The Repentant Rake

Chapter Thirteen

Susan Cheever tried hard to conceal her disappointment but it showed clearly in her eyes. Hoping that they had returned with good news, she was dismayed when Christopher explained what had happened at the printer's shop. What hurt her most was the fact that her brother's name had been used to disguise the identity of someone who was implicated in his murder. It was a detail she intended to keep from her sister-in-law.

'I am sorry that it was all such a waste of time, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

'But it was not,' said Christopher. 'We feel heartened by what we discovered.'

'Heartened?'

'Yes, Miss Cheever. We know who printed that extract from the diary and he assures us that his customer promised to return soon. Mr Bale has left a colleague of his watching the shop. When the man does return,' he said 'Mr Henshaw will give a signal and an arrest can be made.'

'Are you sure that you can trust this printer?'

'Oh, yes. Thanks to Mr Bale. He frightened the life out of Miles Henshaw.'

'It was the only way to get his help,' said Jonathan with a smile. 'He was a surly fellow who had been sworn to secrecy by his customer. He was very obstructive at first. When I threatened to haul him before a magistrate, he thought better of it.'

'Was he aware that Gabriel's diary was being used for blackmail?'

'No, Miss Cheever. He was simply paid to print that extract.'

'By whom?'

'That is what we've yet to establish,' confessed Christopher, 'but Mr Henshaw gave us a good description of the customer. Apparently, he was a well-built young man with a handsome face but a rough manner. I have a strong feeling that I met the fellow in the dark last night.' He grinned quietly. 'After the way I flattened his nose, he may not be quite so handsome now.'

'You say that he had a rough manner?'

'Mr Henshaw meant that he was uneducated Miss Cheever. He spoke less like a master than a servant. That may be a valuable clue.'

It was late morning and the three of them were sitting in the parlour of the house in Fetter Lane. Jonathan was anxious to continue their investigation but Christopher felt that they had to report back to Susan first. He had not forgotten the way she had surged into the room to enquire after his health. It was almost worth taking a beating to enjoy the sheer luxury of her concern. Since she had appeared, his injuries no longer caused him the slightest twinge of pain.

'What will you do now, Mr Redmayne?' she asked.

'First, I will tell Jacob to escort you safely home.'

'Must I go?'

'You can remain here if you wish but it may be a long wait. Mr Bale and I have so much more to do. Besides,' said Christopher reasonably, 'your sister-in-law will be wondering what happened to you. It must have been a great shock to her when you suddenly left.'

'It was.'

'Go back and reassure her.'

'What shall I say to her?'

'Tell her that her husband's death will soon be explained.'

'Am I allowed to mention the attack on you, Mr Redmayne?'

'No,' he said. 'It would only upset her needlessly She has enough things to worry her as it is. Say nothing about me, Miss Cheever. Try to get her to do the talking.'

'I will.'

'Are you making any headway on that front?'

'I think so,' she said. 'Lucy is close to confiding in me.'

'Then it is important for you to stay with her.'

'I suppose so.'

'She needs your support.'

Susan gave a nod of agreement. Reluctant to leave, she accepted that she had to go. She had travelled to London at her sister-in- law's express request and could not desert her for any length of time. The visit to Fetter Lane had served to deepen the unspoken affection between her and Christopher. While she waited for him to come back, she had learned a great deal more about him simply by sitting in his house and imbibing its atmosphere. It was an interesting place and it reflected his character with accuracy. Jacob had even let her see some of his master's drawings. Marvelling at Christopher's skills, she was grateful that her father had retained him as an architect. It was her one source of consolation. She rose sadly to her feet.

'Yes,' said Christopher, reading the query in her face. 'I promise that we will keep you informed of any progress we make. It's a blessing that Mr Bale's house in Addle Hill is so near to Knightrider Street.'

'I hope that you will find time to come yourself, Mr Redmayne.'

'Of course.'

'I still believe that you may be the one to gain Lucy's confidence.'

'As long as I have yours,' he said.

'You do,' she assured him.

Jacob was summoned and given instructions. All four of them soon left the house together. Pausing in the street, Susan bestowed a valedictory smile on Christopher.

'Where will you go now?' she asked.

'To pay a call on a man who will not be pleased to see us.'

'Who is that, Mr Redmayne?'

'Mr Arthur Lunn.'

'Are we to search the coffee houses for him?' said a worried Jonathan.

'No, Mr Bale,' said Christopher, 'we'll call at his home first.

Even if he is not there himself, we may find out something of crucial importance.'

'What is that?' said Susan.

'If he has a servant with a wounded arm and a broken nose.'

Fleet Lane was well outside Tom Warburton's territory but he could not refuse his colleague's request. He had been with Jonathan Bale when the dead body was discovered and he had the same commitment to finding the killer. Choosing a vantage point with care, Warburton kept the printing shop under surveillance. His dog, Sam, seemed to realise the significance of the assignment. Instead of wandering off to forage, he stayed close to his master's feet, curling up and falling asleep. The constable's orders were simple. He was to watch customers going in and out of the shop and await a signal from the printer. Miles Henshaw had given him a description of the wanted man so he knew his salient features.

It was a lengthy wait. Several customers appeared but none of them resembled the person that Warburton was after. He stamped his feet to fight off cramp. Sam opened an eye to see if he was needed then closed it again. A group of people sauntered down the lane towards them. A young man, who had attached himself to the rear of the group, suddenly peeled off and went into the shop. Warburton took close interest. One glimpse of the customer alerted him. Nudging the dog awake, he kept his gaze on the printer's shop. The latest customer was inside for some time. When the man emerged Miles Henshaw came out with him to trade a few words before waving him off. Warburton moved forward, ready to break into a trot at the printer's signal. Sam emitted a low growl. But it was all to no avail. As soon as the customer had gone a few yards, Henshaw turned to the constable and shook his head vigorously. It was not the wanted man. Warburton drew back and Sam curled up again. The dog was soon fast asleep.

When he opened the front door, the servant was taken aback to see a burly constable standing there with a young man whose face was covered in lacerations. He recovered quickly and looked from one to the other.

'May I help you, gentlemen?' he said.

'We have called to see Mr Lunn,' said Christopher. 'Is he at home?'

'Yes, sir, but Mr Lunn is not receiving visitors today.'

'Tell him it's a matter of some urgency.'

'I will pass that message on to him' said the man, dismissing them with a cold smile. 'Good day, gentlemen.'

'Wait!' ordered Jonathan. 'Close that door in our faces and you'll answer to me.'

'My master is not available today, sir.'

'Tell him that Mr Redmayne and Mr Bale wish to speak to him.'

'It would make no difference,' said the man with exasperation.

'We'll not be denied,' warned Christopher.

'I never admit strangers.'

'We are both known to Mr Lunn. I was with him at a gaming house last night and Mr Bale here has shared a table with him at a coffee house.'

Jonathan winced at the reminder. 'I come on official business,' he said. 'If you try to turn us away, I'll fetch a warrant to gain entry. What will your master say to that?'

The man's certainty slowly vanished. He could see how determined the visitors were. Leaving them at the door, he risked his master's displeasure and went to report the request. When he returned he had a hangdog expression.

'You are to come in,' he mumbled, 'but Mr Lunn can spare you very little time.'

'We will not require much,' said Christopher.

They were conducted into a large hall with a high ceiling. The floor was marble and a marble staircase curled its way upwards. Located in St James's Square, the house was bigger and more sumptuous than those of either Sir Marcus Kemp or Peter Wickens. Christopher estimated the number of servants it would take to run such an establishment. Arthur Lunn was in the dining room, seated at the head of a long table with writing materials set out in front of him. He was still in his dressing gown but he wore his periwig. His paunch was accentuated, his swarthy face darkened even more by a scowl. When the visitors entered he gave them no word of greeting. He stared at Christopher's injuries without comment then glowered at Jonathan.

'What is this nonsense about a warrant?' he demanded.

'It did not prove necessary,' said Jonathan.

'I'll not have you upsetting my servants.'

'How many do you have here, Mr Lunn?' asked Christopher.

'That's none of your damn business, Mr Redmayne.'

'Is one of them nursing a wounded arm?'

Lunn's eyes bulged even more recklessly. 'Wounded arm?' he said. 'Is that why you came here - to discuss the condition of my servants?'

'It may be relevant, sir.'

'To what?'

'Something that happened to me last night. I was attacked.'

'I can see that. But do not expect any sympathy from me.'

'What I would like is an explanation, Mr Lunn,' said Christopher, moving closer. 'When I spoke to you last night, you were very brusque with me. Someone followed me from the gaming house and waited for the moment to strike. Is that not a coincidence?'

Lunn hauled himself up. 'Are you suggesting that I set someone on to you?' he said. 'That's a monstrous allegation.'

'Is it a truthful one?'

'No, of course not!'

'You seemed very annoyed with me.'

'I was, Mr Redmayne, but I'd never let anyone else do something that I would enjoy myself. Had I wanted you beaten, I'd have thrashed you with a horsewhip.'

Christopher met his gaze. 'It would not have stayed long in your hand.'

'Mr Redmayne was not beaten,' said Jonathan solemnly. 'An attempt was made on his life. We have reason to believe that the man responsible has killed already.'

'Why tell me all this?' demanded Lunn.

'We wondered if you might know the fellow, sir.'

'How could I?'

'By employing him to run errands for you,' said Christopher. 'Was he the same person you sent to Miles Henshaw, the printer?' Lunn looked bewildered. 'What is he? A servant? A friend? Or merely a hired assassin?'

'Will somebody tell me what this is all about? I'm baffled.'

'Let me jog your memory. An unknown person has been sending blackmail demands to a number of people,' he said, glancing at the correspondence on the table. 'My brother Henry was the first to receive one, Sir Marcus Kemp came next and the latest victim, as far as we know, is Mr Peter Wickens. There is a clear pattern. Large amounts of money are demanded. The blackmailer has to come from within my brother's circle or he would not be in possession of the sensitive information that he has acquired. Mr Bale and I have been searching for the man.'

Lunn was incredulous. 'Are you accusing me?'

'We merely wish to ask you some questions.'

'Am I supposed to have written these letters?'

'Let us just say that our enquiries have led us to your door, Mr Lunn.'

'Then they can lead you straight back out again,' snapped Lunn. 'Sir Marcus Kemp, Peter Wickens and your brother are all close friends of mine. Why should I want to blackmail them?'

'You have expensive tastes.'

'I can afford them, sir.'

'Even when you lose heavily at cards?' said Christopher. 'That was why you resented Gabriel Cheever. He took a small fortune from your purse and then he discarded your friendship like an empty bottle.' Lunn shuddered at the reminder. 'I suggest to you that you got your revenge on Gabriel and stole his diary so that you could recoup some of the money that you had lost. Is that what happened?' Lunn's head sank to his chest and he sat down again. 'How many blackmail demands have you sent?'

'None.'

'None at all? Then who has been sending them?'

'You tell me, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn, looking up at him. 'I want to know.'

'We think that you are involved somehow.'

'Oh, it's true. I am involved.'

'To what extent?' said Jonathan.

'I am the latest victim,' he explained picking up one of the letters from the table. 'If you came in search of proof, here it is. A blackmail demand for five hundred guineas. Even I would not be stupid enough to send a letter to myself.'

Christopher suddenly felt very uneasy. He did not dare to look at Jonathan.

'I think that we owe you an apology, Mr Lunn,' he said at length.

Lunn waved the apology away. 'You were only doing what you felt was right,' he said wearily. 'And it's a relief to know that somebody is trying to catch this devil. When I got his letter this morning, I all but collapsed with the shock.'

'Was anything sent with the letter?'

'Not this time.'

'This time?'

'I figure largely in Gabriel's diary, it seems,' confessed Lunn. 'If I do not pay five hundred guineas, an account of my exploits will be printed and distributed throughout London. It's too hideous to contemplate. No man knew my weaknesses better than Gabriel. He was in a position to crucify me.'

'You must accept some of the blame, sir,' Jonathan pointed out.

'Why?'

'You could not be blackmailed over vices you did not have.'

'Save me from the fellow's morality, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn angrily.

'I was only offering an opinion, sir.'

'This may not be the most appropriate time, Mr Bale,' said Christopher tactfully. 'Mr Lunn,' he continued 'the other victims were kind enough to let me peruse their letters so that I could compare the handwriting. Would you please extend the same privilege to me?'

'To you, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn, eyeing Jonathan, 'but not to Mr Bale.'

'Thank you.'

Christopher took the proffered letter and read it quickly. It was couched in the same terse language as the other missives and written by the person who sent the original letter to his brother. He gave it back to Lunn.

'I can see why you did not wish to receive visitors today.'

'While this is hanging over me, I'll not show my face in the streets.'

'Do not be cowed by it.'

'Now I understand why Henry was so loath to venture out with me,' said Lunn, 'and why Sir Marcus refused even to let me in. And Peter Wickens is a victim, too?'

'We called on him last night.'

'Is he going to pay up?'

'I advised strongly against it, Mr Lunn.'

'Why?'

'Sir Marcus handed over a thousand guineas,' said Christopher, 'and thought he was free of danger. But a second demand for that amount has now come.'

'Death and damnation!' cried Lunn. 'The villain has us by the throat.'

'I fancy that we have loosened his grip slightly.'

'Is there any hope of catching him?'

'Every hope,' said Christopher, 'especially if you lend your assistance.'

'What can I do?'

'Tell us more about your friendship with Gabriel Cheever. Why did he turn his back on everybody? Why did he renounce the life that he was living? You must have some idea, Mr Lunn,' he suggested. 'What prompted this repentance of his?'

Arriving back in Knightrider Street, Susan Cheever was surprised to learn that Lucy had been out for a walk. Wherever she had been, it had given her a lift. Lucy's cheeks had some colour back in them and she seemed more at peace with herself. It was the first time her eyes were not red-rimmed from crying. When they sat down to dine together, Susan was able to have a proper conversation with her.

'Where did you go, Lucy?' she asked.

'For a walk.'

'In which direction?'

'Oh, up towards the ruins of St Paul's. I took no notice of where we were going,' said Lucy. 'I simply went where Anna led me and enjoyed it.'

'The fresh air was obviously good for you.'

'I needed to get out of the house.' She chewed some food and swallowed it before speaking again. 'But what about you, Susan?' she said. 'You told me there was nothing wrong with Mr Redmayne but, in that case, why did he send his servant for you like that?'

'Jacob came of his own volition.'

'Why?'

'He felt that Mr Redmayne might want to talk to me.'

Lucy smiled. 'I might have told you that.'

'Jacob was sent to summon Mr Bale and being so close to Knightrider Street, came on here to ask for me.'

'Was Mr Redmayne pleased to see you?'

'I think so.'

'And were you glad to see him?'

'Very glad' confessed Susan. 'But I did not come to London to visit anyone else, Lucy. I'm here at your invitation and you must call on me whenever you wish. It was pleasant to go to Fetter Lane again but I am back now and at your command.'

'I have no commands, Susan.'

'Then I'll just sit with you and offer comfort.'

'Thank you.'

They ate in silence for a while. Susan was desperate to tell her about the attack on Christopher, partly for the pleasure of talking about him again but mainly in order to impress upon Lucy that he was taking perilous risks on her behalf. Christopher had advised against it lest it upset Lucy and the advice had seemed sound at the time. Watching her sister-in-law now, however, Susan wondered if she might broach the topic. If Lucy had recovered enough to venture out for a walk, she could surely cope with some distressing news, especially as it might engage her sympathies. Susan plunged in.

'There was more to it than that, Lucy,' she said.

'To what?'

'My visit this morning. Mr Redmayne has been injured.'

'Injured?' echoed Lucy. 'How badly?'

Susan described the state he was in when she arrived at his house. When she talked about the attack, she mentioned that both Christopher and Jonathan Bale were convinced that the would-be killer was the same man who had murdered Gabriel. It opened fresh wounds for Lucy and she began to sob. At first, Susan thought she had made an error of judgement, but her sister-in-law soon recovered and brushed away her tears. She looked at Susan.

'Why is Mr Redmayne doing this for us?' she said.

'He sees it as a kind of mission, Lucy.'

'Even though his own life is in danger?'

'He is a strong man. He fought off the attacker.'

'Gabriel was strong yet he was unable to do that.'

'Perhaps he had more than one man to fight against.' Susan paused before returning to a familiar request. 'It would help so much if we knew where the murder took place,' she said. 'Gabriel was not killed in this house or there would have been signs of disturbance. He was out somewhere.'

'Yes,' murmured Lucy.

'And you know where he was.'

'I might guess.'

'Where was it, Lucy?'

'Do not ask me.'

'But Mr Redmayne needs to know.'

'Gabriel was killed. That is the only fact that matters to me, Susan.'

'But you want his killer caught, surely?'

'Of course.'

'And you want to save Mr Redmayne from further attack?' She leaned in closer. 'What will happen if the assassin strikes again, Lucy? Think how guilty you will feel if Mr Redmayne is murdered.'

'It will not be my fault.'

'I know, but you can at least help to reduce the possibility.'

'How?'

'By telling the truth. Not to me,' she added quickly, 'because I can see that I am not the person in whom you will confide. Tell Mr Redmayne. He is such a kind and understanding man. He will respect any confidences. I have not known him long but I have formed the highest opinion of him.'

'So have I,' said Lucy quietly.

'He needs all the help that he can get. Why are you holding back?'

Lucy shrugged helplessly. 'Because I must, Susan.'

Henry Redmayne pounced on his brother like a hawk swooping down on its prey. 'Where have you been, Christopher?' he said, shaking him vigorously.

'Here, there and everywhere.'

'But I needed you beside me.'

'How can I continue the search if I am trapped here?' asked Christopher. 'You must try to shed this anxiety, Henry. Under your own roof, you are completely safe.'

'That is what I thought.'

'What do you mean?'

'I received another letter.'

'A blackmail demand?'

'Of a kind' groaned Henry. 'But first tell me your news. Did you find the man who printed that extract from the diary?'

'I did. His name is Miles Henshaw.'

'He deserves to be hanged, drawn and quartered.'

'No, Henry. He was simply printing what he was given. Mr Henshaw had no idea what cruel use his work would be put to by the blackmailer. Let me explain.'

Eager to hear his brother's tidings, Christopher gave him only a shortened account of the visits to Elijah Pembridge and to Miles Henshaw. The call on Arthur Lunn was summed up in a few sentences. Henry sank even further into dejection. He had been hoping for results that had simply not materialised. As far as he was concerned, a dangerous killer was still on the loose and he was the man's next target.

'What about you?' said Christopher, ending his narrative. 'Show me this new letter that you received today.'

'Even you will not be allowed to see that.'

'Why not?'

'Because I've already burned it.'

'Whatever for, Henry?'

'It is the only safe thing to do with that particular correspondence.'

'Who sent it?'

'Amelia.'

'Lady Ulvercombe?'

'Yes. She has only just discovered that my billet-doux is missing. Why has it taken her so long? I thought she had destroyed it, as she vowed she would do, but she clung on to it for sentimental reasons. It was, I have to confess, worded in such a way to excite a lady to the very pitch of delight. But does she read it every day to keep the flame of our romance alive? No, no, no! It takes her well over a week to notice that my deathless prose has been stolen. I am desolate, Christopher. Heavens above! It is insulting. A man is entitled to expect a mistress to drool over his correspondence.'

'At least, Lady Ulvercombe has learned the worst now.'

'Not before time.'

'What did her letter say?'

'She wants to meet me,' said Henry. 'This very afternoon. How can I venture outside that door when an assassin is lying in wait for me? And why, in any case, should I choose to confront the very woman who landed me in this infernal mess?'

'No, Henry,' said Christopher firmly. 'You landed yourself in this mess.'

'Amelia lost the letter.'

'You wrote it.'

'Only because she pestered me.'

'A moment ago, you were boasting about the way you had worded it.'

'Well, yes,' agreed Henry. 'It was a small masterpiece of its kind. But destined for the eyes of one person only before being consigned to the flames.'

'Is Lady Ulvercombe afraid that her husband will find out?'

'She is terrified. He already has suspicions of me. Were that letter to fall into his hands, he would not hesitate to wreak his revenge. Not that Amelia has any concern for me,' he added. 'Her anxiety is for herself.'

'Go on.'

'She insists on meeting me to discuss the matter. Otherwise - and this is the most drastic form of blackmail - she will make a full confession to the egregious Lord Ulvercombe and beg his forgiveness.' He flung his hands in the air. 'Where will that leave me?'

'Reason with her.'

'Desperate women have no truck with reason.'

'Assure her that the letter will be recovered somehow.'

'It may already be on its way to her husband.'

'I doubt that,' said Christopher. 'Once sent, it loses its power to extract money from you. Lady Ulvercombe must be told how it is being used to blackmail you. It could easily be employed against her in the same way.'

'Amelia would panic and throw herself on the mercy of that brutish husband.'

'You must calm the lady down, Henry.'

'How can I when I dare not leave the house?'

'You must.'

'No, Christopher. It is not simply fear that keeps me immured. The truth is that I do not wish to see Amelia again. She unsettles me.'

'But the two of you were so close at one time.'

'Revulsion is the Janus-face of romance.'

'That's not the remark of a gentleman,' said Christopher reproachfully.

'I'm not talking about my revulsion for her,' explained Henry. 'For my sins, I still have a vestigial affection. It was Amelia who turned against me. I have no idea why. I was encouraged, favoured then summarily discarded. That does not make a man wish to have a rendezvous with a woman he once adored.'

'If you do not go, Lady Ulvercombe will tell all to her husband.'

'There's the rub.'

Christopher pondered. 'Where does she ask you to meet her?' he said at length.

'At a secret address.'

'Where is it?'

'Less than five minutes from here.'

'Would you meet the lady if I were to accompany you there?'

'No. I could not bear the embarrassment.'

'Then I will go in your stead' decided Christopher.

'You?'

'Give me the address, Henry. The meeting may prove fruitful.'

While the two men talked neither took their eyes off the printer's shop owned by Miles Henshaw. Hours had passed since Tom Warburton took up his station nearby. Jonathan Bale was having difficulty replacing him.

'There is no point in both of us staying, Tom,' he said.

'I'll linger awhile.'

'Mr Redmayne asked me to relieve you.'

'Why?'

'He felt that you had been here long enough.'

'I have.'

'Then go back home and have some dinner. Come back later.'

'I might miss him.'

'We have no guarantee that he will come today,' said Jonathan, 'though there is one promising sign. The gentleman we visited this morning has been threatened with publication of shameful details about his private life. Not that he had the grace to be ashamed about them,' he added grimly, 'but we'll let that pass. Those details will need to be printed by Mr Henshaw so that they can be used to cause the gentleman further grief. The commission may come today.'

'Then I'll stay.'

'Leave him to me.'

'You may need help, Jonathan.'

'I can manage.'

'We are in this together.'

'True.'

'You, me - and Sam,' said Warburton, fondling his dog. 'He found the body.'

'I have not forgotten that, Tom.'

Jonathan was pleased at the prospect of company during what might prove to be a long vigil but worried that he might not be able to make the arrest himself. The attack on Christopher Redmayne had upset him deeply. Jonathan felt that he had a personal score to settle on behalf of his friend. If the man posing as Gabriel Cheever did arrive at the printer's, he wanted to be the one to confront him. It was a selfish attitude and he chided himself for it but that did not lessen his desire to be instrumental in the arrest. There was, however, another factor to be taken into account. If the man did reappear, he might not be alone. His accomplice might be with him. That could cause a problem even for Jonathan. His colleague's support might be valuable, after all, and it would be very unfair to exclude the dog.

'Thanks, Tom,' he said with feeling. 'Good to have you with me.'

Sam gave a bark of gratitude. He wanted to be involved in any action.

The unheralded arrival of Sir Julius Cheever took both women by surprise. Lucy was quite overwhelmed when he suddenly appeared on her doorstep and she did not know how to react. Susan was dismayed. Much as she loved him, she felt that he had come at an awkward time. During their long conversations, she and Lucy were drawing ever closer. The presence of Sir Julius in such a limited space made any exchange of confidences quite impossible.

'Why have you come, Father?' she asked.

'I felt that I had to, Susan,' he said. 'I cannot mourn my son properly until his killer has been brought to justice. Instead of sitting in Northamptonshire, I ought to be here, helping in the search.'

'It is good to see you again, Sir Julius,' said Lucy.

'My apologies for coming unannounced.'

'They are unnecessary.'

They were in the house in Knightrider Street. Travel had patently tired Sir Julius. He had lost much of his animation. Lucy felt obliged to offer him accommodation.

'You are most welcome to stay here,' she offered.

'No, no, Lucy,' he said 'I would not dream of it.'

'Anna can soon prepare the other bedchamber.'

'I have already taken a lodging at the King's Head in Holborn. It is close to Mr Redmayne's house in Fetter Lane. I called there first but his servant told me he was out. He also said that Mr Redmayne had been attacked.' He turned to Susan. 'Is this true?'

'Unhappily, it is.'

'Was he injured?'

'Yes, Father,' she said, 'I saw him myself this morning.'

'Tell me what happened.'

Conscious of Lucy's presence, she chose her words carefully, describing the violence of the attack but making no mention of the fact that Christopher had been out with his brother. While she was able to praise Christopher's bravery, she knew that the plight of Henry Redmayne would provoke only disgust in her father. Susan went on to explain that Christopher and Jonathan Bale were continuing their investigations.

'How can I get in touch with them?' said Sir Julius anxiously.

'Mr Redmayne promised to call here if there was any news to report.'

'When did you last see him?'

'A few hours ago.'

'We have already dined, Sir Julius,' said Lucy sweetly, 'but you are welcome to refreshment after your journey.'

'No, thank you,' he said. 'I seem to have lost my appetite lately.'

'So have I.'

'What I would like to do, with your permission, is to stay here awhile.'

'Please do, Sir Julius.'

'Yes,' said Susan without enthusiasm. 'It will give us an opportunity to catch up on your news. Does Brilliana know that you are back in London?'

'No. Nor must she at this stage.'

'Why not?' asked Lucy innocently.

'My elder daughter behaved very badly after the funeral,' said Sir Julius. 'I will not easily forgive her for that. Fortunately, her husband had the sense to take her back to Richmond. I never thought I'd be grateful to Lancelot Serle but I am. He did the right thing. I'm grateful to the fellow and - dare I admit it? - profoundly sorry for him, being married to someone like Brilliana.'

'He was very kind to me,' recalled Lucy.

'Lancelot is a very considerate man,' said Susan.

'That may be,' agreed Sir Julius gruffly, 'but he is still a dolt and best left down in Richmond until this whole business is settled.' He slapped his knee. 'This inaction will be the death of me. I was not meant to sit around and do nothing. I want to join in the hunt. Where is Mr Redmayne? I want the latest news.'

It was the ideal place for a tryst. Situated in a quiet lane not far from Charing Cross, the house was small, neat and indistinguishable from those either side of it. When he first saw the building, Christopher Redmayne felt a slight flush of guilt. Its very anonymity had recommended the house to his brother as a place in which to further his romance with Lady Ulvercombe. Assignations had taken place there over a brief period. Looking at it now, Christopher wondered yet again why Henry permitted himself to get drawn into such entanglements. They invariably ended in sorrow. This particular relationship might have even more serious consequences. Christopher was mildly embarrassed that he was put in the position of trying to rescue his brother from the ire of a cuckolded husband. He was not looking forward to the task but somebody had to take it on.

When he gave his surname at the door, he was admitted at once. It was only when he stood in the hall and removed his hat that the servant was able to take a close look at him. After flinching at the sight of his injured face, the man became suspicious.

'You are not Mr Henry Redmayne, sir,' he said.

'I am his brother, Christopher.'

'Is Lady Ulvercombe expecting you?'

'Tell her that I have come on Henry's behalf.'

The man's eyes clouded with doubt and he disappeared for a long time. Christopher feared that Lady Ulvercombe would refuse to see him and he would be sent ignominiously on his way. It made him even more self-conscious. He glanced at the staircase, wondering how many times his brother had climbed it with his fleeting conquest. When the servant reappeared, he warned Christopher that he would be seen on sufferance. It was evident from his tone that Lady Ulvercombe was very annoyed that Henry had not come in person. Steeling himself, Christopher went into the parlour.

She was standing beside the window that overlooked the garden, choosing a position where the light fell on her to best advantage. Lady Ulvercombe was a tall, stately woman in her thirties who paid meticulous attention to her appearance. She had the kind of glacial beauty that reminded him of Brilliana Cheever but her immaculate attire marked her superior social status. When she turned to Christopher, she wrinkled her nose at the sight of his face.

'I apologise for my appearance, Lady Ulvercombe,' he said politely, 'but I was attacked in the street last night.'

She was unsympathetic. 'Did you bear any resemblance to your brother before that incident?' she said. 'I can discern none whatsoever now. Where is he?'

'Unable to come.'

'Does he not understand the importance of the summons?'

'Only too well, Lady Ulvercombe. He was aware that the letter had gone astray.'

'How?'

'Henry is being blackmailed.'

Her poise wavered. 'Somebody has the letter?' she asked. 'That was my fear.'

'It is causing my brother rather more than fear,' said Christopher. 'If you would care to sit down, I will explain. These injuries you see,' he added, indicating his face, 'are a small part of the explanation.'

'Henry should be here to give it in person.'

'Bear with me, Lady Ulvercombe, and you will understand why he is not.'

She regarded him with a blend of interest and unease. His bearing was impressive and his voice persuasive but she was distressed that he knew about an item of intimate correspondence. If his brother had confided in him, then he had to be trustworthy, she hoped but she would need reassurance on that score. Crossing to a chair, she lowered herself into it and assumed another pose. Christopher had a vision of Henry and his mistress together, preening themselves in front of each other and attaching far more importance to outward show than to any emotional commitment. He took a seat.

'It is a long story, I fear,' he began.

'Must I hear it all?' she sighed.

'It started with a brutal murder, Lady Ulvercombe.'

She jerked backwards in alarm. Having secured her attention, he did not pause. He described the circumstances of Gabriel Cheever's death and, while refraining from giving any names, told her of the people who were being blackmailed by means of extracts from a secret diary. In showing her that the disappearance of her letter was only one detail in a much larger picture, Christopher expected to shake her self-absorption but he was mistaken. All that concerned her was her own situation.

'I have never met this Gabriel Cheever,' she said haughtily. 'Who was he?'

'A friend of my brother's.'

'His death is unfortunate but irrelevant to me.'

'I would dispute that, Lady Ulvercombe.'

'Is there any reference to me in his scandalous diary?'

'Not as far as I know.'

'Then let us forget it, Mr Redmayne,' she insisted, 'and turn our attention to the missing letter. Did Henry give you any indication as to its contents?'

'He did not need to, Lady Ulvercombe,' said Christopher with gallantry. 'I have only to look at you to understand the nature of the communication. Henry was rightly devoted to you.' His flattery drew a thin smile from her. 'The important thing now is to save your reputation.'

'I could not agree more.'

'To do that, I need to ask some personal questions.'

'Not too personal, I trust,' she warned.

'Where was the letter kept, Lady Ulvercombe?'

'I have a small cabinet in my bedchamber.'

'Is the cabinet locked?'

'Most of the time.'

'Did you ever take the missive out to read it through?'

'Really, sir!' she rebuked. 'What a lady does with her keepsakes is her own affair. If your questioning is to take this turn, I'll no more of it.'

'I'm sorry, Lady Ulvercombe,' he said. 'I'm simply trying to establish when it went astray. It was well over a week ago that Henry received the blackmail demand. Think back, if you will. Were you absent from the house for any period of time?'

She pondered. 'As a matter of fact, we were.'

'Oh?'

'My husband and I stayed with friends in Sussex.'

'How long were you away?'

'Several days, Mr Redmayne.'

'And when did this visit take place?'

'A fortnight or so ago,' she recalled. 'Are you suggesting that the letter was stolen from the house while we are away?'

'Unless you took it with you, Lady Ulvercombe.'

She flared up. 'You are starting to irritate me again, sir.'

'There are only two possibilities here,' he said. 'The first is that you had it in your possession and mislaid it. That, I know,' he went on swiftly, 'is well nigh impossible as you would never be so careless.'

'Or so foolish.'

'Then we have to accept the second possibility. It was stolen from you.'

'Why?'

'In order to blackmail Henry and embarrass you.'

'But nothing else was taken,' she argued, 'and I have a whole drawer of keepsakes. The house is well guarded while we are away. There were no reports of a burglary when we returned.'

'Then we must look elsewhere, Lady Ulvercombe.'

'Elsewhere?'

'At your servants.'

Her eyes flashed again. 'I refuse even to countenance that suggestion. Each and every one of them is above reproach, Mr Redmayne. They have been with us for years.' She remembered something. 'With one exception, that is.'

'Who might that be?'

'A chambermaid we took on six months ago.'

'I see.'

'But I would exempt her from any suspicion,' said Lady Ulvercombe. 'She came to us with the highest recommendation. The girl was formerly in the employ of one of your brother's friends, as it happens.'

'A friend of Henry's?' said Christopher, his curiosity aroused.

'I mentioned that my steward was looking to engage a new chambermaid.'

'And Henry found one for you?'

'The girl was looking for a new post.'

'Who was this friend of his?'

'Miss Hemmings,' she said. 'Celia Hemmings.'

The afternoon sun beat down on Fleet Lane and made their protracted vigil even more uncomfortable. Both men were sweating profusely. Jonathan Bale was hungry, Tom Warburton was bored and the dog had grown restless. There were several hours to go before the printer's shop closed and they would have to resume their position early next morning if they were to be there when Miles Henshaw opened for business. Warburton was fractious.

'We could be here for days, Jonathan.'

'If that is what it takes, I do not mind waiting.'

'You are not even sure he will come.'

'No, Tom. I am following my instinct.'

'I would rather follow my belly.'

Jonathan smiled. 'So would I, but someone has to keep watch. Leave me here on my own. You and Sam have done your share. The pair of you deserve some solid food.'

'Shall we bring something back for you?'

'No, Tom. But you might give a message to Sarah.'

'Her husband is starving?'

'Just tell her that I may be late back.'

'I will.'

Having elected to go, Warburton nevertheless loitered for a while, torn between a sense of duty and the need to eat. Eventually, he decided to make his move. The dog jumped eagerly to his feet. Before they could leave, however, Jonathan motioned in the direction of the printer's shop. A young man was approaching on a horse. They were too far away to see his face beneath the broad- brimmed hat but they saw how gingerly he carried his right arm. Looped round his neck was the strap of a leather satchel. The man dismounted, tethered his horse, took off the satchel and went into the shop. Neither Warburton nor Sam wanted to go now. They waited as patiently as Jonathan.

A quarter of an hour passed before the customer reappeared. Miles Henshaw came out with him, ostensibly to wave him off but really in order to give a signal to the watching constables. Jonathan anticipated it. Before Warburton could move, Jonathan came out of hiding and strode purposefully towards the shop. Henshaw saw him coming and squandered the element of surprise. When he saw the expression on the printer's face, the customer became suspicious and glanced over his shoulder to see a constable bearing down on him. Pushing the printer away, the man rushed to mount his horse, using his left hand to help himself up into the saddle.

'This is him!' yelled Henshaw.

'Hold there, sir!' cried Jonathan. 'I want a word with you.'

'He brought more pages of the diary.'

The rider kicked his horse forward but Jonathan managed to grab the reins. The animal neighed loudly as it described a rapid circle. Jonathan held on firmly. He looked up at the man and saw the ugly swelling around his nose. Identification was confirmed.

'You are under arrest, sir,' he declared.

'Stand off!' warned the man.

Taking a pistol from his belt, he pointed it at Jonathan, shifting it to cover Warburton as well when the other constable lumbered towards him. Jonathan was uncertain what to do. The man could not shoot both of them. Still holding the reins, he took a step closer, but it brought him within range. The man slipped a foot from his stirrup and kicked out to send Jonathan sprawling. The bridle was now free and escape possible. Pistol in hand, the man urged his horse on with a sharp dig of his heels and it lunged forward. The ride was short-lived. Before it reached the end of the lane, the horse was confronted by a small terrier. Yapping noisily, Sam showed no fear of the flashing hooves. It was the horse that took fright. Sliding to a halt, it reared up so abruptly^ on its hind legs that its rider was thrown from the saddle, knocking his head on the ground with an audible thud. Warburton did his best to control the horse while Jonathan got up to run across to the fallen man. The rider was unconscious, blood trickling from a gash in his skull to disfigure his face even more.

Having done his work, the dog went off to lift his leg against the wall of a house.

'There,' said Warburton proudly. 'I thought you might need us, Jonathan.'

Christopher Redmayne rode down Knightrider Street at a canter until he reached the house. Before he could even dismount, he was given a welcome. Flinging open the front door, Sir Julius came bursting out to him. His daughter was close behind.

'Where have you been, Mr Redmayne?' said Sir Julius. 'Is there any news?'

'A great deal,' replied Christopher, 'but I did not think to find you back in London, Sir Julius.'

'Father arrived this afternoon,' explained Susan, delighted to see Christopher again and annoyed that her father was monopolising him. 'Let Mr Redmayne come in, Father. We can hardly talk out here in the street.'

'Why not?' said Sir Julius. 'I've waited long enough. I've been watching through that window for you this past hour or so, Mr Redmayne.' He peered up at him. 'Look at those scratches. You have been in the wars, I see. Susan told us how well you fought. You merit our congratulations.'

'It is Mr Bale who has earned the congratulations.'

'How?'

'The news from him is good' said Christopher, dismounting to tether his horse. 'But there is so much of it to tell that it might be better if we were all sitting down.'

Susan led the way into the house and once she had recovered from the shock of seeing his lacerations, Lucy added her own welcome. Christopher had hoped to speak to Susan alone first in order to savour the joy of her response, but he had to settle for a general announcement. His face lit up with a smile.

'We have caught him,' he said.

Sir Julius let out a yell of triumph, Susan felt a surge of relief and Lucy was so overcome that she burst into tears. Christopher waited until she had recovered enough to let him go on. Sir Julius was impatient.

'Who is the rogue?' he asked.

'He will not give his name, Sir Julius.'

'But you have him in custody?'

'Mr Bale is with him now,' said Christopher, 'though he denies any claim to heroism during the actual arrest. He gives the credit to Sam.'

'Sam?' repeated Susan.

'A dog belonging to Mr Warburton, another constable. I suppose it was only fitting that Sam should help to catch the killer,' he decided. 'It was he who found Gabriel's body on Paul's Wharf that night.'

'Tell us about the arrest,' urged Sir Julius.

'I can only give you Mr Bale's account. I have just left him.'

Christopher did not mention that he had first visited his brother, interviewed Henry's former mistress, repaired to Bedford Street again to confirm what Lady Ulvercombe had told him about her chambermaid then called in at his own house. Jacob had passed on the urgent message left there by Jonathan Bale. Christopher had ridden hard to the gaol to see the captive for himself. Without even referring to the diary, he gave his listeners an account of how a trap had been set outside a printer's shop in Fleet Lane. Two constables and a dog had caught the man who murdered Gabriel Cheever. The prisoner was also responsible for the attack on Christopher and was unrepentant about it when his victim confronted him.

'He admits the attack, then?' said Sir Julius.

'He almost gloried in it.'

'Wait until I get my hands on the villain!'

'Let the law take its course, Sir Julius.'

'I'll tear him limb from limb.'

'I think it best if you keep away from him until the trial,' said Christopher. 'Mr Bale is with him now, trying to get more information out of him. But he'll yield up neither his name, his address nor the identities of his accomplices.'

'How many of them were there?' asked Susan.

'Two at least.'

'Oh,' she said with disappointment. 'So it is not all over yet?'

'Not yet, Miss Cheever, but our main task has been accomplished. The killer is behind bars. He was the most dangerous of them. It is only a matter of time before we track down the others,' he said confidently. 'We are all but there.'

'You and Mr Bale have done wonders.'

'Yes,' agreed Sir Julius. 'I'd like to meet this brave constable of yours.'

'You may already have done so, Sir Julius.'

'Oh?'

'Mr Bale would never tell me this himself,' said Christopher, 'but his wife has confided in me that her husband bore arms at the Battle of Worcester.'

Sir Julius was cautious. 'On which side?'

'The winning side.'

'Then I insist on meeting the fellow!'

'He was very young at the time, Sir Julius, but he's a born fighter. I've learned that on more than one occasion. You might wish to meet Mr Warburton as well. He assisted in the arrest.'

'I would like to meet the dog,' said Lucy quietly.

'You will meet them all in time,' said Christopher.

'What about the accomplices?' asked Lucy. 'Do you have any idea who they are?'

'I believe that I know the name of one of them.'

'Tell me who he is,' demanded Sir Julius, 'and I'll help in the arrest myself.'

'More evidence is needed before we can move to that stage, Sir Julius. As it happens I will need some help in obtaining it.'

'Count on me, Mr Redmayne.'

'Actually, I was hoping that your daughter might be able to assist.'

'Me?' said Susan in astonishment.

'Yes, Miss Cheever.'

'What can Susan do?' said Sir Julius with mild scorn. 'Make use of my experience here. I am skilled in the art of interrogation. Tell me who the man is and I promise to get the truth out of him in no time at all.'

'I still think that your daughter would be more suitable.'

'Why?' asked Susan.

Sir Julius was hurt. 'Are you spurning my offer?'

'I have to,' said Christopher. 'The suspect I have in mind is a woman.'

Celia Hemmings was scolding her dressmaker when the letter arrived at her house in Covent Garden. Having paid so much for it, she expected every detail to be exactly as she had prescribed, but her new dress fell short of perfection in several ways. With a final burst of vituperation, she packed the dressmaker off to make the necessary alterations before she snatched the letter from her servant's hands and gave it a casual glance. It was only when she returned to her bedchamber that she thought to open it. The letter was short, polite and written in the most elegant hand. What made her blink was the name of the sender. Celia read the letter through once more.

'Susan Cheever?' she said to herself. 'Why does she wish to meet me?'

The prison cell was small, dark and fetid. The hot weather served to intensify the stink. Manacled to an iron ring in the wall, the man crouched in the corner. He was wearing only shirt, breeches and shoes now. When Christopher arrived Jonathan Bale was still trying without success to elicit the truth from the prisoner. It was arduous work.

'What has he told you?' asked Christopher.

'Nothing at all, Mr Redmayne.'

'Were there no clues on him as to his identity?'

'None,' said Jonathan. 'All that he was carrying when he went into the printer's shop was a leather satchel. It contained two more extracts from the diary.'

Christopher turned to the man. 'Where is the rest of the diary?' he said.

'Search for it up my arse!' sneered the other, offering his buttocks.

'Show some respect!' ordered Jonathan.

'I respect nobody.'

'You'll respect the hangman, I dare say,' observed Christopher.

The man spat into the filthy straw that covered the floor and glared at him with open defiance. Christopher was interested to take a longer look at him. The prisoner was exactly as Henshaw had described him. He was young, dark, brawny and until his nose had been broken, passably handsome. His manner was uncouth. Even though he was chained to the wall, he still possessed an air of menace. There was great strength in the broad shoulders and long arms. Having fought with the man himself, Christopher could see how Gabriel Cheever had been overpowered by him.

'Someone helped you to kill Gabriel,' he said.

'Did they?' replied the man with mock surprise.

'Who was he?'

'I've been asking him that repeatedly,' said Jonathan.

'You strangled him,' said Christopher, moving close to the man, 'but someone else ran him through with a sword. Is that right? Were there two of you?'

The man gave a broad grin. 'I like to kill on my own.'

'Those days are over,' said Jonathan.

'Not if one of you comes close enough.'

'Watch him, Mr Redmayne.'

'Oh, I'm safe enough,' said Christopher, only a foot away from the prisoner. 'He never attacks from the front, do you, my friend? That would be a fair fight. He prefers to sneak up on someone in the dark and take him unawares.'

'Only cowards do that,' remarked Jonathan.

'I'm no coward!' asserted the man.

'Yes, you are.'

'I agree, Mr Bale,' said Christopher, trying to provoke the man. 'That's the reason he'll not name his accomplices. He's afraid of them. He's a coward.'

'No!' yelled the prisoner. 'What I did takes nerve.'

'What you did was pure wickedness,' said Jonathan with contempt, 'and you'll pay for it on the scaffold with your accomplices alongside you.'

'There was nobody else.'

'Yes, there was.'

'Somebody set you on,' said Christopher. 'You may be clever enough to kill someone who is not looking but all that you are fit for, apart from that, is to fetch and carry. They used you, my friend. They made you do all the work while they sat back and give orders. And where has it got you? Chained to a wall in this sewer.'

'With two rats like you for company,' retorted the man.

'Guard your tongue!' warned Jonathan, moving in.

'Who's the coward now?' jeered the other. 'You'd only dare to take me on when I've got these manacles on my wrists. Set me free and we'll see who is the strongest.'

'I wish I was allowed to do just that.'

'Ignore him, Mr Bale,' advised Christopher. 'He is baiting you. Let's leave him to lie in his own ordure for a night or two. He might be more amenable to persuasion by then. We'll get nothing more out of the rogue today.'

They went out of the cell and Jonathan turned to close the door.

'Wait!' begged the man, weakening at last. 'I'll strike a bargain with you.'

'What sort of bargain?' said Jonathan.

'Do you have any influence with the gaoler?'

'I might have.'

'Get him to bring me some decent food.'

'In my opinion, you've no right to eat anything at all.'

'Hear him out, Mr Bale,' suggested Christopher. 'Supposing we could arrange some better food for you,' he said to the prisoner, 'what would you tell us?'

'The name you want.'

'Is he the man who is behind the blackmail demands?'

'Yes,' said the other, lowering his head.

'Who is he?'

'Promise you'll get me the food first.'

'Mr Bale will do what he can.'

'I need more than that. Give me a firm promise.'

'Very well,' said Jonathan. 'I'll speak to a friend here. I give you my word.'

'Now tell us the name,' said Christopher.

'I will,' consented the other solemnly.

'Well?'

'Sir Julius Cheever!'

The man went off into a peal of derisive laughter. Annoyed that they had been taken in by the deception, Jonathan slammed the door shut and locked it. They could still hear the wild laughter as they left the building.