The Parliament House

    'He has not been dead long,' decided Bale.

    'How do you know?'

    'Because I've seen too many murder victims in my time.'

    'Yes, I'm sure.'

    'The blood is still fresh and there's no sign of rigor mortis. That only starts to set in after four hours or more.'

    'He was obviously a strong man,' noted Christopher, looking at the broad shoulders and the muscular arms. 'He'd not have been easy to overpower.'

    'That's why he was knocked out first,' said Bale, turning the head of the corpse so that a gash became visible. Blood had stained the back of the scalp. 'I think that Mr Crothers was hit from behind before having his throat slit. What I don't know is why anyone should want to kill him.'

    'It was because he failed, Jonathan.'

    'Failed?'

    'He had two attempts at shooting Sir Julius and, each time, his victim survived. It must have been very galling for his paymaster,' said Christopher. 'I was there when the second shot was fired and it looked as if Sir Julius was dead. That report would have been brought back to London. Imagine the shock for the man who employed Crothers when he realised that Sir Julius was, in fact, still alive.'

    'He'd be very angry, Mr Redmayne.'

    'I think he lost patience with his hired killer.'

    'There's another thing,' said Bale. 'As long as Mr Crothers carried on his old job as a porter, there was always the chance that he'd be found in the end. He knew too much. Someone silenced him.'

    'He may yet be able to tell us something.'

    'Search his pockets.'

    'I will. You see what else you can find.'

    Bale looked around the room. It was small, dirty and poorly furnished. Dan Crothers had pathetically few possessions. Beyond a pile of old clothing, there was little apart from some bread, wrapped up in a cloth, and a flagon of beer. Hidden away underneath the bed, however, was a collection of weapons. Bale got down on his knees to pull out a dagger, a cudgel, a flintlock pistol and a musket. There was powder and ammunition for both firearms.

    'This is the musket that killed Mr Everett,' said Bale, holding it in his hands. 'The murder's been solved. Mr Crothers is the guilty man.'

    'Yes,' said Christopher. 'Unfortunately, someone has done the executioner's job for us. If we'd caught him alive, he might have been able to tell us who suborned him to commit the crime. That's the real villain, Jonathan - the man behind all this.'

    'Was there anything in his pockets?'

    'A piece of cheese and a few coins, that's all.'

    'Have you felt inside the coat, sir?'

    'I could find no pockets there.'

    'Let me try,' said Bale, putting the musket aside and crouching beside the corpse. 'Criminals sometimes have secret pouches sewn into their coats where they can hide things.' He groped around until his hand closed on something. 'I thought so.'

    'What have you discovered?'

    'Not much, sir, but it may help us.' He withdrew his hand and opened his palm. He was holding two pieces of paper. 'Messages of some kind, I think.'

    Christopher took them from him. The first one was a short letter, written in a neat hand, informing Crothers that Sir Julius Cheever would be travelling to Cambridge that very day. It was unsigned. A different correspondent had sent the other letter. Using a spidery scrawl, he simply gave a date and the name of the Saracens Head in Knightrider Street. Christopher passed both missives to Bale to read.

    'That's the date on which Bernard Everett was killed,' he said, pointing to the second letter. 'This is clear proof that someone gave Dan Crothers instructions to shoot Sir Julius.'

    'Someone else sent the other message,' observed Bale, reading it. 'That means we have to look for two people.'

    'Or even more. I think we'll find a conspiracy at work.'

    'How do we expose it?'

    'With a combination of patience and hard work, Jonathan. We caught up with one villain. Now we have to find the person or persons who paid him.' Christopher took the letters from him. 'This murder must be reported at once.'

    'I'll do that, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Thank you.'

    'Sir Julius will need to hear about this as well.'

    'I'll tell him that we found the man who tried to kill him on his way to Cambridge. But I'll urge him not to drop his guard,' said Christopher. 'One hired killer might be dead but there's clearly another at work. My fear is that he might turn his attention to Sir Julius now.'

    'What about Mrs McCoy, sir?'

    'I leave you to inform her - and to thank her for that drawing she made. It helped us to find the man. I think she'll be delighted to learn that he's dead.'

    'Delighted or disappointed?'

    'You know her better than I do, Jonathan.'

    'Mrs McCoy is a woman of strong passions,' said Bale. 'She'd have preferred to cut his throat herself then have the pleasure of dancing a jig on his grave.'

      When he stormed into the house with a dark scowl on his face, it was clear that Sir Julius Cheever had not enjoyed his day in parliament. His daughters greeted him in the hall.

    'Welcome home, Father,' said Susan, guessing the reason for his irritability. 'Did you come off worse in the debate?'

    'We had a moral victory,' he replied," 'but it was not reflected in the voting. Those lily-livered cowards were too frightened to stand up against the government.'

    'What were you talking about?' asked Brilliana.

    'Naval procurements.'

    'What a dreary subject!'

    'Far from it, Brilliana. It's a topic of national importance. It's not all that many years ago that we had Dutch vessels, sailing up the Medway and destroying part of our fleet. We need to make sure that it never happens again. One way to do that is to root out incompetence from the Navy Office.'

    'Oh,' she said. 'That's where Henry Redmayne works.'

    'He was partly responsible for my defeat this afternoon.'

    'But he's not a Member of Parliament.'

    'No, he isn't,' said Sir Julius, sourly, 'but he supplied privileged information to Maurice Farwell. Had I been in possession of those details, my case would have been strengthened. As it was, Farwell used them so skilfully me against me that I was tied in knots.'

    'You cannot expect to win every debate,' said Susan.

    'I had right on my side in this one.' 'Why did you not get Henry to help you?' said Brilliana.

    'That popinjay would never assist me. He's in the pocket of men like Maurice Farwell, cunning politicians who surround themselves with flatterers. Redmayne is a sycophant.'

    'I don't agree at all, Father. Henry struck me as his own man.'

    'This is not the time to argue,' said Susan, conscious that their visitors would be arriving within the hour. 'Everything is ready. We had your note to say that Dorothy's brother would be coming as well.'

    'I was not my idea to invite that dry old stick,' said her father.

    'I believe that he's a chief magistrate.'

    'Orlando Golland has no call to barge in.'

    'I take is as a promising sign,' said Brilliana. 'It's an indication of how involved Mrs Kitson really is. Mr Golland is coming so that he can take a closer look at his future brother-in-law.'

    'Arrant nonsense! I've told you a dozen times. Mrs Kitson is a friend and nothing more than a friend.'

    'At the moment.'