‘I’d hoped there would be something,’ Barak said.
I shook my head. ‘The people involved in this wouldn’t leave evidence of Greek Fire in their homes. Even the Gristwoods kept that apparatus out at Lothbury.’
‘They kept the formula at home.’
‘And look what happened to them. No, everything’s hidden away somewhere.’
‘But where, if not in a house?’
I stopped dead. ‘What about a warehouse?’
‘That’s possible. But there are dozens along the river bank.’
‘There was a warehouse conveyancing among the cases I lost. Near Salt Wharf. It struck me at the time that the transaction was conducted in the name of people who looked like nominees and I wondered who would want to keep ownership of a warehouse secret.’
‘But it was Rich who took those cases away from you.’
I paused a moment, then hastened into chambers. Skelly was sharpening a quill into a nib; he squinted up at me.
‘John,’ I asked. ‘Is Master Godfrey in?’
‘No, sir.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘He has another hearing before the committee.’
‘Will you do something for me? You know a number of cases have been taken away from me recently - half a dozen or so. Would you make a list for me now? The names, what they were about and the parties.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Wait.’ I looked into his red eyes. ‘I have wondered, John, if you see as well as you might.’ And then I was filled with guilt, for he looked mortally afraid.
‘Perhaps not, sir,’ he murmured, shifting from foot to foot.
I made my voice cheerful. ‘I have an apothecary friend who is experimenting with spectacles. He is looking for subjects. If you would go to him he may be able to help your sight, and as you would be aiding his work there would be no fee.’
I saw hope in his face. ‘I’ll be glad to see him, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll arrange it. Now, go and make the list.’
He scurried away.
‘Do you think that warehouse could really be where they are storing the Dark Fire and the apparatus?’ Barak asked.
‘It seems a long shot, I know. But it’s a possibility; we have to follow it up.’ I looked into his sceptical face. ‘Unless you have a better suggestion.’
Barak nodded. ‘All right, then.’
‘I’ve never heard of a warehouse bought through a nominee before. It stayed in my mind, it was so unusual. Could that be the explanation? It was the last of my cases to go - just after I took Cromwell’s assignment.’
‘Anything’s worth a try.’ Barak had crossed to the open window. ‘What’s going on out there?’ he asked suddenly.
I joined him. A small crowd of people, servants and barristers and clerks, had gathered round one of the students, a stocky young fellow with fair hair. He stood gesticulating wildly in the middle of the crowd, his eyes wide with shock. ‘It’s murder,’ I heard him say.
Exchanging a look, Barak and I hurried outside. We shouldered our way through the crowd and I grasped the young fellow by the arm. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘Who’s murdered?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I was going rabbit hunting, up by Coney Garth, and in the orchard I found - a foot. A foot in a shoe, cut off. And blood everywhere.’
‘Take us there,’ I said. He hesitated a moment, then turned and led us towards the gate to the orchard on the north side of Gatehouse Court. Part of the crowd followed us, nosy as sparrows.
‘Stay back,’ I said. ‘This is official.’ People grumbled, but they remained outside as we passed through to the orchard. The apple and pear trees were in full leaf and a carpet of long-fallen blossom lay all around. The student led the way through the trees.
‘What’s your name, fellow?’ I asked.
‘Francis Gregory, sir. I wanted some rabbits for the pot. I came out early, but I ran back when I saw that - thing.’ I studied his face. He seemed none too bright and very frightened.
‘All right, Francis. There’s nothing to fear, but a man is missing and we have been ordered to find him.’
Reluctantly young Gregory led us on into the trees. In the middle of the orchard, on the blossom-covered ground, we found a gruesome chaos. A wide patch of ground was covered with blood, black and sticky-looking. One tree had had a branch hacked off and a great gouge cut in its side. The mark of an axe, Wright’s weapon of choice. And, lying at the bottom of the tree, was a shoe with an inch of white leg visible above.
I stepped on to the bloody ground to look at the severed foot, my stomach churning a little at the sight. It had been shorn off like a pig’s trotter. Flies were buzzing around it.
‘That’s a gentleman’s shoe,’ Barak observed.