Death and the Chapman (26 page)

‘I think so.’ I, too, finished my wine, fighting down the urge to curl up in a corner and fall asleep. My first two days in London were days I would never forget, not even if I lived to be a very old man. For now, I should be glad to put the city behind me and get out once more on the open road, but one day I would return. I recollected that I had visits to pay to Canterbury and Bristol; particularly to the latter.

It would give me great pleasure to make sure that Marjorie Dyer’s part in this villainy was known. I glanced towards the cellar steps, where the trapdoor still lay open, revealing the cavernous hole in the floor.

‘How did you know what was happening?’ I asked.

‘I heard you yell.’ Gilbert Parsons grinned. ‘I guessed, when you made it so plain that you had changed your mind about moving on this morning, that they might try to silence you, but not that you would do anything as foolish as to try searching the inn on your own. I crept downstairs just in time to see them carrying you off, trussed up like a chicken to the cellar, and went immediately for help. I must admit that I despaired of rescuing you in time.’

‘Well,’ I said feelingly, ‘I’m very thankful you did.’ I reached for my pack and stick, which I had brought down from the bedchamber earlier and which now lay beside my chair. ‘I’m ready to go if you are. I don’t want to see this evil place again as long as I live.’

Gilbert Parsons nodded and we went out into Crooked Lane, breathing in the cold morning air. A seagull screeched overhead, looking for food. The Baptist’s Head lay behind us, shuttered and silent. At the top of the street, the Crossed Hands still teemed with life. Lady Anne Neville was safely in sanctuary; Martin Trollope, protected by the Duke of Clarence, still walked free. Thomas Prynne, Abel Sampson and Matilda Ford were locked up in prison and would pay for their crimes with their lives. But Clement Weaver, Sir Richard Mallory and others would never return, and I felt inexpressibly sad.

And that, my children - if you have bothered to read this far- is how it all started, that talent I discovered in myself, and honed over the years, of solving puzzles and unravelling mysteries. Of course, this first case was full of flaws and mistakes and stupid bungling because I was raw and green and still wet behind the ears. I didn’t really know what I was doing or letting myself in for. It happened partly because of my natural inquisitiveness, and partly because of that stubborn streak in my nature which hates to let anything go without seeing it through to the end.

Oh yes; and God had a hand in it somewhere. He always does. He’s as stubborn and as tenacious as I am about getting His own way. I’ve tried to free myself from Him often and often, but somehow I never could. And now that I’m an old man living on memories, I think I’m glad that I haven’t succeeded.