The Lady in the Window III (Newgate Prison Blues)

Jacob Jones is playing chess with his cell mate across the hall. Only there’s no physical board or pieces involved. It’s a mental game which requires serious concentration. They’ve been at it for days. That is, until this morning, when his cellmate bellowed from across the hall.

“Knight to Queens Bishop two,” he chimed.

“Checkmate!”

Jacob pondered this for a moment, and became outraged at his carelessness, sweeping the pieces off his imaginary chess board and sulking.

“Outwitted by a conniving lunatic,” he said. “A humiliation indeed.”

“I may be a lunatic,” said Simon, “but I’m not deaf!”

“Beg pardon, Simon,” said Jacob. “From now on I insult you in private.”

“Agreed,” said Simon. “That’s thirty out of fifty. My favor. Shall we have another go?”

“Not today, Simon,” he said. “I need some rest. I’m to see my solicitor today and I need my wits about me. Because I assure you, my solicitor is seriously lacking in that department. How he got to his position in the first place is beyond reason.”

“Why not get another?” said Simon.

“Why not grow a money tree in the prison yard and have a money picking party? It would be just as easy,” said Jacob.

“I’ll spot you some money, Jacob,” said Simon.
“It’s the very least I could do after the humiliation you suffered at my hands – or mind – if you will. Knight to Queen’s Bishop two. I can’t believe you didn’t see it coming.”

Jacob Jones was touched the offer, but declined all the same.

“That’s very kind of you, Simon,” he said. “But let’s go over your affairs as I understand them so far. Or should I amend that to simply, affair? For you only seem to have one that I know of. You’re a counterfeiter. In prison for counterfeiting. You’ve never done anything but counterfeit. And when asked by that undercover policeman who arrested you, where you get all that money, you told him, ‘I made it myself!”

“Well,” said Simon, “that may be true, but I was extremely drunk at the time, and he was doing all the buying. Curious as to the dye stains on my fingers and the fancy threads on my humble back. I simply had a weak moment and decided to share my good fortune.”

“As a counterfeiter?”

“No, Jacob,” he said. “As an artist. For that is what I am. And that is my only crime. Creating little bits of art and sharing them with the world! Counterfeiter indeed, Jacob! It’s a very insulting word to my artist sensibility.”

“Maybe someday in a more understanding world, they’ll come to see it your way,” said Jacob. “As for now, your little works of art aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. So I’m afraid I’ll have to kindly decline your offer and stick with old Rufus Jaspar, my dim-witted solicitor for the time being. Or until someone can offer me a better solution."

***

Sharing a handsome cab with Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson, Rufus T. Jaspar fumbled through his papers in search of a certain document.

“Have you found it, Mr. Jaspar?” said Mr. Holmes.

“I know it’s in here somewhere, sir!” said Mr. Jaspar. “I’m certain of it!”

Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson exchanged amused glances as paper after paper flew out the window.

“Perhaps you secured it in the inside pocket of your jacket,” suggested Holmes. “I know it’s where I would have put such an important document while traveling.”

Mr. Jaspar reached into his jacket and pulled out a small packet of papers tied with a blue ribbon.”

“How absentminded of me,” he said. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Thank you indeed.”

“Not at all, Mr. Jaspar,” said Mr. Holmes. “How long have you been practicing law, Mr. Jaspar?”

“A year next Tuesday, sir,” he said. “And I’ve taken to it with tremendous zeal. But this is my first murder case, sir. So I’m a bit nervous and am so very grateful that you and Mr. Watson could join me.”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way, dear sir,” said Holmes. “No indeed.”

Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson sat back and amused themselves with the awkward antics of Rufus T. Jaspar as the cab made its way to Newgate prison.