“There is, I admit, a certain irony to the fact that we discovered the body on our way home from a gaming hell. But let us not digress.”
The Runner nodded absently, his attention momentarily diverted by the arrival of his cheese and tart.
“The idea of patents was not new,” continued Wrexford. “King Henry VI issued the first letter patent in 1449 to a glazier for his special formula for making colored glass. It took another hundred years for the second one, again for a glass-making technique.”
“Then, in 1598, Queen Elizabeth issued a patent to Edward Darcy, one of her courtiers, for a monopoly on the import and sale of playing cards. Darcy then sued a merchant who was doing the same thing. The defendant in turn challenged the patent in court by right of common law.”
Griffin broke off a morsel of Stilton. “And what happened?”
“Fierce arguments were presented by both sides to the chief justice. The crux of the merchant’s defense was that the Crown couldn’t grant a patent merely for the personal gain of an individual. Only an idea that created some actual improvement to the making of playing cards could be protected,” explained Wrexford. “In other words, a patent was for some new invention or unique innovation, not merely for commerce.”
“I wonder how many Runners have the privilege of getting an Oxford education along with their supper,” murmured Griffin through a mouthful of custard and apples.
Wrexford found the parsing of intellectual concepts endlessly interesting but was wise enough to recognize that not everyone shared his sentiments. He could see that he was in danger of losing the other man’s interest.
“Bear with me—I’m almost done,” he said. “Darcy’s patent was thrown out by the court and in 1623 an Act was drafted toclarify the rules of patent grants. Known as the Statute on Monopolies, it still serves as the basis of our modern day patent laws.”
“I take it you are now going to explain to me why Ashton was about to become a very rich man.”
The earl smiled. “Yes.”
Griffin leaned back in his chair and unfastened the bottom two buttons of his scarlet waistcoat. A low belch ended with a twitch of his lips, which may—or may not—have been meant as a smile. “Do try to make this quick, milord. Unlike you, I must eventually rouse myself from the table and go back to earning my living.”
“Very well, but to fully understand the laws today, there’s one other key concept that comes into play,” explained Wrexford. “It’s based on the ideas of the philosopher John Locke concerning property.”
“I’m a pragmatist, not a philosopher.”
“Which is why it behooves you to listen just a moment longer,” replied the earl. “Locke believed the concept of property rights was derived from man’s labor. To whit—a farmer possesses the right to his harvest not because he owns the land but because by the sweat of his brow, he’s created the crops.”
The Runner’s expression of boredom altered.
“Locke’s thoughts on property, labor and the accumulation of wealth were very influential around the turn of the last century. In 1710, the Copyright Law was passed, which was in a sense a complement to the Statute of Monopolies. In a nutshell, it said that in addition to hard goods, ideas were property too, and could be protected by law.”
Griffin let out a grunt. “It’s hard enough for me to protect the silver and jewels possessed by the beau monde. Now I must also worry about what goes on inside the heads of you fancy aristocrats?”
Despite the quip, Wrexford could sense he had the man’s full attention.
“The Engravers Act was passed in 1735 protecting the work of artists,” added the earl. “And now, we come to the heart of the matter. In the past, inventors, along with a great many other intellectuals, were often very secretive—they were loath to share their discoveries or innovations for fear of them simply being stolen. But now, with the right to protect their ideas, such valuable information flows more freely to the public. And in the case of practical inventions, they offer ways to stimulate the economy and create wealth for both the creator and the people who will use the innovation.”
The lamplight flickered as a draft stirred the smoke-filled air. Wrexford set his elbows on the table and leaned in a little closer. “For example, imagine an invention that makes steam engines more powerful. All manufacturers of engines will want to add it to their products because everyone who owns a steam engine will want the latest model. And they will have to pay for the right to use the inventor’s patent.”
The Runner was now sitting up straight. “Every steam engine in the country?” he mused. “That would be—”
“A bloody lot of engines,” finished Wrexford. “And a bloody lot of money.”
Griffin pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful nod. “So,” he murmured after several long moments. “I concede you’ve spelled out a compelling motive, but have you a shred of proof to give me?”
“I’mnot paid to solve crimes,” retorted Wrexford. “You and your compatriots are.”
A glint of wry humor lit in the Runner’s eye. “Yes, well, as your friend Mr. Locke points out, labor and wealth are connected. Bow Street won’t assign a Runner to do more than a rudimentary investigation unless there is some proof it’s not a waste of time and effort.”
“I’ll hire you to follow the clues,” said the earl. Runners could be hired privately for those wealthy enough to do so. “Mrs. Ashton is sending me the note that lured her husband to his death, along with a list of people who knew about his work. With a methodical—”
Griffin held up his hand. “I’m presently engaged in a case, Lord Wrexford. And to be frank, even though you’ve piqued my interest, unless you can bring me more than conjectures, I’ll not waste your blunt. Trying to track down the villain with only what you mention would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“You’ve sharp eyes, as I well know,” answered the earl.
“As do you, sir.” The Runner’s chair scraped back over the rough planked floor. “If you find a trail—even a faint one—I’m willing to talk again.” He rose and patted his belly. “Preferably over another excellent supper.”
