Watery Grave by Bruce Alexander Read Free Book Online Page A

Each of us has a distinctive odor. That is how dogs tell us apart —not by our clothes, which matter little to them, nor by our faces, which they seldom see, but rather by our odor. Their sense of smell is much superior to their sight.”
    “And yours is also so keenly developed?”
    “Oh, I am no hunting dog, yet I can pick up a scent when the situation requires.” He laughed at his little joke.
    We rode in silence for a time; then I thought to ask:
    “What is my smell like?”
    “Oh, what indeed?” said he.” What makes one face different from another? A longer nose, perhaps? A chin stronger or weaker? It is, rather, the combination of all the elements, their balance, that gives the look of a face —or so I recall from my days with sight. Is that not so? Well then, just so, your smell is compounded of a good many elements—sweat, yours has a rather high odor; milk, you drink a good deal of it; and —oh, other things I suppose. It is not, in any case, an unpleasant smell, if that was your fear. Simply your smell.”
    “And each has his own?”
    “Precisely.”
    That silenced me, giving me much to consider, for a good piece of our journey. Sir John kept his quiet, as was often his way. Not until the Tower was in view did he speak up.
    “Did you have an opportunity to look in on Mrs. Gredge?”
    “I did, sir, yes.”
    “How did she seem to you? Better? Worse?”
    “In some ways better. She was awake and alert, but I noticed some difficulty in her speech, as if her tongue had grown too big for her mouth.”
    “I noticed that. Apoplexy may be the cause. She must not work again. I fear it would be the end of her. I shall try to contact her sons. There are three, I believe — two in London.”
    All discussion of Mrs. Gredge’s sorry situation ended at that point, for the hackney driver pulled up before a large, imposing building in a row of such imposing buildings. Although they stood within sight of the great rampart and moat, I had not noticed them on my previous day’s visit, so taken was I by the prospect of the Tower.
    These buildings housed the offices of the Navy Board. In one of them Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond awaited our visit. Up the stairs and inside, we presented ourselves to a petty officer, who chose a seaman from three on a bench nearby and detailed him to accompany us to the proper office. It was then up a good many more stairs and down a long hall. Sir John had no difficulty keeping up but had as little notion as I just where we were headed. There were two unanticipated turns at which we nearly collided with our guide, but at last we found ourselves before the proper door.
    The seaman rapped smartly upon it, then bawled forth, “Permission to enter, suh!”
    Then, from beyond the door, in a voice near as strong: “Permission granted!”
    The door was thrown open before us and we two. Sir John and I, entered an outer office at which a young lieutenant presided. The door slammed behind us. We were left in the lieutenant’s charge. He stood rigid in full-dress uniform, hat folded beneath his arm, and spoke forth in an unnatural nasal singsong tone, as if issuing orders to us.
    “I take it, suh, you are Sir John Fielding?”
    “I am he.”
    “And the young man?”
    “My companion.”
    That seemed to baffle him. He hesitated, then nodded sharply, about-faced, and made for the large door that stood behind his desk.
    We were ushered into an inner chamber twice the size of the one we had left. In size and furnishing, the room reminded me of the one occupied by Sir Percival Peeper at the East India Company in Leadenhall Street, not too far away from this very building. Yet where Sir Perci-val’s was a dark room made darker by drawn curtains, the admiral’s was all light and bright, the rear wall but one wide window by which I was near dazzled by the sunlight reflected upon the great river below. The Thames was there in full view, its docks and wharves busthng with activity, ships and