Dark Matter

“Until it burned down during the Great Fire. You did say you had some information for us?”

“I may have made a mistake,” said Mister Defoe.

“You most certainly have,” said Newton. “Mister Defoe, I seize you as my prisoner. Mister Ellis? Draw your sword and command this rogue’s obedience while I fetch a sentinel.”

I drew my sword as Newton had ordered, and extended the point toward Mister Defoe.

“Upon what charge do you detain me?”

“Spying,” said Newton.

“Nonsense.”

Newton brandished the papers Defoe had been reading.

“These are confidential documents in this office relating to the security of the coin of this realm. I cannot think what else I might call it, sir.”

“Is he serious?” asked Defoe when Newton had gone out of the office.

“He is so seldom anything else that I wonder if he knows one simple joke,” said I. “But you will find out if this is raillery or not, soon enough, I’ll warrant.”

As good as his word, Newton returned in the company of two sentries and quickly wrote out a warrant in his capacity as a Justice.

“Mister Neale will not tolerate this,” said Mister Defoe. “He’ll have me out of here in no time.”

Newton handed one of the sentries the warrant and commanded him to take the prisoner not to the Tower prison, as all of us had expected, but to Newgate.

“Newgate?” exclaimed Mister Defoe upon learning his fate.

“I believe you know it well enough,” said Newton. “We will see what your friends can do for you when you are in there.” And with that, poor Daniel Defoe was led out of the office, still protesting loudly.

“And now,” said Newton, when we were alone again. “Let’s have a fire and some supper.”

After supper Newton commanded me to go to bed, which I was glad to do, although I felt a little guilty leaving him at work; and so the next morning I rose early to do some paperwork of my own and found that he had not been home at all, and him being most sullen, it was evident how he had not yet made the progress he had earlier anticipated. His mood was not improved by the arrival in the office of milord Lucas, who loudly complained about my own conduct toward the late Major Mornay, and who proceeded to describe what had passed between us in a way that was quite contrary to the facts, so that I believed he had some ill will to me, or at least an opinion that I was guilty of provoking the Major to kill himself. But I cared not a turd — the more so when Newton defended me and took all the blame upon himself and saidthat Mornay had been murdered.

“Murdered?” Lord Lucas, who sat most stiffly as if he feared to ruffle his cravat or incommode his wig, and turned one way in his chair and then the other as if he did not believe what he had heard. “Did you say murdered, sir?”

“I did, milord.”

“What nonsense, Doctor. The fellow hanged himself.”

“No, milord, he was murdered,” repeated my master.

“What, sir, do you contradict me?”

“It was made to look as though he had hanged himself, by them as I hope soon to arrest.”

“I know your game, sir,” sneered Lord Lucas. “It’s your conceit to make men believe the very opposite of what their eyes and ears tell them to be true. Like your damned theory of gravity. I can’t see that either, sir. And I tell you plain, I don’t believe in it, sir.”

“I wonder, then, that you do not fly off this earth, and into the heavens,” observed Newton. “For I cannot think what else might detain you here, milord.”

“I have not the time nor the patience for your blasted Royal Society sophistry.”

“That much is obvious, in any case.”

“Well, you may think what you like, Newton. If he’s buried in this Tower—and it seems he will have to be, for his family don’t want the disgrace—it’ll be face down, north to south.” Lord Lucas opened his snuff-box and smeared his lofty nose with a generous pinch which did nothing to lessen his obvious distaste for our company.

“Then for the Major’s sake, I shall make a point of proving you wrong, milord.”

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” said Lucas. “Neither of you has.” And with a loud sneeze and a string of oaths he kicked the door open and marched out of our office.

Newton yawned and stretched himself like a cat. “I believe I shall take some air,” he said. “Whenever I am in His Lordship’s company I feel like I am a candle burning in Mister Boyle’s bell-jar, which soon goes out for lack of atmosphere. Besides, I have not moved from this chair all night. What say you that we venture out to the Strand and call upon Mister Scroope?”

“I think that it would benefit you, sir,” I replied. “For you are too much indoors.”