the gun that belongs to my wife!” The first gambler stammered out, shocked. 

The doctor looked at the bullet wound, looked at the boy, then mentally measured both the height of the ruffian and the man, and looked at the constable and nodded. “The height would match the boy, if he raised his arms.” 

The head constable walked over to the boy, roughly putting on the cuffs on him, and giving a cross look to the old man that saved an innocent man. The boy himself looked at his former teacher angrily. 

Pulling the boy away from the pub, it was rather shocking, that out of all the folks that were present, it was the youngest and smallest one who was the true murderer. I saw the boy a couple times before, yet I did not know of his past, similar to how I knew nothing about the old man. 

Now, the question on your lips, Reginald is likely “Why did the boy do it?” Well, my good friend, the boy was dragged out shouting at the old man, and the constables. 

“He tricked my father! Stole everything! Now Mama’s alone ‘cause of him!” The boy spoke in a rather crude manner. However, he wasn’t lying. The murdered was a criminal sort, yet I had no evidence to turn over to the law. It is indeed sad that the poor woman had now lost not only her dear gullible husband, but her son. The lad struck out of anger and blame, and has yet to have the courage to take responsibility for his actions, yet what is done is done. 

Then there is the matter of the old man. I have not seen hide or hair of him since the murder. It is as though he has vanished since then. Last I heard, one morning, he himself passed of an illness. Sad really, I would have given him a bottle out of courtesy for upholding his duty. I never did ask for his name.

I have yet to enquire about what happened to the lad, but from what I have heard, the mother of the boy, (may God bless her poor heart) tried to plead with the judges for leniency. Looking into such matters is never good business. It weighs heavy when the young take justice in their own hands against the guilty, but in the end, the boy is guilty of murder. 

Dear Reginald, the story of this mysterious old gent, and who he may have been is what I found fascinating on that day. 

Therefore, it is time to finish this letter, and I pray I hear from you soon.

Your dear friend, 

Jonathan Williams