starving.' Cromwell bit into the ham and chewed enthusiastically.
'So, go on, then,' Winterburne said, 'tell me what you found out.'
Cromwell still had some food in his mouth but he spoke anyway. 'Well,' he said, swallowing, 'I took a trip to the Palace and questioned everyone, just as you ordered.'
'Good,' Winterburne replied. 'I can't imagine that went down well.'
'Like an anchor, Sir.' Cromwell smirked. 'The Palace staff were all helpful enough. They knew Agatha well and were only too happy to help, but most of the Governors weren't best pleased that I ''had the audacity to feel the need to doubt their integrity'', or something along those lines.'
Winterburne chuckled. 'So I can expect some complaints, then?'
'I doubt it, Sir,' Cromwell continued. 'Master Draper was very supportive, reminding them that the Watch had the fullest confidence of the Emperor. He offered to speak to the him to get confirmation that they could indeed be questioned, should they wish. They didn't want him to do that.'
'I bet,' Winterburne replied. He had experienced the closed ranks of the nobility on other occasions but he usually found that a good threat or two never failed to loosen their tongues.
Cromwell grinned as he wriggled on the bench. 'Do you want to hear something really interesting, though?'
Winterburne gestured with his knife for Cromwell to continue.
'Well, according to the scribe, Master de Malyns, there was a bit of a disagreement at the council meeting on the night the girl died.'
'I'll wager that's nothing new,' Winterburne said. 'It's government, Milo, I bet they disagree all the time.'
'I expect that's true, Sir,' Cromwell replied, 'but the interesting part is that afterwards, the Emperor asked Lord Courtenay to show their Lordships back to their quarters.'
'And I'm supposed to find that interesting, am I?' Winterburne took a bite of the bread and chewed away as he waited for the man to continue.
'Not in itself, but I spoke to Lord Courtenay, Sir,' Cromwell's face beamed, 'and he told me that Lord Allington did not follow him back to their Lordship's rooms.'
Winterburne swallowed. 'So where did he go?' He was beginning to take Cromwell's account a little more seriously now and perhaps he should not have been so sceptical after all.
'That's just it,' Cromwell said. 'No one knows for sure.'
'Did you ask him?'
'Of course. Lord Allington maintains that he left the Palace for a short while to take some air, but was not outside for long. He also told me that Lord Cole could vouch for him.'
'And I assume he can?' Winterburne's interest had been piqued by his Lieutenant's revelations.
'No, Sir.' A look of triumph crossed Cromwell's face as he relayed the results of his investigation.
'No?' Winterburne frowned.
'Lord Cole says that Allington did tell him that he was going outside for air, but that as he didn't actually accompany him, then he is unable to confirm it.'
'Well done,' Winterburne said. 'So we have at least one person at the Palace that is not accounted for around the time of the girl's death.'
'But wouldn't that mean,' Cromwell said, 'that if Lord Allington did kill the girl, then he would have to have a link with the Assassin's Guild.' He frowned as he seemed to realise the implications.
'Yes, it would,' Winterburne said, 'but equally, merely being outside, on the night of a murder doesn't make you guilty, either.' His mind churned over as he considered this new piece of information in the scheme of the whole case. 'Although, it does give us something to ponder,' he said. 'Now I do need to get back inside that guild more than ever.' He paused. 'Did you find out anything else at the Palace?'
'No, Sir,' Cromwell said. 'As far as I could tell, everyone else can account for their movements that night. So, that means that we have two definite suspects so far.'
'Two?'
'Of course, Sir.' Cromwell held up a single finger. 'Allington is the first,' he said, and held up a second finger, 'and the other is that fellow we followed and lost the other night.'
'Hmm,' Winterburne had hoped that Cromwell would have forgotten about the Emperor, but he had trained him well, and he knew it would have been too much for him to expect.
'Anyway, Sir,' Cromwell said, 'it doesn't seem that there was an obvious connection between this man and the Lovell girl.'
Winterburne watched Cromwell wriggle on the bench. It seemed that the man had more to tell him.
'We also knocked on all the doors near where the girl's body was found, but no one saw or heard anything.'
'What a surprise,' Winterburne replied. In truth he had not expected any different.
'No, Sir,' Cromwell paused, 'but, we managed to find out the name of the man that was killed. His name was Guy Appleby, and, he was staying in a lodging house not far from the North Gate.'
Winterburne was surprised to hear that piece of news. He put down his knife. 'How did you find that out so soon?'
'Well, Sir,' Cromwell smiled, 'believe it or not, his landlady came forward today and said that he hadn’t come home for a few nights. She was worried.' He looked proud of himself, as he passed on the news.
'Very good, Milo,' Winterburne said, and reached into his pocket pulling out the key that had been found the night of the man's murder, placing it on the table mid-way between himself and Cromwell. He stared at it for a moment before cutting himself another piece of meat, pushing it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. 'Let me finish eating,' he said, 'and then we can go and check to see if this fits his lock.'
oOo
Winterburne followed Agnes along the dark corridor towards a door at the far end, Cromwell close behind him. There were no windows to allow the natural light into this part of the house and so the landlady held out a candlestick in which a short white candle burned as brightly as it could.
'Here you go,' Agnes said, 'this is his room.' The woman stood back to give Winterburne some space. 'I never went in, just as yer man tol' me.'
'That's good, thank you,' Winterburne said, removing the key from his pocket and sliding it into the lock. The key turned easily and the lock released with a loud click. 'Right then,' he said, looking at Cromwell, 'here we go.'
The hinges creaked as Winterburne turned the handle and pushed the door open. He stepped into the room and turned to look at the woman. 'Thank you, Mistress Fulwell. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.'
The woman tried to look around him to see into the room, but Winterburne quickly closed the door, shutting her out.
The heavy curtains at the window on the far side of the room were open and the light poured in. A simple cot bed stood against the same wall, the grey blankets neatly pulled up the bed, the edges tucked below the mattress pulling them tight. A knotted-oak wardrobe, with large black bar-hinges, stood against the wall and a pile of dirty clothes lay in one corner. A small, matching oak bedside table had been placed next to the bed, upon which an unlit candle stood in a holder. Several books had been piled neatly next to it on the floor.
'At first sight, I'd say that it all looks fairly normal, Sir,' Cromwell said, as he glanced around the room.
'Perhaps,' Winterburne replied. He walked over to the piles of books and picked up the book on the top of the pile. It had been bound in red leather and the gilded writing on the cover read Empire and Beyond. The ribbon was threaded between the pages about half way through the book and he opened it at the place the man seemed to have saved. The title at the top of the page read Principles of Democracy.
He flicked through a few more pages. 'I reckon he was a bit of a subversive on the quiet,' he said. 'This book's about different forms of government. I remember it from my studies.' He closed the book and replaced it on the pile.
'Well I never,' Cromwell said, from the other side of the room. 'Sir, look at this.'
Winterburne turned to face the Lieutenant who was holding by the shoulders what should have been a plain white shirt. Streaked across it were the unmistakeable marks of a
substantial amount of dried blood.
'Aha,' Winterburne said, as he strode across the room towards the Lieutenant. 'That makes things much more interesting.' He glanced around him. 'I don't suppose we can make our lives easier and find a knife here, too?'
Winterburne knelt on the carpet and looked under the bed. Aside from an empty backpack and a pair of brown leather boots, there was nothing of note.
Cromwell carefully folded the shirt and placed in onto the bed, then went on to check the drawers of the wardrobe and the bedside table. 'There's nothing worth mentioning in these,' he said.
'So,' Winterburne said, pointing at the shirt lying on the bed, 'what odds would you give me that the blood belongs to Agatha.'
'You think he is the killer, Sir?'
'If this is her blood, then either he killed her, or,' he paused, 'he was up close and personal with the person who did.'
'I don’t understand, Sir,' Cromwell frowned, 'but wouldn’t that mean that if he did kill her then he was an assassin, and that the medallion was his?'
'Exactly,' Winterburne said, sensing that perhaps, that they may at last be getting somewhere. 'We need to find out what he did for a living and where he was on the night Agatha was killed,' he said. 'Let’s talk to the landlady.'
Winterburne left the room and walked back along the corridor. 'Bring the shirt, Milo,' he called after him.
Agnes Fulwell waited at the bottom of the flight of steps that led down to the ground floor, eagerly looking up at him as he made his way down.
'Everything alright, Sir?' she asked.
'Mistress Fulwell,' Winterburne said. 'I need to ask some questions about Master Appleby, if I may.'
'Course, Sir.'
Winterburne clumped down over the last of the steps, and smiled at the woman. 'Tell me, if you would, how long has he been using this room?'
The woman thought for a while. ' 'Bout six months, I would say.'
'Has he ever caused you any trouble?'
'What sort of trouble?'
'I don't know, anything that might stick in your mind as...unusual.'
'As God is my witness, never, Sir,' she replied. 'Good as gold is Master Appleby. Always pays his rent on time and never comes in drunk. Least not that I know of,' she winked at Winterburne.
'Did he have any friends that you didn't take to? Shifty types?'
The woman shook her head. 'No,' she replied. 'Not that I saw. He never really brought anyone back here, if that's what you mean.'
'Mistress Fulwell,' Winterburne said, 'and this is very important. I need you to tell me where you think he was on the night of the twenty-first?'
'The twenty-first?' The woman dredged her mind to pull out her memories of that evening. 'I believe he would have been out that night,' she said, eventually.
'Out?' Winterburne asked. 'What time did he come home?'
'I don’t rightly know,' she answered. 'I would have been asleep, but it would have been after midnight as usual.'
'As usual?'
'It's on account of his job, see?'
'Which is what, exactly, Mistress Fulwell?'
'Well,' Agnes said, 'he is one of the reg'lar toll keepers on the East Gate, Sir. He works the midday to midnight shift, more often than not, and has done for a long time. At least a couple o’ years, he told me.' She looked between the two men. 'I asked him when he took the room on. You have to check people out a bit. You can't be too careful, what with me being a woman on my own, and all that.'
Winterburne nodded as he thought about this for a moment, playing the most logical route from the gate to the boarding house through his mind. 'So,' he said, 'do you know which way he normally walked home?'
The landlady scratched her head. 'Funny enough,' she said, 'we were talking about that very thing the other day? He told me that he usually cuts round the back o' the Palace and through the back alleys. He said he couldn’t be bothered to walk all 'round West Street and back up North Road. He said that by that time o' night he just wanted to get home to his