As I was bundled down the cellar steps, my head knocked against the wall and I was partially stunned for a moment or two. By the time I fully recovered my senses, I had been dropped on the floor and Thomas was lighting a second candle. I saw the cellar was much bigger than I had expected, and, by my calculations, ran not only beneath the house itself, but also almost to the edge of the wharf which skirted it on one side. The walls were lined with wine-racks supporting a great many bottles, and the stone floor was covered patchily with straw. Noises came to my ears; a slight scuffling sound which I knew must be rats, and the faint lapping of water, which confirmed my guess that we must be very close to the Thames.
I turned my head to observe my captors. Abel had picked up a thick crowbar, and my blood ran cold. Then I noticed that Thomas had one also, and my heart almost stopped. They were going to club me to death! But they went over to the cellar wall which, by my reckoning, was nearest to the river, inserted the bars on either side of one of the massive stone slabs of which the walls were built, and levered it from its position. When it finally stood sufficiently proud, they laid down the bars and, straining and sweating, lifted it clear, depositing it finally on the floor. A dark, gaping hole was left in the wall, easily large enough to take a man’s body, and I had no doubt that this was the way they disposed of their hapless victims. There must be an underground chute leading straight down into the water; the drain or conduit which had given Crooked Lane its original name.
In spite of my bonds, I managed to wriggle into a sitting position, but immediately Marjorie Ford was behind me, her strong hands pressing me down.
‘Leave him, Matty!’ Thomas Prynne said, turning his head to see what was happening. ‘No reason why he shouldn’t watch.’ He laughed. ‘He isn’t going to tell anyone. Right, lad!’ His eyes swivelled until they were focused directly on my face. ‘You ‘d better start saying your prayers.’
‘Wait!‘ I said, playing for time. God alone knew what good I thought it would do me, but the will to survive is man’s strongest instinct, and I was no exception. I wanted to postpone the moment of my inevitable death as long as I possibly could. In answer to Thomas’s look of inquiry, I went on: ‘If you’re going to kill me, at least satisfy my curiosity first. It can’t harm you now to tell me the truth.’ ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Matilda begged sharply, speaking for the first time since she had appeared on the scene, upstairs in the passageway. ‘Get rid of him quickly.’ Abel nodded, his pale eyes gleaming. ‘Matty’s right. Let’s get on with it.’
But Thomas was in the mood to humour me. I realized suddenly that he was a vain man, who was normally balked of talking about himself and his murderous achievements.
‘I see no reason why we shouldn’t satisfy his curiosity if he wishes. In any case, it shouldn’t take long. I imagine he knows most of what we can tell him already. You’re a bright young man,’ he added, addressing me directly. ‘When and why did you finally tumble to the truth?’ ‘When I went up to bed this evening. As to why, let’s just say that Abel made one or two slips that ought to have put me on your track much earlier, if I hadn’t been so dull-witted. And Mistress Ford here reminded me of someone the first time I met her. Again, it wasn’t until tonight that I realized she looks like Abel.’
Thomas smiled. ‘Observant of you. They’re brother and sister. But I can see by your face that you’d already worked that out. Abel also used to be an ostler at the Crossed Hands inn. That’s how we met, when I came to buy this place. I lured him away from Martin Trollope to work for me, and he proved to be worth his weight in gold. He knew the stories about the old smugglers’ conduit running down to the wharfside, and eventually, after a lot of searching, we found it. To begin with, we considered using it for its original purpose, but smuggling puts you at the mercy of too many other people. We found a better use for it. I’m not sure now whose idea it was. I rather fancy it might have been Matilda’s.’ He hesitated, loath to deny himself credit. ‘No, on second thoughts, I believe it was mine. We would run the inn to the very best of our ability, gaining a reputation for excellent wine and food. That way, sooner or later, we were bound to attract richer visitors to the inn.’
‘Whom you then cold-bloodedly murdered.’
‘Oh, not all of them.‘ Thomas looked pained. ‘Credit us with a little common sense, lad. The circumstances have to be exactly right. A solitary traveller, or with just one servant. And, of course, carrying a large sum of money or jewels about his person. Which is why it’s a slow, waiting game, needing patience. And why we cannot risk being discovered. It will need many more years yet before the three of us are wealthy enough to retire.’
‘And in the meantime you all enjoy your work!‘ I flung at him.
Thomas considered this, a smile hovering about his lips. ‘I suppose that’s true,’ he admitted, almost dreamily.
I felt my skin crawl. I also felt the impatience of the other two, and plunged on desperately. ‘And Mistress Ford informed you of any birds ripe for the plucking staying at the Crossed Hands inn?’
‘Occasionally. You’re thinking of Sir Richard Mallory. He was extremely easy. He loved fine wines, and all Matty had to do was to tell him that we had some of the best in London. She had no difficulty persuading him to come over and sample the contents of our cellar. Of course, we had to make sure that he brought his man with him, as well.’
‘Of course. You couldn’t risk Jacob Pender being left behind to tell where his master had gone. And to wait until the last morning of Sir Richard’s visit, when he had paid his reckoning and his saddle-bags were packed, that was a stroke of genius.’
Thomas smiled benignly. ‘Naturally. The whole operation is always carefully planned.’
‘And Marjorie Dyer? How did you persuade her to join you?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘Nothing simpler. Marjorie has always been ambitious. She had hopes at one time of marrying Alfred Weaver. She may even have been instrumental in helping Mistress Weaver to her death, although I have no proof of that, you understand. Not that it matters. You won’t be telling anyone of my suspicions. But Alfred foolishly failed to make her his wife, even though he continued to avail himself of her — er — services. Last year, while on a visit to Bristol, I took her into my confidence and found her willing enough to play my game. At a price, needless to say. Since when, she has directed at least two well-plumaged birds into our net, apart from Clement Weaver.’ He added regretfully: ‘Believe it or not, I was sorry to have to kill Clement. I’ve known him since childhood, you see.’
‘For God’s sake, let’s get on!’ Abel hissed. ‘Do you mean to stand around here all night, talking?’
‘Steady! Steady!’ Thomas reproved him. ‘You’re losing your nerve, and that will never do. However, you may be right.’ He looked at me. ‘Say your prayers, then, Roger Chapman. You’ve caused us a great deal of trouble, losing Matilda her place at the Crossed Hands and making her a hunted criminal. We really didn’t want you running off to the Duke of Gloucester like that, and hoped to prevent you. But in spite of everything, we should still have let you go tomorrow morning as you planned, if you hadn’t so obviously changed your mind in the middle of supper. A shame, but we really couldn’t have you making yet more trouble. Besides, I calculated it wouldn’t be long before you realized the truth. So!’ He shrugged again. ‘There’s nothing for it, I’m afraid, but to send you down the chute to join our other guests in their watery graves. Don’t worry. You won’t know anything about it, that’s a promise.’
‘Why not?’ Matilda demanded viciously. ‘Why knock him over the head? Let him know what’s happening to him.’
‘Because we don’t want him bound,’ her brother answered tersely. ‘In case his body’s ever found, it must seem as though he simply fell into the river.’