On that same evening, Alistair was staring out the window at the darkling twilight, sipping absently on a tumbler of rum. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang of the lion’s head door knocker, followed by the anxious patter of the little servant girl’s feet. A man’s voice could be heard speaking with the servant, followed by heavy boots on the marble floor. The little girl’s hand knocked lightly on his study door.

 

“Yes,” Alistair growled. The servant opened the door just enough for Hollingsworth to see Constable Walker.

 

“Come in, Mr. Walker,” said Alistair, trying to sound calm and disinterested, given that his heart was beating rapidly. “A drink, perhaps?” He motioned with his hand to the bottles of expensive liquor on the cellaret opposite his large desk. Never one to turn down a drink that may lead to more drinks, Walker gladly accepted. Knowing the constable’s penchant for the creature, Alistair poured him four fingers of West Indian rum. After the two sat down, Alistair asked him the reason for his unscheduled visit, given it was so near the dinner hour.

 

“Well, sir, as you know, there are all types of rumors afloat in this town about the Eaton drowning,” began Walker, careful to describe the manner of death as entirely accidental. “It appears that this gossip has compelled an Amesbury man to seek some attention, God knows why, and testify that the Mason brothers murdered Eaton on a wharf in Amesbury. The man claims to be an eyewitness to the crime. Arrest warrants have been granted for the apprehension of the Masons.” Walker was thoroughly enjoying the rum, lost in its rich brown and gold hue, so much so that he did not notice that Alistair was staring at him, aghast.

 

Hollingsworth cleared his throat and composed himself. “What a ludicrous charge! Who is this supposed witness?” he asked. “And why would that bring you to my home?” He was getting his bearings.

 

“I know that these men have worked on your ships and in your yards, and before this nonsense got any further, I wanted to make you aware of it. You are such a man of impeachable character, I would not be doing my duty if I did not call on you, sir,” replied Walker, hopeful for another four fingers.

 

“Well, you have behaved most honorably, sir, and have performed your duties well,” replied Alistair appreciatively. “I will seek out these men and get to the bottom of this. They never spend any time across the river in Amesbury, as far as I know. The whole matter is absurd. I will have my supercargo have a look around, although I am not altogether sure of their whereabouts. Alas, they may be aboard one of my ships.” Alistair tried not to smirk at Walker, who was busy draining the last drops of West Indian nectar from his glass.

 

The two men said goodnight, and the house servant showed Walker to the door. Alistair waited in the dark under the second-floor landing, listening for the clop, clop, clop of horseshoes bearing away the constable, for now. When he was certain the man had left, he shouted for the little house servant.

 

“Get me the stableman at once. AT ONCE!” Alistair bawled. He cursed and paced in the large front hall, his breath heavy and his face red. Claret came in from the front parlor and asked what the trouble could be. Containing himself, Alistair assured her it was a business matter. Satisfied and not really that interested to begin with, Claret left him alone in the hall.

 

The stableman came into the home, hat in hand, eyes on the marble floor. “Yes, sir?” he asked timidly.

 

“Go into town and find the Masons. They are likely at one of the taverns. Find Mosely as well. Bring them here immediately. Do not come back to this home without them. Do I make myself clear?” he bellowed, the index finger of his right hand almost touching the stableman’s nose. The man knew all three men of whom his master spoke.

 

“Yes, sir, as you command,” replied the trembling man, who then bolted from Alistair’s sight. Hollingsworth stomped out of the hall and back to his study, still in a fit of rage. The clock had just struck seven when Mosely arrived, coming in through the staff entrance and making his way to the front hall. The Masons were only a few minutes behind. Richard, hands shaking, used the heavy door knocker. Mosely opened the door, seemingly as if he had been standing behind it. He told the brothers to follow him.

 

“Keep your mouths shut. I will do the talking,” he hissed as they made their way through the hall and toward the study. They gawked in awe at the high ceilings, marble floors, stone carvings, and lavish millwork. They had never been inside such a fine home.

 

Richard Mason was likely in his late thirties, and Peter was perhaps a year or two younger. It was difficult to tell their ages, as hard living adds years to a man. The elder Mason was squat in stature. He had a sallow complexion, drooping brown eyes, and a flat nose. His brother Peter was taller, but incredibly skinny, and walked with a limp. His eyes were the same dull brown, but his countenance and mind were that of a young boy. Both men were balding, their thinning hair dirty and unkempt. Their clothes smelled of oil and tar, and their breath smelled of ale.

 

They stood in a line before the great desk. Alistair smoldered for well over two minutes, saying nothing. Finally, he looked up and glared at the men. He began, speaking quietly, but with such malice that shouting would have made the men less fearful. “How is it that the constable comes to my home asking about a murder that two men were so stupid to have committed in front of a witness? How is this? Tell me how this can be?” The men could only stare at the luxurious carpet, frozen with fear, saying nothing.

 

“We could kill the witness,” Richard blurted out, to the dismay and furor of Mosely, and to the blind rage of Hollingsworth.

 

“Do you think for a moment, you idiot—that you should be doing any more murdering?” Alistair shouted incredulously. “Perhaps you could just kill the witness in broad daylight right on Water Street? You complete fools! Perhaps I should do some killing?” Standing up and shaking with anger, Hollingsworth turned his wrath on Mosely. “He was toying with us. He knew the whole time, and you fell right into the trap.”

 

“Here is what you are going to do,” he hissed. “You are going to get on a ship and leave. You are going leave tomorrow and will go somewhere and not be found.” Then, looking at Mosely, he barked, “And you will go with them and make sure that they stay gone. Do not come back until this has been done!”

 

“But it will still be three days before the ship is ready to—” began Mosely, his words shattered mid-sentence by the crystal tumbler Hollingsworth had hurled across the room.

​

Alistair bit off each word, spittle flying from his mouth. “You will leave tomorrow. I do not care if the ship is half-empty,” he said, now panting with rage. “Drop them off at a place that is not on the planned route, say the ship needs work. I do not care what you say or how you do it. Take MY SHIP and get them gone. Get out! Get out and never come back!” With that, the men nearly fell over each other trying to get out of the room, leaving Alistair alone, terrified and out of breath.