‘Very well, thank you. Not quite ready to leave for London, however.’
‘Enjoying life in Devon then?’
‘Indeed I am.’ John produced a guinea from his pocket. ‘May I speak to you in confidence?’
‘You certainly can, Sir,’ said the guard, and seeing the flash of coin, came closer as he echoed, ‘Certainly.’
‘It’s about the murder the other night. Tell me, did you know the murdered man at all?’
‘Mr Gorringe? Well, strangely enough I had seen him a few times before,’ the coachman replied.
‘Oh? When and where was that?’
‘It was on another run that I do from time to time, London to Shoreham via Lewes and Brighthelmstone. He used to come on that quite regular.’
‘You’re sure it was him?’
‘Positive, Sir. He had a very arresting face, if you know what I mean. A cruel face really. I’m not surprised somebody had it in for him.’
‘Can you remember where he got off on this other run?’
‘Lewes, Sir. And he always had a coach waiting to pick him up.’
‘Strange he didn’t travel in that.’
‘Well, he didn’t. And there’s another funny thing as well.’
‘What was that?’
‘He used to call himself something different. I know because I heard his coachman use the name.’
‘And what was it?’
‘That’s the devil of it, I can’t remember.’ The coachman turned to the guard. ‘Can you?’
‘Sorry to say I never even heard it, Sir.’
John handed over the coin. ‘Thank you for the information. It was very interesting.’ He turned to the driver one more time. ‘You are certain it was him?’
‘Either that or his twin brother, Sir.’
‘I see.’
John nodded and went on his way, very puzzled indeed by what he had just heard. It would seem that Gorringe — or whatever he had called himself in the past — had been a man of some means and had either lived near Lewes or had visited somebody regularly in that particular vicinity. At this moment, disgruntled as he was, John would have put his money on Paulina Gower as the murderess, assisted by the German woman. But that was only his present mood. He was actually, to quote the guard, totally bewildered by the whole affair.
Stepping into The White Swan he sat turning his wine glass in his hand, staring fixedly into its depths as though it could tell him the answers. And so he was sitting, not really seeing anyone as he tried to make some sort of sense of what he had just heard, when he felt a movement at his side. Looking up, John saw that Martin Meadows was standing by his table, looking earnest. He half rose.
‘Mr Meadows. I’m so sorry. I was deep in thought.’
‘That’s perfectly all right. May I join you? There is something I would like to discuss.’
‘Please do. Would you like to share my bottle? I have to ride back and I must keep my wits about me so I can’t possibly drink it all.’
‘That would be very kind. But I, too, am returning to work and therefore one glass will suffice.’
Having procured another vessel from the serving maid, John turned his attention to the solicitor who today was looking far less startled, his eyebrows seeming fuller and his wig — very new and curly but once again brown — sitting sedately upon his head.
‘What is it you wish to discuss with me?’ the Apothecary asked.
‘I have been thinking over the coach journey down — in fact I can think of little else — and I keep remembering how worried Gorringe was. At the time, as you know, I put it down to mental disorder, but now I realize that the man was telling the truth.’
‘What was it he said exactly?’
‘That the Black Pyramid reminded him of a slave he had once had, though he could not be certain as so many years had passed. The other person he kept talking about was none other than our little dancing master friend, Cuthbert Simms.’
‘Good gracious,’ said John, totally startled. ‘Of all the mild-mannered men.’
‘That is precisely what I said at the time. But Gorringe insisted that he had employed the fellow as dancing master to his children and that his appearance on the coach was decidedly sinister.’
The Apothecary downed his wine and said, ‘But why? I frequently meet people I know and nothing could be further from my thoughts than a threat to my safety.’
Martin sighed. ‘That is what I told him. But as things have turned out it seems that he was right all along. I can tell you now that I went to that fight yesterday to get a closer look at the black man.’
‘And what did you think of him?’
‘A magnificent specimen. But as to his character, who knows?’
John looked thoughtful. ‘I heard something interesting today.’ And he launched forth with the tale told him by the coachman.
Martin Meadows behaved in a particularly professional manner, folding his hands and listening intently. Then, when John finally grew silent, he spoke.
‘So if the coachman is to be believed it would seem that Gorringe had another life and another name. How very odd. I wonder what it was.’
‘That’s what I would like to know.’
‘It certainly gives one food for thought.’
‘Indeed it does.’
Shortly afterwards the two men parted company. John going to fetch his horse, which was tethered nearby, Meadows returning to his office. As he rode back to join Elizabeth for dinner the apothecary found his head full of the case and he wished that he had the Blind Beak to consult and, even more useful, the incredible Joe Jago to help him sift the matter through.
After they had dined and were sitting in the Blue Drawing Room Elizabeth turned to him with a beautiful smile.
‘Sweetheart, it is Lady Sidmouth’s ball next week and knowing what cutting fashions you besport I wondered whether you would like to order a new set of night clothes from the tailor in Exeter.’
The Apothecary collected himself and looked at her, nodding.
‘You have a definite point. The suits I brought do look rather tired. How quick is the fellow?’
‘I believe he takes a few days only.’
John got up and took a seat beside her, putting his arm round her gently expanding waist. ‘Tell me truly, do I appear like last year’s model?’
She took his face between her two hands. ‘My darling, you positively sparkle and I would be proud to be seen anywhere with you. It’s just that I know you well and wondered if you would prefer something new in which to display yourself to the entire county.’
He kissed her fingers. ‘You have read my character utterly. I shall visit the tailor tomorrow.’
‘Good. Now tell me, how are you getting on with your investigation?’
‘Not well.’ And John proceeded to inform her of the latest twists and turns.
When he had finished she said, ‘You are sure that he was murdered by someone on the coach? It could not have been done by someone he met by arrangement in Exeter?’
‘That’s the devil of it. I can’t be sure of anything. The case is as nebulous as a waterfall.’
‘The Constable sounds good.’
‘He is a very useful man. Sir John could do with him as a Runner.’
‘Can’t you make an appointment to see him when you are in Exeter tomorrow?’
‘Now that is a very sound idea. I shall go to his house and do so.’
‘Clever Mr Rawlings,’ said Elizabeth, and patted his hand.
It seemed a pity, thought John, to be in Exeter and not call on Sir Clovelly Lovell. So on arriving in the city for the third day running, he made his way to The Close determined to waylay the little fat man in his den. But to his disappointment he was informed that Sir Clovelly was out. Turning away determinedly John headed for High Street and for the home of Toby Miller, that most efficient officer of the law. Surprisingly enough the man was at home and John found himself ushered into a very small study where Toby sat behind a mound of papers. On the end of his nose a pair of spectacles without sides was perched, relying entirely on their grip on the human proboscis to stay upright. He took them off with a slight sigh of relief as John came into the room.