Parliament and Convention in the

Personal Rule of James V of Scotland,

1528–1542 Amy Blakeway
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Parliament and Convention
in the Personal Rule
of James V of Scotland,
1528–1542
Amy Blakeway
Parliament and Convention in the Personal Rule
of James V of Scotland, 1528–1542
 Amy Blakeway

Parliament and
Convention in the
Personal Rule of
James V of Scotland,
1528–1542
Amy Blakeway
School of History
University of St Andrews
St Andrews, Fife, UK

ISBN 978-3-030-89376-7    ISBN 978-3-030-89377-4 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-89377-4

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In memory of my father
John Graham Blakeway
1954–2002
 Acknowledgements

At its heart, this book argues that specialised and expert advice was a cen-
tral factor in governing Scotland in the reign of James V. It is therefore
fitting to first offer my heartfelt thanks to friends and colleagues who gave
their care, time and attention to reading draft chapters at various stages:
Jackson Armstrong, Paul Cavil, Mark Godfrey, Julian Goodare, Emily
Michelson, Cynthia Neville and Bess Rhodes. Counsel, of course, could
be delivered in a group as well as one-on-one, and I also owe thanks to
those who listened to earlier versions of chapters delivered as seminar or
conference papers, so thanks too to the attendees at the Edinburgh
University Scottish History Seminar I delivered in 2019, my paper at the
Scottish Legal History Group in 2019, the IHR’s Tudor-Stewart seminar
in 2017 and colleagues at the Legal Cultures Colloquium in 2020 (thanks
to Alice Taylor for inviting me to this).
I hope that whatever else people think of this book they at least see the
riches of the archival material on which it is based—even if this is compli-
cated and frustrating at times—and it is important to express my gratitude
to the staff who helped me at the National Records of Scotland, National
Library of Scotland, Aberdeen City Archives, John Gray Centre (East
Lothian Archives), A. K. Bell Library (Perth and Kinross Archives) and the
British Library. A fellowship at the University of Edinburgh’s Institute for
the Advanced Studies in the Humanities and a grant from the Strathmartine
Trust made travel to these places possible. Acknowledging these debts of
course recalls another facet of James’s governance—the need for meticu-
lous record keeping, and cash to keep the show on the road.

vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Finally, however, my biggest thanks are owed are to my friends and

family. Just like James’s kin and household must have been his first sound-
ing boards, thank you for listening to me talk about this project and offer-
ing sympathy and solace. You know who you are—but there are three
people I need to name. Thank you Aunt Elaine for your supportive listen-
ing ear. Emma Hart and family: thank you for lending me your flat and
Oscar the cat whilst I needed the Edinburgh archives. Above all, deep,
deep thanks are owed to my mother, Christine Blakeway, who has been my
rock throughout, and who confirmed the last date I needed for this
book—the year of my father’s birth. It is to his memory this book is
dedicated.
 Conventions

All sums of money given are in £ Scots unless otherwise specified, and all
dates are in new style with the year beginning on 1 January. Original spell-
ings have been retained and contractions silently expanded.
A crown was worth £1, a ducat £2.

ix
 Contents

1 Introduction  1

2 Council and Conventions 23

3 Conventions of the Lords, War and Wedlock: Public Or

Private Consultation? 83

4 Consultation and Access for the Third Estate139

5 Taxation and Finance177

6 Legislation, Treason and Parliament227

7 Conclusion283

Appendix A: Attendance at Conventions293

Appendix B: Repassed Legislation319

Bibliography331

Index347

xi
 Abbreviations

ACA Aberdeen City Archives

Aberd. Recs. J. Stuart (ed.), Extracts from the Council Register of the Burgh of
Aberdeen (Spalding Club, 4 vols, 1844–1872)
Actis (1542) The New actis and constitutionis of parliament maid be the rycht
excellent Prince Iames the fift kyng of Scottis (Edinburgh, 1542)
Actis (1566) The actis and constitutiounis of the realme of Scotland: maid in
Parliamentis haldin be the rycht excellent, hie and mychtie princeis
kingis James the first, secund, thrid, feird, fyft, and in tyme of
Marie now quene of Scottis, viseit, correctid, and extractit furth of
the registers by the Lordis Depute be hir Maiestieis speciall
commissioun thairto (Edinburgh, 1566)
ADCP R. K. Hannay (ed.), Acts of the Lords of Council in Public Affairs,
1501-1554. Selections from the Acta Dominorum Concilii
introductory to the register of the Privy Council of Scotland
(Edinburgh, 1932)
APS T. Thomson and C. Innes (eds), Acts of the Parliaments of
Scotland, (Edinburgh, 12 vols, 1814–75)
BL British Library, London
CSPV Rawdon Brown et al. (eds), Calendar of State Papers Relating To
English Affairs in the Archives of Venice (London, 38 vols,
1864–1947)
ECA Edinburgh City Archives
Edin. Recs. J. D. Marwick et al. (eds), Extracts from the Records of the Burgh
of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 13 vols, 1869–1967)
ER George Burnett et al. (eds), Exchequer Rolls of Scotland
(Edinburgh, 23 vols, 1878–1908)
HP Joseph Bain (ed.), Hamilton Papers (Edinburgh, 2 vols, 1890)

xiii
xiv ABBREVIATIONS

L&P J. S. Brewer (ed.), Letters and Papers Foreign and Domestic, of the
reign of Henry VIII (London, 21 vols, 1862–1910)
LJV R. K. Hannay and Denis Hay (eds), The Letters of James V,
1513-1542 (Edinburgh, 1954)
NLS National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh
NRS National Records of Scotland, Edinburgh
RCRBS J. D. Marwick and T. Hunter (eds), Records of the Convention of
Royal Burghs of Scotland (Edinburgh, 7 vols, 1866–1918)
RMS J. Thomson et al. (eds), Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum
Scotorum/Register of the Great Seal of Scotland (Edinburgh,
11 vols, 1882–1914)
RPC J. H. Burton et al. (eds), Register of the Privy Council of Scotland
(Edinburgh, 14 vols, 1877–1933)
RPS Records of the Parliaments of Scotland www.rps.ac.uk
RSS M. Livingstone et al. (eds), Registrum Secreti Sigilli Regum
Scotorum/Register of the Privy Seal of Scotland (Edinburgh,
8 vols, 1908–82)
SHR Scottish Historical Review
TA T. Dickson et al. (eds), Accounts of the Lord High Treasurer of
Scotland (Edinburgh, 13 vols, 1877–1970)
TNA The National Archives, London
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

On Epiphany in 1540, James V, his Queen, Marie de Guise, his council

and their court gathered in the Palace of Linlithgow to enjoy an ‘inter-
luyde’ which laid bare the unhappiness of the peasantry and exposed the
faults of their superiors, especially the clergy. The forum in which this
complaint was aired was one which would have been amply familiar to this
politically active audience: the fictional peasant appeared before ‘A man
Armed in harnes withe a swerd drawen in his hande, A BUSSHOPE, A
BURGES man, and EXPERIENCE clede like a doctor whoe sete theym
all down on the dies under the KING’. In other words, the peasant
appeared before the three estates, gathered in a ‘playne Parliament’.1
Despite the play-bishop’s anger upon hearing the peasant articulate what
amounted to a thorough critique of the existing Church, the other two
estates considered that the clerical abuses were ‘verey expedient to be rea-
formede withe the consente of parliament’. Unsurprisingly, when ‘the
Busshope said he wold not consent thereunto The MAN OF ARMES
AND BURGES saide thay wer two and he bot one wherfor thair voice
shuld haue mooste effecte’. The proposed reforms duly passed into law as
‘the King in the playe Ratefied approved and confermed all that was
rehersed’. This conclusion to the Christmas festivities was reported to

1
‘The copie of the notes of the enterluyde’, January 1540, BL Royal MS 7 C XVI f.138r.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Switzerland AG 2022
A. Blakeway, Parliament and Convention in the Personal Rule of
James V of Scotland, 1528–1542,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-89377-4_1
2 A. BLAKEWAY

English officials eagerly seeking information on the religious temperature

of the Scottish court, who seized upon James’s foreknowledge of the play
and warning to the clergy in its wake to amend their behaviour as a hope-
ful sign.2 Interest in the interlude as a source of information on James’s
openness to religious reform has survived the test of time and been shared
by modern historians of religious change in Scotland.3 Amongst literary
critics, too, the incident is far from being unknown: although literary
debate on the play’s possible relationship to the Lyon herald David
Lindsay’s later Satire of the Three Estatis has moved back and forth, the
pendulum seems to have settled at an acceptance of Lindsay’s authorship
and a close relationship between the 1540 interlude and the extant play
text despite the differing circumstances of production.4
In comparing the English spy report discussing the 1540 interlude with
the extant text of the Satire, Greg Walker has argued that both iterations
of the play ‘speak powerfully to the importance of parliament’ in the
Scottish polity.5 This observation is entirely in line with recent reassess-
ments by historians of parliament in late medieval and early modern
Scotland who, over the last generation, have dragged parliament out of
the wings and thrust it centre stage.6 Furthermore, Walker argued that the
Interlude played during James’s personal rule accorded a more central role
to the monarch than the Satire played during a minority, when parliament
assumed greater significance: in 1540, the pauper spoke to James; in 1552
and 1554, he appealed to parliament. Again, Walker’s claim that a period
of royal minority would lead to an increased role for governmental institu-
tions, in this case, parliament, is one which has been widely shared.7 The
case that well into the sixteenth century governmental institutions flour-
ished during royal minorities and the rule of women, whilst strong adult

2
Eure to Cromwell, 26 January 1540, BL Royal MS 7 C XVI f.137r.
3
C. Kellar, Scotland, England and the Reformation, 1534–1561 (Oxford, 2003), pp. 69–70.
4
For a summary of this debate: Greg Walker, ‘The Linlithgow Interlude and the Satire of
the Three Estatis’, Medieval English Theatre (2015), pp. 41–56 at 41–2. See also: Greg
Walker, The Politics of Performance in Early Renaissance Drama (Cambridge, 1998),
pp. 117–123, 128–9; Carol Edington, Court and Culture in Renaissance Scotland: Sir David
Lindsay of the Mount (Amherst, 1994), pp. 49–50.
5
Walker, ‘The Linlithgow Interlude and the Satire of the Three Estatis’, p. 54.
6
For an overview of this: K. M. Brown and R. J. Tanner, ‘Introduction: Parliament and
Politics in Scotland’ in K. M. Brown & R. J. Tanner (eds), Parliament and Politics in Scotland
1235–1560 (Edinburgh, 2004), pp. 1–28.
7
Jenny Wormald, Court, Kirk and Community: Scotland 1470–1625 (London, 1981),
p. 22; Julian Goodare, The Government of Scotland 1560–1625 (Oxford, 2004), pp. 130–1.
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

Kings ruled free from the constraints of parliaments, councils and the like
is gradually being revised. However, its long dominance explains why we
know far more about the imaginary parliament crafted by Lindsay than the
parliaments actually summoned during James’s reign.
Whilst the spy reports of the interlude have been scoured for informa-
tion on the performance itself, read carefully, they reveal as much as about
real-life government as they do Lindsay’s fictitious parliament. William
Eure, the English official whose reports constitute our evidence for the
play, obtained his information from two members of James’s council.
Asking them directly ‘whate mynde the king and counsaile of Scotland was
inclyned unto concernyng the busshope of Rome’, the two Scots had
described a play about parliament (though not an actual meeting of that
assembly), said James had known about the play beforehand, and affirmed
that he and his council had watched it. Beyond this, they gave Eure to
understand that after Marie de Guise’s coronation, James intended to
hold a ‘convencon of the lords’—here, they hoped, might church reforms
be discussed.8 Looking again at the well-known report of Lindsay’s play,
we in fact see all the elements of consultation brought together: the con-
stants of the court and council, as well as the occasional meetings of parlia-
ment and convention. The appearance of all these things together
encapsulates one of the key arguments advanced in this book, namely, that
consultation and decision making in the personal rule were complex,
multi-stage processes which encompassed multiple meetings cutting across
different institutions and extra-institutional discussions alike.

* * *

To date, historiographical debate on the reign of James V has focused

largely upon the King’s character and his relations with his magnates.
Mid-twentieth-century surveys of sixteenth-century Scotland taught gen-
erations of undergraduates that James (perhaps on account of his Tudor
blood) was little better than a tyrant, obsessed by greed and unable to
work with his nobility.9 The reader of these works is left with the strong
impression that James was saved from the ignominious fate of murder at
the hands of his rebellious subjects, as his Scottish grandfather James III

Eure to Cromwell, 26 January 1539/40, BL Royal MS 7 C XVI f.137r.

8

Gordon Donaldson, Scotland: James V to James VII (Edinburgh, 1978 reprint), pp. 61–2;
9

Wormald, Court, Kirk and Community, p. 12.

4 A. BLAKEWAY

had lost both his crown and his life, only by his untimely death following
a disastrous military campaign led by low-born favourites. With this type
of reputation, it is unsurprising that James for many years failed to attract
serious scholarly attention. This ‘most unpleasant of all the Stewarts’
apparently simply lacked the roguish renaissance charm of his father, the
salacious appeal of his daughter or the imminent pan-Britannic impor-
tance of his grandson.10 However, the first serious modern scholarly work
on James’s governance, Jamie Cameron’s reassessment of James’s adult
kingship, marked a departure from previous accounts of James as a
magnate-­crusher and emphasised instead that for most of his reign the
King enjoyed support from a broad cross-section of his nobility.11 Typically
of the time he was writing, however, Cameron’s interest was primarily in
monarch-magnate relations, not the institutions through which these
might be conducted. Accordingly, his attention to James’s parliaments and
conventions focused on an account of the 1528 parliament, the first of the
personal rule, and a discussion of magnatial attendance at subsequent ses-
sions and conventions as part of his broader case that James enjoyed a
broad base of magnate support.12 Alongside this reassessment of political
relationships, a wider group of studies have demonstrated that James pre-
sided over a lively and glamourous court which, as Andrea Thomas
observed, combined both chivalric and humanist influences to ‘glorify the
unique dignity and status of the monarch’ whilst fostering relationships
with his magnates.13 Such courtly talents, moreover, were put to good use

Wormald, Court, Kirk and Community, p. 12.

10

Jamie Cameron, James V: The Personal Rule, 1528–1542 (East Linton, 1998).
11

12
Whilst other sessions are noted in passing the major analysis comes at: Cameron, James
V, pp. 38–43, 356–9. For the parliament of 1528 see also: W. K. Emond, The Minority of
James V: Scotland in Europe 1513–1528 (Edinburgh, 2019), pp. 260–3.
13
Andrea Thomas, Princelie Majestie: the court of James V of Scotland 1528–42 (Edinburgh,
2005) p. 225; Andrea Thomas, ‘Crown Imperial: Coronation Ritual and Regalia in the
Reign of James V’, in Julian Goodare and Alasdair MacDonald (eds.), Sixteenth-Century
Scotland: Essays in Honour of Michael Lynch (Leiden, 2008) pp. 43–67; Janet Hadley
Williams, ‘James V of Scots as literary patron’, in Martin Gosman, Alasdair A. MacDonald
and Arie Johan Vanderjagt (eds), Princes and princely culture, 1450–1650 (Leiden: Brill,
2003), pp. 173–98; Carol Edington, Court and Culture in Renaissance Scotland: Sir David
Lindsay of the Mount (1486–1555) (Amherst, Mass., 1994); Janet Hadley Williams (ed.),
Stewart Style, 1513–1542: essays on the Court of James V (East Linton, 1996); Sarah Carpenter,
‘David Lindsay and James V: court literature as current event’ in Jennifer and Richard
Britnell (eds), Vernacular Literature and Current Affairs in the early sixteenth-century:
France, England and Scotland (Aldershot, 2000).
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

in the complex diplomacy emanating from James’s need for a wife and his
country’s enhanced European status, arising in part from Scotland’s posi-
tion as a bastion of orthodoxy standing against Henry VIII’s heresies, and
in part from James’s tantalisingly close position to his English uncle’s
throne.14
A number of relevant implications can be drawn from these studies.
First, if James had a sophisticated and glamourous court and was able to
conduct diplomacy adeptly, this would have required administrative back
up and adequate funding, which, in turn, would have required consulta-
tion to acquire it in the first place. Roger Mason has revealed how the
expansion of Latin literacy to layfolk facilitated the growth of a new pool
of individuals on whom James’s regime could rely alongside the tradi-
tional clerical stalwarts of royal bureaucracy.15 Theo van Heijnsbergen
built on this to show how, since many of James’s administrators were also
accomplished poets, literary and administrative talents might be combined
in the same individuals and operate through shared networks of connec-
tions.16 In this book, we will meet several of van Heijnsbergen’s culture
vultures putting their Latinity to good use in their day jobs. Secondly, the
quality of sophisticated ceremonial and literature circulating around
James’s court speaks both to the ability of James’s regime to communicate
outwards to a broader public and to direct its messages inwards in the
form of counsel to the monarch himself. In exploring how processes of
disseminating information to subjects and advising the monarch worked
in institutional settings, we are therefore knocking at an open door: it has
already been amply established that these were important concerns for the
regime. Thirdly, the humanists working at James’s court were intimately

14
Dana Bentley-Cranch and Rosalind Kay Marshall, ‘Iconography and literature in the
service of diplomacy: the Franco-Scottish alliance, James V and Scotland’s two French
queens, Madeleine of France and Marie de Guise’, in Hadley Williams (ed.), Stewart style,
1513–1542, pp. 273–88; Edmond Bapst, Les Marriages de Jacques V (Paris, 1889);
M. P. Rooseboom, The Scottish Staple an account of the trade relations between Scotland and
the Low Countries from 1292 till 1676; with a calendar of illustrative documents (the Hague,
1910); John Davidson and Alexander Gray, The Scottish staple at Veere, a study in the economic
history of Scotland (London, 1909); Kellar, Scotland, England and the Reformation; Richard
W. Hoyle and J. B. Ramsdale, ‘The Royal Progress of 1541, the North of England, and
Anglo-Scottish Relations, 1534–1542’, Northern History 41.2 (2004), pp. 239–65.
15
Roger Mason, Kingship and the Commonweal: Political Thought in Renaissance and
Reformation Scotland (East Linton, 1998), pp. 104–138.
16
Theo Van Heijnsbergen, ‘Studies in the Contextualisation of Mid-Sixteenth-Century
Scottish Verse’ (University of Glasgow, unpublished PhD, 2009).
6 A. BLAKEWAY

familiar with notions of imperium and the concept that James was an
Emperor in his own kingdom who owed allegiance to no one else.17 Such
ideas were not new in the 1530s, and as Ryoko Harikae has shown with
reference to John Bellenden’s vernacular translation of Hector Boece’s
History, they appeared gradually and did not emanate in a straightforward
manner from the monarch.18 Even so, in the context of the intellectual
networks to which van Heijnsbergen has pointed, it seems reasonable to
suppose that this exalted understanding of monarchy tinged how James’s
administrators understood their own activities in the service of the crown.
Most pertinently for our present purposes, however, a small but grow-
ing number of studies of the roles of central institutions in James’s per-
sonal rule suggest that the 1530s witnessed significant governmental
development. The first moves towards this came from legal historians
interested, naturally enough, in the development of Scotland’s highest
civil court, the court of session.19 The late medieval royal council com-
bined both advisory and judicial functions: in May 1532, however, parlia-
ment approved the setting up of the college of justice, and this provided
these judicial sessions with an institutional identity distinct from that of
the council. This proved a decisive moment in the longer-term process
whereby the judicial sessions became the preserve of trained jurists alone.
Mark Godfrey’s work has been particularly valuable in showing that the
growing jurisdiction of the session and the eagerness of James’s subjects to
avail themselves of its services sits comfortably alongside the more estab-
lished historiographical emphasis on feud and extra-institutional justice.20
This important point about judicial practice—that dispute resolution hap-
pened both through the King’s courts and outwith them, and that these
two methods were not in competition but worked in concert with each
other—is reflected in the findings about political decision making and
counsel in this book. Consultation typically took place across a series of
interconnected and carefully managed meetings, including council,

17
Mason, Kingship and the Commonweal, pp. 104–38.
18
Ryoko Harikae, ‘“Daunting” The Isles, Borders, and Highlands Imperial Kingship in
John Bellenden’s Chronicles of Scotland and the Mar Lodge Translation’, in Joanna Martin
and Emily Wingfield (eds), Premodern Scotland: literature and governance 1420–1587: Essays
for Sally Mapstone (Oxford, 2017), pp. 159–170.
19
John W. Cairns, ‘Revisiting the foundation of the college of justice’, in Hector
MacQueen (ed.), Stair Society Miscellany Five (Edinburgh, 2006), pp. 27–50; A. M. Godfrey,
Civil Justice in Renaissance Scotland: The Origins of a Central Court (Leiden, 2009).
20
Godfrey, Civil Justice, p. 447, 355–399.
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

parliament, conventions and extra-institutional means. These were not

­competing with each other for prominence, and a royal preference for one
was not an attempt to sideline another—just as royal efforts to develop the
court of session cannot be read as an attempt to extirpate arbitration.
Rather, the political toolbox was well stocked with a range of gadgets from
which to select the best for the job in hand.
The session was not the only group which grew out of the council,
drawing on some of its members whilst excluding others. Athol Murray
has shown that the lords of council appointed to the exchequer could act
with the authority of the full council and deal with its business whilst the
exchequer was in progress.21 Evidently, the council in this period offered a
pool of expertise from amongst which sub-groups could be selected on a
permanent or temporary basis to meet a specific need. Where, then, does
that leave the portion of the council dedicated to offering advice to the
King? Cameron’s focus on James’s interest in smooth relations with his
magnates meant that his interest in James’s council was confined largely to
membership, rather than its place in governance, although he noted the
difficulties facing the historian looking for its activities post-1532.22 In
making this case, he drew on R. K. Hannay’s observation that ‘public’
business declined in frequency in the council register following James’s
assumption of power. Hannay speculated that this might have arisen from
the development of a now lost register.23 I have argued elsewhere that the
decline can indeed be explained by changing record keeping and that a
‘secret council’ remained very much part of James’s regime.24 Many of its
records have subsequently been lost, but there is strong evidence that by
being based part of the time in Edinburgh the group facilitated James’s
peripatetic lifestyle and that they advised on diplomatic relations with
England. This book provides still more evidence for the continued impor-
tance of a council that both counselled and offered administrative support
throughout the personal rule. It is important to stress with all the histori-
ans cited in this paragraph that the council’s advisory role, the

21
Athol L. Murray, ‘Exchequer, Council and Session, 1513–1542’, in Hadley Williams
(ed.), Stewart style, 1513–1542, pp. 97–117.
22
Cameron, James V, pp. 292–4, 342–343.
23
R. K. Hannay (ed.), Acts of the Lords of Council in Public Affairs, 1501–1554. Selections
from the Acta Dominorum Concilii introductory to the register of the Privy Council of Scotland
(Edinburgh, 1932), p. xliii.
24
Amy Blakeway, ‘The Privy Council of James V of Scotland, 1528–1542’, Historical
Journal 59: 1 (2016) pp. 23–44.
8 A. BLAKEWAY

development of the session and the appointment of lords of exchequer

were based upon earlier precedents. Even so, these developments provide
a very good example of James’s regime showing a preference for the use
of smaller, specialised, groups to deal with particular specialist tasks. One
of the major contentions of this book is that the type of specialisation
which is so well established as an aspect of legal and conciliar development
in this period is equally pertinent to understanding how James employed
his other central governmental institutions.
Although less full than the studies of James’s court and diplomacy,
together, this research into the administration and organisation of central
government has shown that this was a time when considerable attention
was paid to the organisation of central institutions as well as to sharing at
least some of their activities more widely throughout the kingdom. In this
context, it is surprising that the considerable revisionist scholarship pro-
duced on the late medieval and early modern Scottish parliament has yet
to extend to James’s personal rule.25 For both the late fifteenth and early
sixteenth centuries, the once radical reassessment that parliament was an
important part of political life and, generally speaking, was more than
equal to the task of resisting the monarch is now the new orthodoxy: the
plethora of studies which have cumulatively established this status have
ranged widely encompassing a range of approaches. For the purposes of
the present book, a number of themes are important to drawn out of the
scholarship on the immediately preceding and following periods.
The first is the importance of parliament as a tool for legitimising politi-
cal activity, especially regime change. The parliament of 1488 which
explained away the death of James III as an unfortunate accident, that of
1515 which confirmed John Stuart, duke of Albany as rightful governor,
the assembly of 1525 which declared James V an adult, the meeting of the
estates summoned when James took power into his own hands in 1528,
the March 1543 parliament which confirmed James Hamilton, earl of
Arran, in the regency after his initial appointment in a convention in
January, and the parliament held eleven years later in 1554 when Arran
relinquished the regency to Marie de Guise are the examples which

25
For a helpful overview of these tendencies: William Fergusson, ‘Introduction’, in Clyve
Jones (ed.), The Scots and Parliament, (Edinburgh, 1996), pp. 1–10. For the traditional view
of James’s parliaments: Robert S. Rait, The Parliaments of Scotland (Glasgow, 1924), p. 43.
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

immediately bookend our period of study.26 Parliament continued to play

this role until dynastic union in 1603, the 1567 assembly which registered
Mary Queen of Scots’s deposition is probably the most dramatic example,
but Goodare has argued for the importance of parliament as a component
in articulating governmental legitimacy more broadly.27 Crucially, these
assemblies did not actually cause regime change: this had already hap-
pened by the time parliament was summoned and fenced. Rather, they
advertised the fact regime change had occurred, asserted it to be in keep-
ing with the laws by holding the assembly in keeping with parliamentary
traditions, and recorded it. After such a meeting, no one could claim igno-
rance that the ruler had changed and the act of witnessing also served to
endorse and approve the new regime. The political capital to be gained by
the combination of doing something and being seen to do something,
mirrored by the process of witnessing and being seen to witness, was well
understood by James V’s regime and constituted an important factor in
many of the assemblies it summoned.
Whilst parliament allowed new regimes to proclaim their right to rule
and offered opportunities for their policies to be endorsed, this did not
mean that it sat putty-like and pliant in the crown’s hands. Roland Tanner’s
work on the parliaments of the first three James’s in particular has empha-
sised the extent to which the estates could engage in adversarial relations
with the crown, especially on the issue of taxation.28 In particular, Tanner
reassessed the role of the lords of the articles.29 This was the most impor-
tant committee of Scotland’s unicameral parliament, tasked with receiving

26
Norman Macdougall, ‘The estates in eclipse? Politics and Parliaments in the reign of
James IV’ in Brown and Tanner (eds), Parliament and Politics in Scotland 1235–1560,
pp. 145–59; Norman Macdougall, James IV (East Linton, 1997), pp. 58–60; W. K. Emond,
‘The Parliament of 1525’ in Brown and Tanner (eds), Parliament and Politics in Scotland
1235–1560, pp. 160–178; Emond, Minority of James V, pp. 35–6, 246, 262; Cameron, James
V, pp. 38–42; Pamela Ritchie, ‘Marie de Guise and the Three Estates 1554–1559’, in Brown
and Tanner (eds), Parliament and Politics in Scotland, 1235–1560, pp. 179–202; Amy
Blakeway, Regency in Sixteenth-Century Scotland (Woodbridge, 2015) pp. 56, 59–61, 75–83.
27
Goodare, Government of Scotland, pp. 29–31, 37–41.
28
Roland Tanner, ‘“I arest you, sir, in the name of the three astattes in perlement”: the
Scottish Parliament and resistance to the Crown in the fifteenth century’, in Tim Thornton
(ed.), Social attitudes and political structures in the fifteenth century (Stroud, 2000),
pp. 101–17; Roland J. Tanner, The Late Medieval Scottish Parliament: politics and the three
estates, 1424–1488 (East Linton, 2001).
29
Roland Tanner, ‘The Lords of the Articles before 1540: a reassessment’, Scottish
Historical Review 79 (2000), pp. 189–212.
10 A. BLAKEWAY

petitions and suggestions for new laws, drafting potential statutes (the
‘articles’ from which it took its name) and presenting them to the whole
house for discussion and a vote. Traditionally dismissed as the yes-men of
the crown and an effective mechanism by which the crown kept the estates
in check, Tanner’s work on the committee until 1540 and Alan
MacDonald’s on the late sixteenth-century lords of the articles have
cumulatively overturned previous assumptions that the articles stymied
parliament’s activities for the crown’s benefit.30 During the 1530s, there is
little evidence that the lords of the articles forced through unpopular mea-
sures. We will see in chapter 6 a large portion of its work in some sessions
(notably that of 1535) was devoted to selecting acts to be repassed: much
of what this committee did was simply not controversial. On the other
hand, chapter 2 will show that the picture is complex and that Tanner’s
suggestion that the committees of the early sixteenth century do look
more pliant than their predecessors in fact needs to be taken further.31 The
committee of the articles could be managed in such a way as to exclude
some members from politically sensitive discussions whilst temporarily
adding unelected members to their number. Cumulatively, this could
indeed make the articles look very much like the council.
Those members who were excluded on such occasions were invariably
representatives of the third estate: the burghs. This at first glance seems to
suggest the 1530s sat at a considerable distance from the final decades of
the sixteenth century, when, as Alan MacDonald has amply demonstrated,
the third estate was an active and engaged participant in the parliamentary
process which afforded both the burghs as a whole and individual com-
munities considerable opportunities to achieve their aims, largely focused
upon the preservation of their privileges.32 Much of this activity was facili-
tated by meetings of conventions of the burghs, special meetings of the

30
Alan R. MacDonald, ‘Deliberative processes in Parliament c.1567–1639: Multicameralism
and the Lords of the Articles’, Scottish Historical Review 81:1 (2002), pp. 23–51.
31
Tanner, ‘Lords of the Articles’, pp. 210–212.
32
A. R. MacDonald, ‘Uncovering the Legislative Processes in the Parliaments of James
VI’, Historical Research 84 (2011) pp. 601–17; Alan R. MacDonald, ‘The third estate:
Parliament and the Burghs’, in Parliament in Context, 1235–1707 (Edinburgh, 2010),
pp. 95–121; Alan R. MacDonald, The Burghs and Parliament in Scotland, c. 1550–1651
(Aldershot, 2007); Alan R. MacDonald, ‘“Tedious to Rehers”? Parliament and Locality in
Scotland c. 1500–1651: the Burghs of North-East Fife’, Parliaments, Estates and
Representation 20:1 (2000), pp. 31–58.
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

third estate summoned to discuss business appertaining to the ‘common-

wealth of merchandice’, but late sixteenth-century burghs also partici-
pated in conventions of the three estates, extra parliamentary meetings to
which representatives of all three estates were summoned.33 Although
chapter 4 shows that conventions of the burghs met more frequently dur-
ing the 1530s in order to discuss the Scottish staple, no extra-parliamen-
tary conventions of the three estates were held during this period.
What, then, was the meeting due to be held after Marie de Guise’s
coronation in 1540? Eure, our informant on this point, was a northern
Englishman who regularly met with Scots and received reports from spies
north of the border: this gathering was obviously so familiar to Eure him-
self and his anticipated reader in the Henrician court that he felt no need
to explain it further. This is deeply frustrating, because taking a longer
view across the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries conventions in the 1530s
were unusual. Alongside their parliaments, councils and courts, conven-
tions offered Scottish monarchs a further way of gathering advice.
Unconstrained by the parliamentary requirements of a forty-day summons
and set invitation list of the clergy (from archbishops to abbots), nobility
(from dukes to lords) and representatives of the parliamentary burghs,
conventions offered the opportunity to consult flexibly with a group
beyond the regular council. Parliament’s form was settled more or less
throughout the sixteenth century (with the notable exception of the
admission of the lairds in the reign of James VI), but conventions changed
considerably between the late fifteenth and late sixteenth centuries.34
Whilst the three estates met outside parliament in the ‘great council’ dur-
ing the fifteenth century and in conventions of the three estates after the
reformation, such meetings did not take place during James V’s personal
rule. The meetings described as ‘conventions’ were, instead, specially

33
James David Marwick and Thomas Hunter (eds), Extracts from the records of the
Convention of the Royal Burghs of Scotland (Edinburgh, 8 vols, 1870–1918); Theodora
Pagan, The Convention of the Royal Burghs of Scotland (Glasgow, 1926); Alan R. MacDonald
and Mary Verschuur (eds), Records of the Convention of Royal Burghs, 1555; 1631–1648
(Woodbridge, 2013). For conventions of the three estates: Alan R. MacDonald, ‘Consultation
and Consent under James VI’, Historical Journal 54.2 (2011), pp. 287–306.
34
Julian Goodare, ‘The admission of lairds to the Scottish Parliament’, English Historical
Review 116.5 (2001), pp. 1103–33; Julian Goodare, ‘The estates in the Scottish Parliament,
1286–1707’, Parliamentary History 15 (1996), pp. 11–32; Julian Goodare, ‘Who was the
Scottish Parliament?’, Parliamentary History 14 (1995), pp. 173–8.
12 A. BLAKEWAY

summoned meetings of selected members of the first and second estates,

centred on the regular council but bringing in specialist advice from
beyond the usual roster. Eure’s description of the one held in early 1540
as being ‘of the lords’ seems a fitting epithet for these bodies. As we shall
see, however, ‘lords’ was an elastic term which could on different occa-
sions encompass not only the higher nobility and clergy with a right to
attend parliament but also the lords of council, prominent amongst whose
number in this period were burgesses learned in the law.
There is significant debate surrounding conventions in their various
forms. For Robert Rait, the existence of another body able to tax and to
pass temporary legislation helped to build his case surrounding parlia-
ment’s weakness: parliament was beset and successfully undercut by this
‘rival’.35 Irene O’Brien’s exploration of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century
‘conventions’ alongside parliaments took a more careful approach.
Highlighting the changes to these bodies over time, O’Brien firmly
rejected claims they constituted a ‘rival’ to parliament—a position on
which Julian Goodare has expanded.36 The conventions encountered in
this book should not be understood as quasi-parliamentary. Conventions
could not try traitors, nor make a permanent law, nor, it seems, did they
offer quite the same quality of endorsement of legitimacy as a parliament.
They were attended by clerics and nobles, always joined by the royal offi-
cers. Their membership was focused around and their authority was ulti-
mately derived from the council—chapter 2 will lay out this case in greater
detail. Their lack of juridical competence alone meant that conventions
could not ‘rival’ parliament, nevertheless, during the 1530s, conventions
of the lords were an important mechanism of government—especially, we
will see, in chapter 3, when facing military campaigns at home or against
the English, smaller conventions proved a helpful way of gaining counsel,
whilst larger meetings served to endorse plans. During James’s personal
rule, conventions of the lords varied considerably in size and this flexibility
allowed them to perform a range of functions. Conventions were a highly
flexible institution, combined with the fact that their authority derived

35
Rait, Parliament, pp. 9–18.
36
Irene O’Brien, ‘The Scottish Parliament in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries’
(University of Glasgow, unpublished PhD, 1980), pp. 235–270; Julian Goodare, ‘The
Scottish Parliament and its early modern “rivals”’, Parliaments, Estates and Representation,
24 (2004), pp. 147–172.
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

from the council, this made them a useful tool—especially alongside the
council and parliament.
These themes, of flexibility, and of different types of meetings being
summoned to tackle different aspects of the various concerns facing
James’s regime, cut across this book. Chapter 2 explores conventions and
their relationship to the council, identifying when conventions were held
and who attended, demonstrating the way in which the council was cen-
tral to a range of types of meetings (including the curious hybrid group of
‘lords of articles and council’ who occasionally surface in this period). The
considerable variations amongst types of conventions are explored in more
depth in chapter 3, when, in the context of a study of the conventions held
during the overlapping military campaigns of 1530–3, we see that smaller
groups met to offer counsel or plan and larger groups, broadly speaking,
witnessed important events. Having established that the burghs were not
invited to conventions of the lords does not, however, mean that the
burghs never met outwith parliament: chapter 4 turns to the increase in
evidence for meetings of the third estate in this period. A need to discuss
the potential locations for the Scottish staple port exposed a range of posi-
tions regarding when the third estate ought to be consulted. Together
these three chapters build a picture of a political system characterised by
specialised consultation. Although discussion was certainly controlled and
ordered by James’s regime, it is more helpful to think in terms of the selec-
tion of specialised groups to offer specialised counsel than to adopt an
inclusion/exclusion model. Having seen the important role conventions
played in planning for warfare, it is unsurprising to discover that they also
granted James a significant quantity of taxation. The uncontested ability of
conventions to grant a tax is worth stressing at the outset since this was a
distinctive aspect of Scottish taxation and marks a point of contrast with
practices, for instance, south of the border. Chapter 5 shows that parlia-
ment’s role in granting taxation was far less significant either than the
extra-parliamentary taxation which James received from conventions, or
the permanent expansion of the royal patrimony which parliament effected
through confirming the annexation of forfeited lands to the crown. Whilst
chapters two to five emphasise the different and complementary parts
which council, convention and parliament might play in managing differ-
ent facets of the same concern, chapter 6 turns to the two areas where
parliament was distinct from these other governmental institutions: its
role as a court and its legislative activities. Parliament’s activities as a court
where traitors were tried were hugely significant in this period, but rather
14 A. BLAKEWAY

than being a space where punishment was sought, it more often served as
one amongst several places where accused traitors could negotiate with
the regime and, in many cases, ultimately make their peace with the
crown—albeit for a hefty price. Turning to legislation, we see that although
codification of the laws has hitherto been located in the reigns of James I
and James VI, the prevalence of repassing laws in the 1530s suggests that
James V’s regime too devoted considerable attention to reviewing, revis-
ing and repromulgating the law.
Between 1528 and 1542, we find the Scottish crown seeking counsel
frequently, inviting specialist gatherings of its subjects to discuss such
diverse topics as war with England or how international trade should be
managed via a staple port, being granted the taxes for which it asked, seek-
ing reconciliation with its subjects rather than in absentia convictions,
engaging with existing legislation to better organise the law and drafting
new statutes to support these efforts. Building on Cameron’s work on
James’s largely positive relations with his magnates, this transports us a
world away from earlier accounts of James’s predatory kingship. It is
therefore important to emphasise that whilst this book is focused on
uncovering how consultation worked, James and his administrators were
more than able to coerce: indeed, it is possible that the focus of this book
on meetings designed to secure counsel or consensus obscures some of the
regime’s worst coercive excesses. These too however were a component of
control. For example, in 1540, the aged James Douglas, earl of Morton,
was imprisoned without being told the cause—in Inverness ‘in the sesioun
of wynter’, no less, exposed to the ‘cauld and tempestuous air’ and pro-
vided with a diet of only ‘rude and ungangand metis’.37 Forced by James
to resign his earldom, within six months of the King’s death, Morton
sought to have this reversed. Morton’s deposition provided in support of
his case suggested that his situation was not unusual—the elderly earl
recalled that it was ‘weill knawin that our said umquhile Soverane Lord
was Prince of the realme and usit to put his mainisings to execution and
ward his men and leigis at his plesour’.38 Morton got his earldom back—so
at some level, his story must have been credible. It is not hard to see how
such behaviour fuelled James’s traditional historiographical reputation.

37
Cosmo Innes et al. (eds), Registrum Honoris de Morton II (Edinburgh, 1853)
pp. 289–294. See also NRS CS7/1/2 f.281r.
38
Registrum Honoris de Morton II, p. 291.
 1 INTRODUCTION 15

Morton’s case is a dramatic example, however, throughout this book,

we also see instances of James driving hard bargains with men seeking to
enter his peace, suspending acts of parliament by royal letters, refusing to
repay debts which parliament had told him he ought to and passing this
burden onto the burghs. Indeed, the importance of treason trials to parlia-
ment’s business, and the importance of managing aspects of political life
ranging from domestic military campaigns to conventions, affords us a
glimpse of the iron fist curled inside a (doubtless very stylish and expen-
sive) velvet glove. There is a profound tension between the regime’s
emphasis on consultation and elaborate procedures to perform rituals of
counsel and consent deployed via both parliament and conventions, and
its use of both actual violence and judicial threats. However, the fact that
James’s regime sought to incorporate consultation on some occasions
when it could have proceeded straight to coercion suggests that it did
indeed consider that consultation was important and that consulting, or at
least being seen to consult, had a purpose in helping it to achieve its aims.
Securing buy-in might have been easier than exercising coercive power;
equally, just as Morton’s resignation was technically legal but secured
through threats, we should not discount the possibility that some gather-
ings—probably the larger and more apparently performative ones—were
exercises in informing subjects and securing their acquiescence rather than
gaining advice. Just as the traditional emphasis on James’s coercive activi-
ties should not be allowed to obscure the fact that notions of counsel
remained rhetorically important and had an influence on practice, nor
should an emphasis on consultation allow us to forget occasions when the
crown openly flexed its muscles. The institutional apparatus explored in
this book allowed it to do both.
The sources on which this research is based are familiar to historians:
the parliamentary registers, the register of the lords of council and session
and royal financial materials are supplemented by royal correspondence
and burgh records. Even so, it is helpful to spend a few moments attend-
ing to some of the technical aspects of our three main sources since this
allows us to appreciate what we can and cannot uncover. Turning first to
the parliamentary registers, James V’s personal rule is considerably better
served than his own minority or that of his daughter, since parliamentary
records cover the entire period. Three extant manuscripts traditionally
understood to be ‘official registers of parliament’ now record the activities
16 A. BLAKEWAY

of James’s adult parliaments, covering 1524–31, 1532–8 and 1532–42.39

However, I have argued elsewhere that the third volume covering 1532–42
was not produced as a complete register of parliament’s activities but,
rather, as a record of the statutes in preparation for the printed edition of
these which appeared in 1542.40 The manuscript remained in use in the
early portion of Mary’s reign, until 1548, but at some point in the nine-
teenth century, the manuscript was split in two and materials appertaining
to James’s reign were separated from those of his daughter. This has con-
siderable implications for our understanding of the records. First, it allows
us to more accurately identify which material from the 1535 parliament
made it beyond the articles stage to reach the statute books. Secondly, this
means our only record of parliamentary activity between 1540 and 1542
began its life as draft for a printed compilation of statutes. Whilst the draft
and the printed volume did include some non-statute material, it is highly
likely this was not a full record of parliament’s activities—notably, judicial
matters may well have been excluded. Chapter 6 fleshes out these implica-
tions to show the 1535 parliament passed fewer laws than we thought and
presents strong evidence to suggest that other sessions heard judicial busi-
ness which is not in the extant registers.
The volume covering 1532–8 is also not straightforward. This too is
highly unlikely to be a complete record of parliamentary business. It con-
tains numerous blank spaces and incomplete entries. Given this is quite a
neat volume, these omissions suggest it was copied from minutes taken in
the sessions and that this process was incomplete. It is annotated through-
out by the clerk register. This combination of an incomplete record which
was handled by the clerk register suggests that the manuscript may not
have been produced for the crown’s archives but, rather, might have been
the clerk register’s own working copy—as the 1532–48 manuscript
became after 1542. In short, whilst the publication of the printed Actis
that year means it is likely that we have a record of all general statutes dat-
ing between 1535 and 1541 for many other areas of parliament’s business
we are not so lucky. Gaps in the record are particularly marked for the
1533–4 and 1538–9 sessions, for which no business was recorded in the
manuscript and which do not appear in the printed edition. Chapter 5 will

39
NRS PA2/8/I-III.
40
Amy Blakeway, ‘Reassessing the Scottish Parliamentary Records, 1528–1548: manu-
script, print, bureaucracy and royal authority’, Parliamentary History 40 (2021),
pp. 417–442.
 1 INTRODUCTION 17

suggest the 1538 parliament granted a tax and chapter 6 posits that both
sessions were summoned to deal with judicial business. In essence, these
parliamentary materials are a lot better than nothing but we still need to
use them with caution and doing so alongside other evidence can yield
new discoveries. These complexities in the manuscript also mean that
despite the existence of three modern editions of these records, there are
a number of questions which can only be answered by consulting the orig-
inal records.41
Despite the complexities of its record, parliamentary activity for this
period is at least recorded in its own register: decisions made by conven-
tions, on the other hand, were sometimes but not always recorded in the
register of the lords of council and session. For our period, this contains a
mixture of ‘public’ business alongside civil legal cases (often related to
property or inheritance) and private contracts, inserted at the behest of the
parties to render the agreement more secure.42 It also contains records of
the exchequer when it sat as a court, and this shared record underscores
the extent to which the three bodies of exchequer, council and session
were intimately related.43 The register also notes, albeit inconsistently,
decisions to summon both conventions and parliaments. Evidently, the
register of the lords of council and session is an important source for this
study, but it too needs to be approached with care. As with the parliamen-
tary materials, the extant registers are not usually the original notes taken
during meetings, but rather were compiled after the event. These were not
always completed: blank spaces left for sederunt lists (recording who was
present) or the contents of meetings remain frustratingly unfilled. Clerks
were perhaps awaiting material not immediately to hand. Equally, material
might arrive with the clerks responsible for the fair copy after they had

41
William Robertson (ed.), The Parliamentary Records of Scotland in the General Register
House 1240–1571 (Edinburgh, 1804); APS; Keith Brown et al. (eds), Records of the
Parliaments of Scotland www.rps.ac.uk. For Robertson and Thomson’s editions see: Julian
Goodare, ‘The Scottish Parliamentary Records, 1560–1603’, Historical Research 72 (1999),
pp. 244–267 at 265–6; Blakeway, ‘Reassessing’; Amy Blakeway and Laura Stewart, ‘Writing
Scottish Parliamentary History, c.1500–1707’, Parliamentary History 40:1 (2021),
pp. 93–112.
42
R. K. Hannay (ed.), ‘Introduction’ to Acts of the Lords of Council in Public Affairs,
1501–1554 (Edinburgh, 1932); Athol Murray, ‘Introduction’ to Alma B. Calderwood (ed.),
Acts of the Lords of Council 1501–1503 (Edinburgh, 1993), pp. xxvi–xxviii; Murray,
‘Exchequer, council and session’; Godfrey, Civil Justice, chapter 5 passim.
43
Murray, ‘Exchequer, Council and Session’, pp. 100–1.
18 A. BLAKEWAY

completed the relevant entry—this would be inserted at the nearest avail-

able gap out of chronological order. We have just seen the parliamentary
registers also contain gaps: this filling-in was usual practice across many
types of governmental records.44 Although widespread, this habit of leav-
ing space in anticipation of interventions which might or might not
­eventuate means that in several instances the dates on which meetings
took place or dealt with particular business need to be worked out quite
carefully, and there are a number of technical interludes dealing with this
in chapters 2 and 3. Summaries of entries from this register are given in
the printed Acta Dominorum Concilii [ADCP], although since this early
twentieth-century work did not include information on sederunt lists, for
any study, such as this one, interested in who decided something, or,
indeed, in seeing a full record rather than a summary, it remains essential
to consult the original manuscript.45 Indeed, the editor of the ADCP him-
self, R. K. Hannay, acknowledged that ‘a close study of the council, much
desiderated and certain to be arduous, cannot be effective without con-
stant reference to the manuscript register’.46
Beyond the need to understand how these volumes were compiled by
their early modern creators, like the 1532–48 parliamentary register now
split at 1542, the register of the lords of council and session has suffered
from nineteenth-century intervention. The present archival organisation
imposes a division amongst the materials in May 1532, when the college of
justice was inaugurated. However, Athol Murray has shown that this divi-
sion was not contemporary: rather, it was created under the auspices of
Thomas Thomson, deputy keeper of the records in the nineteenth centu-
ry.47 In fact, the inauguration of the college marked no change in the record
keeping practices of James’s clerks, and the manuscripts now divided into
CS5, CS6 and CS7 in the National Records of Scotland should be under-
stood as part of the same continuous early modern record series. As James
V’s reign advanced, but particularly from c.1535 onwards, the quantity of
what Hannay described as ‘public’ business in the council registers declined

44
Murray, ‘Exchequer, Council and Session’, p. 100.
45
R. K. Hannay (ed.), Acts of the Lords of Council in Public Affairs, 1501–1554. Selections
from the Acta Dominorum Concilii introductory to the register of the Privy Council of Scotland
(Edinburgh, 1932).
46
ADCP, p. ix.
47
Athol Murray, ‘Introduction’ to Acts of the Lords of Council in Civil Causes, 1501–1503,
iii, ed. A. B. Calderwood (Edinburgh, 1993), p. xiii.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
closes… Il faut que Monsieur les ait refermées après mon départ et
s’il est mort d’un coup de sang, comme on le dit, c’est probablement
à cause de l’excessive chaleur à laquelle il s’était condamné.
— Voyez-vous, dis-je à M. Crawford, un excès de précaution peut
être quelquefois pire qu’une imprudence ? Notre assassin a pensé à
tout… Il a même dépassé la mesure, car le soin qu’on a mis à
démontrer qu’il était impossible de pénétrer chez M. Chancer prouve
au contraire qu’on y est entré.
M. Crawford parut contrarié.
Il était évident qu’il perdait du terrain.
— Pourquoi, riposta-t-il, vous faut-il bon gré mal gré un
assassin ? On ne tue pas les gens sans raison… on assassine pour
des motifs d’ordre passionnel, ce qui n’est pas le cas, je suppose…
On assassine surtout pour de l’argent… A-t-on volé M. Chancer ?
Mon honorable contradicteur avait raison.
Dans ma précipitation, je n’avais pas encore songé à ce facteur
élémentaire de toute présomption de crime : le vol.
Je congédiai donc la valetaille et fis signe à Bailey et à Mac
Pherson d’approcher.
L’inspecteur Bailey gardait un air goguenard qu’il accentua même
lorsque je pris la parole.
— Vous vous êtes sans doute, lui dis-je, livré à une perquisition
sommaire ?
— Dès la première heure, oui, monsieur Dickson.
— Avez-vous relevé des traces d’effraction sur les meubles ?
— Aucune, monsieur Dickson.
Et le chief-inspector ajouta avec emphase :
— Le vol n’est pas le mobile du crime, si toutefois il y a crime.
— Sur quoi étayez-vous cette affirmation ?
Bailey me désigna un petit secrétaire en bois de rose :
 — Voici le meuble où le défunt serrait ses valeurs. Tout est en
place… monsieur Dickson peut s’en rendre compte.
J’ouvris le secrétaire avec précaution.
Sur les tablettes, des papiers soigneusement rangés et
assemblés par liasses s’étageaient en petites piles régulières. Rien
dans cet ordre méticuleux ne laissait supposer que la main hâtive
d’un voleur eût fouillé ces archives.
Je visitai un à un les six tiroirs intérieurs du meuble et j’en trouvai
cinq bondés de ces menus objets sans valeur que collectionnent les
maniaques inoffensifs. Quant au sixième, lorsque je le tirai, il rendit
un son métallique.
La figure de Bailey s’épanouit.
Ce tiroir était rempli de monnaie d’or.
— Ce sont les économies du bonhomme, me dit le chief-
inspector. Je ne pense pas que l’on puisse parler de vol dès lors
qu’on se trouve en présence d’un malfaiteur assez novice pour ne
pas faire main basse sur un trésor aussi peu caché.
Je considérai cet or qui scintillait au fond du tiroir et semblait me
narguer.
La somme paraissait assez considérable, mais en cela seul ne
pouvait consister toute la fortune du mort.
J’en fis l’observation à Bailey.
— Sait-on d’où M. Chancer tirait ses ressources ? me répondit le
chief-inspector. Il devait avoir un ou plusieurs hommes d’affaires à
Melbourne… Ceux-ci administraient son bien et lui en servaient le
revenu… Cet argent doit représenter le dernier versement ; tel est du
moins mon humble avis, monsieur Dickson.
L’explication était, en effet, assez vraisemblable.
En présence des policiers, je vidai le contenu du tiroir et une à
une les pièces d’or me passèrent entre les doigts.
C’étaient des souverains à l’effigie de la reine Victoria et — détail
qui me surprit — ayant tous un aspect neuf et brillant bien que la
plupart portassent des millésimes déjà anciens.
J’en vins à supposer que M. Chancer, qui se complaisait sans
doute dans la contemplation de ses richesses, se faisait
spécialement réserver les pièces qui, ayant longtemps séjourné
dans les caisses publiques, gardent cet éclat de métal vierge que
perdent rapidement leurs contemporaines lancées dans la
circulation. Il y avait en or exactement cent quatre-vingt-trois livres,
plus quelque monnaie en argent, couronnes et shillings auxquels je
ne prêtai pas attention. Toutefois, mettant à profit la demi-obscurité
dans laquelle nous opérions, je glissai subrepticement dans ma
poche quatre souverains empruntés au magot et que je remplaçai,
séance tenante, par quatre pièces à moi, de même valeur.
— C’est bien, dis-je d’un ton sec… il n’y a eu ni effraction, ni
vol… Je vous remercie, messieurs… vous êtes témoins que j’ai
remis la somme en place dans son intégrité.
Les policiers s’inclinèrent.
J’avais repris en main la bougie… un reflet éclaira soudain la tête
du mort et je tressaillis imperceptiblement.
Je reconduisis vivement Bailey et Mac Pherson jusqu’à la porte
que je refermai en la calant avec une chaise, comme je l’avais fait
quelques minutes auparavant, puis je m’approchai de mon ami.
M. Crawford ne semblait plus s’intéresser à cette affaire et je le
surpris bâillant à se décrocher la mâchoire… Il devait sans doute à
ce moment avoir une triste opinion de moi et il n’était pas douteux
que je lui fisse l’effet d’un piètre Sherlock Holmes.
— Maintenant, lui dis-je, je vais interroger le cadavre…
— Que signifie cette plaisanterie macabre ? dit-il.
Je revins auprès du corps, et dès que j’eus promené la lumière
en tous sens, de droite, de gauche, en bas, en haut, je ne pus retenir
une petite exclamation de joie.
Je ne m’étais pas trompé.
Alors, je m’agenouillai et priant M. Crawford de me tenir la bougie
à bonne distance, je pris à deux mains la tête de M. Ugo Chancer.
 Dans ses cheveux on voyait des petits points qui brillaient
comme des paillettes de verre.
C’étaient des grains de sable presque imperceptibles, mais que
l’on sentait cependant très bien sous les doigts.
Lorsque, reconduisant les policiers, j’avais surpris ce
scintillement, une idée m’était venue qui se précisa rapidement.
Oui, c’était bien cela, je me trouvais en présence d’une affaire
absolument semblable à celle de Paddington-House.
— Ceci est du sable, déclarai-je d’un ton péremptoire.
M. Crawford répéta machinalement :
— En effet, on dirait du sable.
— Et la présence de ce sable dans la chevelure de M. Chancer
ne vous paraît pas bizarre ?
— Ma foi…
— Cela ne vous suggère rien ?
— Rien… sinon — mais ce serait insoutenable — que M.
Chancer est tombé dans une allée de son jardin et qu’il est venu
ensuite mourir ici…
— C’est assez bien déduit, répliquai-je… mais insoutenable en
effet… Ce sable est beaucoup trop menu pour provenir du jardin…
C’est du sable de mer, monsieur Crawford.
— Vous croyez ?
— Je l’affirme… et ces parcelles que vous voyez là se sont
échappées d’un bag-maul.
— Un bag-maul, dites-vous ?
— Oui… vous ne connaissez pas cet engin ?
— Ma foi non… c’est même la première fois que j’entends
prononcer ce mot.
— Eh bien ! monsieur Crawford, le bag-maul est une sorte de
petit sac oblong rempli de sable dont se servent comme d’une
massue certains professionnal robbers [1] d’Australie… M. Ugo
Chancer a été assommé au moyen d’un de ces sacs.
[1] Voleurs de profession.

— Ah ! vous m’intéressez… oui, vous m’intéressez vivement…

condescendit mon critique dont la figure s’était éclairée.
Je repris :
— M. Chancer est mort victime d’un attentat, cela, je l’affirme…
Je l’ai toujours affirmé d’ailleurs et je vous en fournis présentement
la preuve.
— En ce cas, repartit M. Crawford, votre enquête devrait
maintenant porter sur le personnel.
— J’y ai pensé… mais pour l’instant il importe peu… Qu’il soit de
la maison ou d’ailleurs, je dois d’abord établir comment l’assassin a
pu pénétrer ici et en sortir, toutes les issues s’étant trouvées fermées
en dedans, lors de la constatation du décès.
C’était Bailey qui était entré le premier dans le bureau de M.
Chancer en faisant sauter la porte.
Son premier soin, après s’être assuré que le rentier était bien
mort, avait été de visiter les portes et les fenêtres. Elles étaient
closes et solidement maintenues, les premières par des verrous, les
secondes à l’aide de petites targettes d’acier.
Je refis pour mon compte les observations de Bailey.
Tout se trouvait en effet tel qu’il l’avait dit.
L’extrémité d’une des crémones avait même été, pour plus
d’herméticité, calée dans sa gâche à l’aide d’un tampon de papier.
Je pris ce papier et le dépliai lentement.
C’était une enveloppe de format moyen qui portait au verso la
trace d’un cachet de cire tout craquelé par le froissement. La
suscription indiquait qu’elle avait été adressée à M. Ugo Chancer et
dans le coin était imprimée au timbre humide l’adresse de
l’expéditeur : M. R.-C. Withworth, 18, Fitzroy street, Melbourne.
 — Lettres d’affaires, me dis-je… peut-être envoi de fonds… Le
chief-inspector Bailey a pour une fois raison.
Je glissai, sans y attacher autrement d’importance, l’enveloppe
repliée dans le gousset de mon gilet, puis je poursuivis lentement
mes investigations.
Elles allaient sans nul doute demeurer infructueuses, quand en
examinant attentivement une porte basse dissimulée derrière une
tapisserie, je remarquai qu’à la hauteur du verrou de sûreté, il y avait
un petit trou rond, grand tout au plus comme une pièce de six pence,
pratiqué à droite de la garniture.
Ce trou, la chose était visible, avait été fait récemment à l’aide
d’une mèche moyenne de vilebrequin.
On voyait même encore sur le parquet une légère couche de
sciure tombée pendant l’opération.
Je tenais la clef de l’énigme.
L’assassin était décidément un homme très habile et la lutte que
j’aurais à soutenir contre lui promettait d’être intéressante.
Cette affaire, si obscure dès le début, m’apparaissait maintenant
d’une limpidité merveilleuse. Le meurtrier, son forfait accompli, était
sorti par cette porte basse et à l’aide d’une ficelle double passée
dans le bouton du verrou, il avait pu, une fois à l’extérieur, faire jouer
celui-ci… La porte refermée, il avait retiré la ficelle et s’était enfui.
Je fis part aussitôt de ma découverte à M. Crawford et lui exposai
le stratagème du malfaiteur en termes nets et concis.
Il parut abasourdi d’abord, puis émerveillé, mais je voyais bien
qu’au fond il était un peu vexé.
Je triomphais !
— C’est très bien imaginé, dit-il en examinant le trou.
— Oui… répliquai-je, mais c’eût été tout à fait bien si le meurtrier
avait eu soin de reboucher ce trou avec une petite cheville de bois
dont il aurait dû préalablement se munir.
Le millionnaire me regarda en souriant.
 — Quelle remarquable fripouille vous auriez fait, mon cher
Dickson ! me dit-il en me frappant amicalement sur l’épaule.
Je m’inclinai modestement.
Mon amateur en avait, je crois, pour son argent. Il ne devait pas
regretter son voyage et je sentais bien qu’il ne tenterait plus de me
jeter à bas du piédestal où je venais tout à coup de me hisser à ses
yeux.
Je ne voulais point toutefois que cet homme me ménageât
désormais ses critiques.
Elles m’étaient un stimulant et j’entrepris de l’y encourager en le
prenant par la flatterie :
— Vous avez médit de vous tout à l’heure, cher monsieur,
lorsque vous vous êtes défendu d’être un docteur Watson… Vous
êtes précisément quelque chose de semblable en vérité… Le
célèbre Sherlock Holmes dit quelque part à son collaborateur
Watson qu’il existe des gens qui, sans avoir du génie, possèdent le
don de le stimuler chez autrui. Il reconnaît que le docteur lui rend
journellement ce service rien qu’en le forçant à reprendre ses
déductions et il se proclame son obligé… Je ferai de même avec
vous… Vos contradictions sont pour moi précieuses et bien
supérieures en elles-mêmes aux simples erreurs d’un Watson.
M. Crawford me regarda tout interloqué :
— Ainsi vous croyez que c’est à moi que vous devez d’avoir
démasqué l’assassin de M. Ugo Chancer ?
— Absolument, mon cher.
— Je suis, croyez-le, très flatté, mais je vous soupçonne fort de
me « monter un bateau », comme on dit en France.
— Détrompez-vous, je pense réellement ce que je dis.
— En ce cas, permettez-moi de vous remercier.
Et nous étreignîmes nos phalanges d’un vigoureux shake-hands.
 III
LA TRACE DU FAUVE

J’étais sur le premier pas d’une piste ; je tenais l’extrémité d’un fil
qu’il ne s’agissait plus que de suivre sans le lâcher jamais. Et le bout
de ce fil partait précisément de cette porte dérobée par où mon
assassin s’était esquivé.
Je devais suivre de là sa trace au dehors.
— Venez-vous, mon cher ? dis-je à M. Crawford.
— Non… vraiment… je préfère vous attendre ici.
— Comme il vous plaira…
J’ouvris la porte qui donnait sur un escalier secret et gagnai le
parc sans plus me soucier de Bailey ni de Mac Pherson qui se
morfondaient toujours dans l’antichambre.
Mon espoir était de relever sur le sol une empreinte de pas.
La chaussure c’est l’homme, a dit quelqu’un, et jamais aphorisme
ne fut plus vrai.
Avec le simple tracé d’une semelle on peut toujours, pourvu
qu’on soit habile, retrouver un malfaiteur.
Malheureusement il n’avait pas plu depuis trois semaines et la
terre était sèche comme de la craie. Toutefois, le long d’un mur où
de grands arbres entretenaient une providentielle humidité, je finis
par découvrir une empreinte de bottine assez bien dessinée… une
bottine fine, étroite, à bout effilé et carré, une vraie chaussure de
gentleman.
Un détail pourtant choquait dans l’élégante cambrure de la
semelle : c’était une ligne à peine perceptible qui la barrait en biais
au niveau de l’évidement.
Cette chaussure avait été ressemelée !
Or un homme du monde ne porte jamais de chaussures
ressemelées ! [2]
[2] Dans les pays à change élevé.

Mon assassin n’était donc pas un fashionable.

Il avait sans doute dérobé cette paire de bottines et l’avait fait
réparer pour en prolonger l’usage.
Cette solution me satisfaisait provisoirement, mais une autre
aussitôt se présenta à mon esprit : le meurtrier pouvait très bien
aussi être un domestique à qui son maître, comme c’est l’usage,
donnait ses vieux effets.
Et je m’arrêtai à cette idée avec plus de complaisance.
Je ne sais pourquoi les domestiques me paraissent a priori
suspects. Leur connaissance des lieux et des habitudes de ceux
qu’ils servent les mettent toujours dans une situation
particulièrement avantageuse, s’ils sont malintentionnés. Il y a plus :
ils forment entre eux une redoutable franc-maçonnerie qui tend, de
jour en jour, à se transformer en syndicats actifs. Ils n’ignorent rien
de ce qui se passe chez leurs maîtres respectifs et en admettant
qu’il ne se trouve qu’un valet malhonnête sur mille, celui-là aura
sous la main, en ses neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-neuf camarades,
autant d’indicateurs bénévoles qui lui faciliteront le coup à faire et
cela le plus innocemment du monde.
Tout en conjecturant de la sorte, j’interrogeais soigneusement le
sol autour de la trace que je venais de découvrir.
 Des éraflures toutes récentes se voyaient encore sur le crépi du
mur.
C’était par là, à n’en pas douter, que l’assassin avait pénétré
dans le parc et l’empreinte si profondément marquée de son pied en
ce seul endroit indiquait assez clairement qu’il avait pesé là de tout
son poids, en sautant à terre.
L’escalade était patente ; le malfaiteur était venu du dehors.
Il y avait donc lieu d’écarter tout soupçon à l’endroit du personnel
du cottage.
Restait cependant à envisager l’hypothèse de la complicité des
gens de M. Ugo Chancer, au cas où l’homme à la chaussure fine
mais usagée aurait été un domestique.
Et je me promis bien de ne pas perdre de vue ce valet de
chambre parfumé à l’héliotrope qui ne me revenait que
médiocrement.
Une porte sert indifféremment à entrer ou à sortir. Il en est de
même d’une brèche ou d’un point quelconque d’une clôture propice
à l’escalade.
L’assassin de M. Chancer s’était introduit dans la propriété par
cet endroit du mur ; c’était aussi par là qu’il avait dû s’enfuir, son
crime accompli.
Je sortis donc du parc et me trouvai sur la route.
Cette route était poudreuse, car je prie le lecteur de se souvenir
qu’il n’avait pas plu depuis plusieurs semaines.
A l’endroit précis où mon homme avait dû sauter, j’espérais
retrouver dans la poussière l’empreinte révélatrice, aussi fus-je
vraiment désappointé quand, après avoir inspecté le sol, je ne
découvris que des traces de chaussures indifférentes et jusqu’à la
marque de grossiers sabots. Je reconnus même les clous
triangulaires des brodequins de Mac Pherson et les foulées
profondes des gros souliers américains de Bailey.
A la longue cependant, avec beaucoup de patience, je parvins à
démêler dans cet enchevêtrement de pieds une ou deux empreintes,
quoique assez mal dessinées, des bottines de mon assassin… mais
ce fut tout.
J’allais contourner le parc pour m’assurer que le gredin n’avait
pas pris la route de Somerset, lorsque je remarquai la trace des
pneus d’une automobile dont les nervures avaient laissé sur le sol
un petit quadrillé bien reconnaissable.
— Parbleu ! m’écriai-je, cet assassin est décidément tout à fait
upper [3] ; les malandrins d’aujourd’hui voyagent en auto… c’est le
progrès.
[3] Dernier cri.

Et je me mis à suivre les lignes intermittentes que les roues

caoutchoutées avaient imprimées sur la route.
Tout à coup je me tapai sur la cuisse d’un mouvement rageur :
— Fallait-il que je fusse distrait !… Ces marques… mais c’était
nous qui venions de les faire en nous rendant au cottage dans la
limousine de M. Crawford… Il n’y avait pas, grâce à Dieu, de témoin
de ma bévue et je me félicitai in petto de la bonne inspiration
qu’avait eue le millionnaire en restant à la maison.
Néanmoins, j’étais mécontent de moi et je marchais la tête basse
comme un pointer qui se sent pris en faute. Cette position
m’engageait tout naturellement à suivre la quadruple trace des
pneumatiques qui serpentait sous mes yeux, se contrariant, se
croisant en courbes ondulées. Les empreintes étaient par endroits
très nettes : au milieu les deux lignes parallèles et lisses imprimées
par les pneus d’avant et, débordant celles-ci de part et d’autre, la
double empreinte plus large et quadrillée des roues arrière.
Pourtant un doute naquit subitement en mon esprit toujours en
éveil.
N’y avait-il là que les traces d’une seule voiture ?
Bientôt ce doute devint présomption et cette présomption se
changea en certitude.
 Deux automobiles s’étaient croisées sur cette poussière et leurs
empreintes se superposaient.
Seulement — rencontre bizarre — les pneus des deux voitures
étaient à ce point semblables que j’étais bien excusable d’en avoir
confondu les marques.
C’était plus qu’une ressemblance, c’était une identité.
Il n’était passé, en réalité, qu’une automobile, mais elle était
passée deux fois… ou plus exactement trois fois, effectuant un
premier voyage aller et retour et un deuxième aller seulement.
Ce dernier, dont on distinguait les traces toutes fraîches,
correspondait précisément à la course que nous venions d’effectuer
de Broad-West à Green-Park.
Rien à cela que de très naturel, mais c’était avec les marques
plus anciennes que commençait l’énigme.
Le lecteur s’étonnera peut-être de l’assurance avec laquelle je
me prononçai sur la nature et l’origine de traces à peine indiquées
sur la poussière d’une route.
C’est là une question d’habitude et j’ai résolu des problèmes
autrement complexes avec des éléments plus imparfaits encore.
Le bon détective est une façon de savant qui ne doit rien ignorer
de la méthode analytique.
Cuvier n’est-il pas arrivé à des reconstitutions d’espèces
animales entières en n’ayant en main qu’un fragment de dent
fossile ?
Des points de repère me guidaient d’ailleurs.
Les pneus qui avaient passé par là étaient de fabrication
américaine.
On en relevait assez nettement l’estampille : un rectangle allongé
répété de distance en distance, au milieu duquel je devinais inscrit,
plutôt que je ne le lisais, le nom du fabricant, « Beeston ». En outre,
je retrouvais régulièrement reproduit, en avant de ce rectangle, un
motif de roue circulaire, quelque chose comme une figure ailée.
 Ce détail avait son importance, car dans les empreintes que la
voiture avait laissées sur la route, le signe rond accompagnant la
marque de fabrique se trouvait invariablement placé, par rapport à
moi, à la droite du rectangle, et la position respective des deux
figures était tout à fait semblable dans un autre ensemble de traces
plus anciennes, ce qui prouvait que la même auto ou une autre toute
pareille était venue une fois déjà, avant ce jour, à la maison de
Green-Park.
Mais, il y avait encore d’autres sillages creusés dans la poussière
par les roues caoutchoutées. Dans ceux-ci on retrouvait la même
vignette rectangulaire et la même figure de roue ailée, seulement
elles étaient ici placées à la gauche du rectangle, c’est-à-dire dans la
direction de Broad-West.
C’était là un point capital.
Le renversement des deux figures témoignait nettement du fait
qu’entre l’un et l’autre passage de roues la voiture avait fait demi-
tour.
L’auto qui s’était rendue au cottage en était aussi revenue.
Or, les empreintes de retour partaient exactement du point du
mur où, dans le piétinement de toutes sortes de semelles, j’avais
démêlé la trace du pied de l’assassin.
Une conclusion s’imposait donc rigoureusement : le meurtrier de
M. Ugo Chancer était venu en automobile — et dans l’automobile de
M. Crawford !
Mais, pour être mathématique, cette conclusion, par son
invraisemblance même, ne me satisfaisait pas encore.
Je vins demander un éclaircissement à la voiture elle-même qui
stationnait près de la grille du cottage, à l’entrée de l’avenue de
tilleuls.
J’aime mieux parfois converser avec les choses qu’avec les
hommes : elles sont plus précises, absolument sincères et à l’abri de
tout soupçon de partialité. Or, la consultation de la limousine me
confirma dans mes déductions. Je retrouvai sur les pneus d’avant
l’estampille rectangulaire au nom de « Beeston », et, à côté, le petit
attribut qui était la marque du fabricant.
Restait à envisager l’hypothèse de deux voitures montées sur
des caoutchoucs de même marque qui se seraient succédé sur la
route de Green-Park.
J’avoue que je ne m’y arrêtai guère, bien que cela eût pleinement
satisfait ma raison.
L’expérience m’a démontré que l’absolue ressemblance n’existe
pas, non plus que ces sortes de coïncidences dont les romanciers
tirent souvent leurs plus jolis effets : or, on sait que je ne suis pas
romancier.
J’ai dit que la limousine de M. Crawford était pourvue de
pneumatiques de fabrication américaine.
L’usage de ces pneus est fort rare en Australie où l’on s’adresse
de préférence à l’industrie anglaise.
La découverte d’un détail vint d’ailleurs me tirer d’incertitude et
justifier amplement l’excellence de ma méthode.
Sur l’une des roues d’avant, la droite, le caoutchouc mordu
depuis peu par un éclat de verre se soulevait légèrement et
présentait, outre une solution de continuité très apparente, une
inégalité assez sensible pour laisser une empreinte moulée en creux
dans la poussière.
Cette empreinte, j’arrivais, maintenant que j’étais averti, à la
reconstituer de trois en trois pas, parmi les légers sillages imprimés
sur la route.
Dans les tout récents, ceux du jour même, le creux était aisément
reconnaissable, mais je retrouvais les stigmates de la blessure
révélatrice, quoique plus atténués — probablement parce que
l’entaille était à ce moment moins profonde — dans les anciennes
traces, et cela très régulièrement, toujours de trois en trois pas.
L’identification était acquise.
La même voiture automobile s’était rendue chez M. Chancer à
deux reprises différentes et cette voiture était bien celle de M.
Crawford.
Plusieurs versions se présentaient alors à mon choix : ou mon
honorable ami était venu rendre visite à M. Chancer — ce qui était
absurde — ou des gens sans aveu avaient soudoyé son personnel
pour se faire prêter la voiture, ou bien encore un des domestiques
du millionnaire s’était rendu clandestinement à Green-Park.
Et tout naturellement, j’en revenais à ma première idée :
l’assassin devait être recherché parmi les gens de maison.
De tout cela je n’avais qu’une façon d’avoir le cœur net, c’était de
faire parler M. Crawford.
« Voilà, me disais-je, mon Watson bien plus engagé qu’il ne le
prévoyait dans une affaire où il verra le détective aux prises avec un
joli faisceau de difficultés.
Je rentrai donc dans le cottage, résolu toutefois à user de
diplomatie dans l’interrogatoire du millionnaire, car je le savais
chatouilleux et il s’agissait, en somme, de l’amener à me faire
trouver un scélérat parmi ceux à qui il accordait sa confiance.
— Vous avez été bien longtemps, mon cher Dickson, me dit-il,
dès qu’il m’aperçut.
— Non… en vérité ?
— Avez-vous découvert votre assassin ?
— Rien… ou du moins pas grand’chose et je compte sur vous
pour m’aider.
— Tout à votre service, répondit M. Crawford en souriant, mais je
ne vois point en quoi je puis vous être utile.
— Si… vous pouvez m’être très utile, au contraire… Voyons,
connaissiez-vous M. Chancer ?
— Nullement… et vous m’obligez à me répéter, cher monsieur.
— Veuillez agréer mes excuses et ne vous formalisez pas de ma
question… Ainsi vous n’avez jamais mis le pied dans cette maison ?
— Jamais avant ce jour… et je le regrette, ma foi ! car elle
renferme des collections curieuses quoique fort mal classées.
 — D’où tenez-vous cela ?
— De moi-même… Je me suis livré à une petite perquisition en
vous attendant.
— Bailey et Mac Pherson vous ont laissé faire ?
— Ils m’ont même servi de guides…
— Parfait… Ainsi donc vous ne savez rien des habitudes, vous
ne connaissez aucune des petites manies du défunt ?
— Pardon… je viens d’en découvrir une… M. Ugo Chancer
enfermait dans des placards des services de Delft et de
Copenhague et mangeait dans de vulgaires assiettes de restaurant
à un penny la pièce.
— Le fait n’est pas exceptionnel, observai-je.
— Ce n’est pas mon avis… les belles choses sont faites pour
qu’on s’en serve… Je possède, moi, le véritable pot à eau en argent
de la reine Élisabeth et je m’en sers tous les jours pour ma toilette,
monsieur Dickson.
Je m’inclinai.
— Millionnaire ! pensai-je méprisant ; mais je repris tout haut :
— Et ces collections sont indemnes ?
— Absolument indemnes. M. Ugo Chancer n’a pas été volé.
— Ainsi votre avis ?
— Est que ce vieil original a mérité son sort… il ne savait pas
jouir de sa fortune.
— Ceci est une opinion, mais je vous parle sérieusement,
rappelez-vous que mon honneur est attaché à la découverte de
l’assassin.
— Que puis-je faire ?
— Vous associer à mes recherches.
— Je ne demande pas mieux, mais vous avez pu constater que
je n’étais pas très perspicace.
 Je m’approchai du millionnaire et le prenant par le revers de son
veston :
— Maintenant… monsieur Crawford, c’est sur le personnel
domestique du cottage que doivent peser nos soupçons.
— Ah ! vraiment ?
— Et voici, repris-je, où votre intervention pourrait m’être utile.
— En quoi, je vous prie ?
— En me renseignant sur la moralité des domestiques de M.
Chancer.
Le millionnaire eut un haut-le-corps.
— Je ne fréquente point les valets, fit-il, un peu froissé.
Je me récriai :
— Non pas vous, certes, mais peut-être les gens de votre
maison.
— Mes gens n’ont pas la facilité de nouer des relations au
dehors.
— Le jour, je ne dis pas… mais la nuit ?
— Je ne sors jamais la nuit…
— Cependant… quand vous dormez ?
— J’ai un moyen infaillible pour surveiller mon monde, tout en
dormant…
— C’est merveilleux, cela !
— Vous l’avez dit…
— Ainsi vous répondez de vos domestiques ?
— Comme de moi-même.
Je n’insistai plus. La confiance du millionnaire en son personnel
et en ses petits procédés d’inquisition était tout à fait touchante.
Il est deux catégories d’hommes que leur sort condamne à être
dupes toute leur vie : ce sont les gens trop confiants et les gens trop
riches.
 M. Crawford était l’un et l’autre exagérément ; j’en avais
maintenant la preuve.
Et mon raisonnement était des plus simples.
M. Crawford, cela ne faisait pas l’ombre d’un doute, n’avait
jamais visité avant ce jour le cottage de M. Chancer : cependant on
était venu à ce cottage avec son automobile.
Il faut, pour s’autoriser à user d’une chose aussi personnelle
qu’une voiture, en avoir obtenu licence de quelqu’un de la maison ou
être de la maison soi-même.
De toute évidence, cette course avait été faite à l’insu de M.
Crawford.
Ceux qui se cachent ont généralement un motif et l’individu qui
s’était rendu dans ces conditions à Green-Park y venait donc avec
de mauvais desseins.
Était-il présomptueux d’affirmer que cet individu avait trop
l’apparence d’être le meurtrier pour qu’il ne le fût pas en effet, et de
dire qu’un particulier qui s’appropriait si aisément la voiture de M.
Crawford, devait, selon toute vraisemblance, être un de ses
familiers ?
Si j’avais pu exposer librement ma théorie à mon honorable ami,
je suis certain que je l’eusse convaincu, mais la prudence qui est
une des qualités maîtresses de ma profession me faisait un devoir
de ne pas éveiller ses susceptibilités.
Le naïf millionnaire paraissait trop sûr de la moralité de son
entourage, il était trop féru de sa supériorité de maître modèle pour
que je pusse sans inconvénient saper ainsi sa conviction.
Il aurait certainement voulu me tenir en échec et m’égarer peut-
être pour me prouver que j’avais tort.
Je résolus de le « travailler » adroitement, afin de savoir sur
lequel de ses gens devait peser tout le poids de ma présomption.
J’allai donc avertir Bailey et Mac Pherson que mon enquête était
terminée et nous revînmes vers la voiture.
M. Crawford, comme à l’aller, sauta sur le siège et prit le volant.
 Nous partîmes, et chemin faisant je profitai d’une confidence qu’il
m’avait faite, pour ramener le millionnaire à la question qui me
préoccupait.
— Vous conduisez toujours seul, lui dis-je, vous avez raison…
c’est plus prudent, car je ne suppose pas que, dans votre situation,
ce soit pour faire l’économie d’un chauffeur.
— J’ai simplement un chauffeur pour les réparations et le
nettoyage, mais il reste toujours à la maison… il me déplaît d’avoir
un conducteur avec moi.
— Et je vous approuve d’autant que les chauffeurs prennent aux
côtés de leurs maîtres une place que n’avaient pas les cochers
d’autrefois.
— Place tout à fait usurpée, croyez-le…
— J’y suis tout disposé, cher monsieur… le vôtre au moins est-il
entendu ?
— Il est assez bon mécanicien… mais je l’emploie chez moi à
d’autres besognes encore. L’insolence des chauffeurs vient
précisément de ce qu’ils se cantonnent dans leur métier et se
drapent dans leur vanité professionnelle avec des airs d’ingénieurs
diplômés.
— Rien de semblable chez vous, alors ?
— Non… mon chauffeur est un domestique, puisque je le paie.
Mon millionnaire se rengorgeait.
Avec quelques flatteries vous tirerez tout ce que vous voudrez
d’un homme. Je connaissais maintenant le faible de mon voisin ; ce
gentleman immensément riche n’avait qu’une prétention : celle de
passer pour le premier majordome d’Australie. Cela s’alliait d’ailleurs
assez bien avec l’amour du home de ce quadragénaire libre de toute
attache, qui se targuait de ne jamais découcher.
J’avais capté sa confiance et le moment était venu de l’amener à
me faire quelques révélations décisives.
Je lui dis à brûle-pourpoint :
 — Vous êtes sûr de cet homme ?
— Quel homme ?
— Votre chauffeur, parbleu !
M. Crawford me regarda.
— Pourquoi me demandez-vous cela ? fit-il. Oui, je réponds
absolument de lui.
Je sentis que j’étais allé trop loin.
Il m’était désormais difficile de renouer l’entretien sur le sujet qui
m’intéressait.
Le chief-inspector Bailey profita de notre mutisme pour me
décocher sa pointe :
— J’espère, dit-il, que le surintendant de police ne refusera plus
le permis d’inhumer.
Mac Pherson approuva en dodelinant de la tête.
Bailey poursuivit :
— Ce n’est pas une raison parce qu’un homme a été frappé de
congestion pour livrer son cadavre à la curiosité publique.
Le trait fit long feu et je ne le relevai pas, comme bien on pense.
De son côté, M. Crawford paraissait poursuivre une pensée bien
subtile, car ses yeux se faisaient extraordinairement aigus comme
pour en saisir le fil le long de l’arête de son nez.
A ma grande surprise ce fut lui qui nous ramena sur le terrain
brûlant dont il avait paru vouloir s’évader.
— Je ne suis pas comme vous, messieurs, dit-il, je n’ai point
l’âme policière… Moi, je préjuge toujours l’honnêteté chez les
gens… je tiens mes serviteurs pour des hommes probes…
autrement je ne les admettrais pas dans mon intimité.
— Évidemment, approuvai-je.
— C’est même enfantin d’évidence, poursuivit-il… Je considère
mon cuisinier comme un garçon incapable d’une mauvaise pensée,