The Parliament House

    'Someone apparently did so.'

    'No,' declared Christopher. 'He made a mistake. From everything I've learned since then, I'm absolutely convinced of it. You were the intended victim. That man was hired to kill Sir Julius Cheever.'

Chapter Four

    He was momentarily stunned. It had never crossed Sir Julius Cheever's mind that his own life had been at risk in Knightrider Street. Since his friend had been killed so expertly with a single shot, he had assumed that Bernard Everett was the designated target. Now, he was forced to consider the possibility that he himself might have been murdered in cold blood on the previous day. He did not ponder for long. Having briefly looked at the evidence, he dismissed the idea completely, like a horse flicking its tail to rid itself of a troublesome insect.

    'No,' he decided. 'I simply refuse to believe that.'

    'Mr Everett did not pose a threat,' argued Christopher. 'You do, Sir Julius. You make your presence felt in the House of Commons.'

    'That's why I was elected.'

    'Your views are not universally popular.'

    'I did not enter parliament in search of popularity.'

    'You're a natural leader. Others are drawn to you.'

    'Fortunately, there are still some men of integrity left in England. Bernard was one of them. He would have been a welcome addition to our little group.'

    'That group would soon disappear if you were assassinated.'

    'It will take more than some villain in the window of a tavern to get rid of me,' said Sir Julius, thrusting out a pugnacious jaw. 'Besides, I'm not persuaded that the crime has anything to do with me. There may be other reasons why Bernard was shot. We know litde about his private life. It's not inconceivable that someone bore him a grudge.'

    'No,' admitted Christopher, 'but it seems highly unlikely that they would wait until Mr Everett came to London before striking at him. If he has enemies in his home county, they would surely attack him there. I'm still strongly of the opinion that you were supposed to be the victim and that raises a worrying prospect.'

    'Does it?'

    'Having failed once, the killer will try again.'

    'Upon my soul!' cried Sir Julius with exasperation. 'I don't know what nonsense your brother has put into your head but I'd advise you to forget every last stupid syllable of it.'

    'Henry is very well-informed.'

    'From what I've heard about your brother, he's a conceited fop who spends most of his time consorting with low company. Do you trust his assessment of the House of Commons over mine?'

    'Of course not, Sir Julius.'

    'Then cease this pointless line of argument. I detest most politicians to the height of my power and I daresay that they, in turn, detest me. But that does not mean they'd seek my life. Back- stabbing is the order of the day in parliament but only in the metaphorical sense. I have absolutely no fears for my safety.'

    'You should,' said Christopher.

    'Stop badgering me, man.'

    'Precautions must be taken.'

    'The only precaution that I'll take is to ignore everything that your idiot brother has told you.'

    'I'm not relying solely on Henry's advice,' said Christopher, hurt by the antagonism towards his brother. 'I spoke to two Members of Parliament as well - Ninian Teale and Roland Askray. They agreed that you were perceived in some quarters as a dangerous firebrand.'

    'I have the courage of my convictions, that's all,' announced Sir Julius, truculently, 'so I'm bound to cause a flutter in governmental dovecotes. And I have to tell you that I resent the way that you've gone behind my back in this matter.'

    'It was for your own good, Sir Julius.'

    'My own good! In what way can discussing me with your imbecile brother, and with two Members of Parliament who clearly deride me, be construed as my own good? This is a gross intrusion on my privacy.'

    'I acted with the best of intentions,' said Christopher.

    'And the worst of results.'

    'Sir Julius-'

    'I'll hear no more of this,' yelled the old man, interrupting him with a vivid gesture. 'Instead of pestering me, you should be out there, trying to catch the man who killed Bernard Everett.'

    'I only came to issue a warning.'

    'Then let me give you one in return. If you dare to bother me again in this way, you'll no longer be allowed into this house.'

    'That's unjust.'

    'Good day to you!'

    Fuming with anger, Sir Julius turned on his heel and left the room. Christopher could hear his footsteps, ascending the staircase. Shortly afterwards, Susan came into the parlour.

    "Whatever did you say to Father?' she wondered.

    He swallowed hard. 'Sir Julius and I had a slight disagreement,' he replied. 'Nothing more.'

    'He swept past me without a word.'

    'I must take the blame for that, Susan.'

    'Why? What happened in here?'

    'I inadvertently upset him.'

    'But he was in such good humour when he arrived home,' she recalled. 'What can have happened to deprive him of that?'

    'A few ill-judged words on my part.'

    'On what subject?'

    'That's immaterial.'

    'Not to me, Christopher. This is the second time you've called here today and only something of importance could make you do that. Is it connected with the murder?'

    'Yes,' he conceded.

    'Then why did it put my father out of countenance?'

    Christopher was in a quandary. Wanting to tell her the truth, he knew how distressed she would be if she heard that someone was stalking Sir Julius Cheever. Susan's immediate reaction would be to tackle her father about it and that would expose her to the kind of brutal rebuff that Christopher had just suffered. For her own sake, she had to be protected from that. He decided, therefore, to leave her in the dark.

    'I asked you a question,' she pressed. 'Why?'

    'Because your father was unhappy about the way the investigation is going,' he said, trying to put her mind at rest.

    'These things take time and Sir Julius is demanding instant results.'

    'And that's all it was?'

    Christopher took a deep breath. 'That's all it was, Susan.'

    It was the last call of the day and, though it involved a long walk to Cripplegate Ward, Jonathan Bale did not mind the exercise. On the trail of a murder suspect, he never complained about sore feet and aching legs. As he strolled up Wood Street, he was interested to see the changes that had been made. Like other wards in the city, Cripplegate had been devastated by the Great Fire of 1666. Robbed of its churches, its livery halls and its houses, it had also lost much of its earlier character. The rebuilding had started immediately and Bale was intrigued to see how many streets, lanes and alleyways had risen from the ashes.

    The man he sought lived in Aldermanbury Street, a thoroughfare in which several fine residences had already been completed. He had come to the home of Erasmus Howlett, a leading brewer in the city, and it was evident from the size and position of the house that Howlett's business was an extremely profitable one. Bale was admitted at once and shown into the parlour. Howlett soon joined him.

    'You've come from Baynard's Castle Ward, I hear,' he said.

    'Yes, sir,' replied Bale.