Twistleton, and knocked a paper on the floor. And just now I have recollected how, at the time, Mister Twistleton occupied himself with the perusal of a sort of confounded alphabet of letters. Much like the one upon this wall. And in the letter we found on Mister Kennedy’s body.”
“It’s very well that you remember this, sir, and so I do heartily forgive your earlier omission. But we’ll think on this again.” Stroking the peacock feather, Newton was silent for a moment. “I have seen a rendering of this story before,” said Newton. “In a book by a Flemish gentleman named Barent Coenbers van Helpen. It was titled
“Is that why the body was placed on these stairs? Is this supposed to be a stairway to the wise?”
“It may be so,” said Newton. “And yet I suspect that the close proximity of the Warden’s house now occupied by you, my dear fellow, also touches upon this matter. For why else would Mercer have been killed in some other place and then brought here, if not to teach us something?” Almost absently Newton picked a piece of straw off the dead man’s waistcoat, and then another off his breeches. “But it is a mystery exactly what that might be.”
“Are we in any danger?”
“Where there are mysteries there are always dangers,” said Newton. “Even God hides his mysteries from the wise and prudent of this world, and it is not every man who can fit his understanding to the revelation of truth.
“Come,” he said, and leaving the stairs we fetched a sentinel from the Mint Barracks, to take charge of Mercer’s body. Then we walked back to the Moneyer’s stables. Inside the stables Newton looked at bales of straw most carefully, even the loose straw, as if, like some hard Egyptian taskmaster, he wondered if it were possible to make bricks without it. Finally he seemed to find what he had been looking for, which was a small quantity of bloodstained straw, although, he said, it was not enough to identify the stable as the place of murder.
“But very likely it may help to confirm to us how the body was transported about,” he said.
For good measure he also inspected the straw in the Comptroller’s stables, but, finding no trace of blood there, we went to the smith’s shop, where the Ordnance kept some of its horses.
Mister Silvester, who was the smith, was a most knavish fellow. He had black swinish eyes, a furious slit of a mouth, and a braggart’s voice and manner that hardly stopped short of belligerence. He looked like a pig grown ill- tempered and heavy from being fattened at the mast of a ship. Following Newton about the stable, Silvester, who was still ignorant of Daniel Mercer’s murder, asked him what he thought he was doing.
“Pray what does it look like, Mister Silvester?” replied Newton. “I am examining the quality of your straw, of course.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my straw, Doctor Newton. It ain’t damp. It ain’t mildewed.”
“But where does it come from?” Newton enquired.
“From the Ordnance’s own barn in Cock and Pye fields, every morning. I wouldn’t let my horses eat anything that wasn’t good. And I’d like to meet the man who says different.”
“I’ve seen all I need to see,” said Newton. “Thank you, Mister Silvester, you have been most helpful.
“That’s a right squirt-tailed fellow,” he said of Silvester, as we returned to the Moneyer’s stable, where we had found the small quantity of bloodied straw. “Always ready to shit on someone.”
There were twelve horses in the Mint. Six horses wereassigned to each of two rolling mills, with four horses yoked to a capstan that drove simple gears which turned two horizontal iron cylinders situated on an upper floor. Here fillets of gold and silver were passed between the rolls until they were thin enough to permit the cutting of blanks. It was hard work for the horses, but they were well cared for by two horsekeepers, one of whom, Mister Adam, Newton questioned closely about his straw.
“What time is your straw delivered from the barn at Cock and Pye fields?”
Mister Adam, who was altogether more respectful of Newton, straightaway removed his cap as soon as he was spoken to, revealing a pate that was much scarred with the pox so that it looked like a chequer board.
“Well, sir, it’s the Ordnance that’s supplied from there, not the Mint. Our straw comes mostly from Moor Fields. Everything we have is separate from the Ordnance so as you would think they were France and we were England, which ain’t so very far from the truth being as how there are so many of them Huguenots in this here London Tower.”
“I see,” said Newton. “And what time is straw and animal feed delivered?”
“All times, sir. On account of how horses is the most important creatures in this place, for without them fed well and properly watered, the Mint would grind to a halt, sir. Or would not grind at all, if you see what I mean.”
“Very well,” Newton said patiently. “Then pray tell me, Mister Adam, when was your last cartload delivered? And by whom?”
“That would have been about six of the clock, sir. I heard the bell from the chapel. But as to the fellow what delivered it, sir, I really couldn’t say who he was, inasmuch as I’m sure I never saw him before. Not that that’s so very out of the ordinary. We get all sorts coming and going, and at all hours of the night.”
We came away from the stables not much enlightened; and seeing a candle in the window of the Master’s house, Newton thought to enquire of Mister Defoe if he had seen or heard anything untoward. But upon his knock, the Master’s door was opened not by Mister Defoe, wbut by Mister Neale himself; and what was more, we were afforded a clear view of the four men who sat around the dinner table, all of them smoking pipes, so that the room stank like a Dutch barge. These were Mister Defoe, Mister Hooke, who was the Doctor’s scientific nemesis, and Count Gaetano and Doctor Love, the tworogues who had sought to trick my master with their fraudulent transmutation of gold.
Several more sentinels trotted past on their way to the Sally Port stairs, which looked like shutting the stable door after the steed was stolen; and seeing them, Mister Neale advanced into the street.
“What means this commotion, Doctor?” he asked. “Is there a fire?”
“No sir, another murder,” replied Newton. “One of the engravers. Mister Mercer has been found dead, on the Sally Port stairs.”
“Is the culprit known?”
“Not yet,” said Newton. “I knocked at this door in the hope that Mister Defoe might have seen or heard something.”
Mister Defoe, coming to the door, shook his head. “We have heard nothing.”
The Master looked at Mister Defoe and then at the other men who stood stiffly around the table, and gave off an air of private and sinister intrigue like a dog gives off a smell of meat.
“To think that while we played cards, a murder occurred within a few yards of this door,” said Mister Neale. “It’s unconscionable.”
“Indeed it is, Mister Neale,” said Newton. “But I believe I have the matter in hand. An investigation is already under way.”
Neale shook his head. “This will do little to facilitate the recoinage,” he said. “’Tis certain to disrupt the business of the Mint.”
“That is also my first concern,” said Newton. “Which is why I have taken charge of the matter myself. I am confident that we shall apprehend this villain before long.”
“Well, then, I resign the matter to you, Doctor; and most cheerfully, for my stomach is so squeamish and watery that I cannot abide the sight of a corpse. Goodnight to you, Warden.”
“Goodnight to you, Master.”
When Mister Neale had closed the door, Newton looked at me and raised his eyebrows most meaningfully. “That,” he said quietly, “is a pretty parcel of rogues, and no mistake.”
“But why did you not warn Mister Neale about Doctor Love and Count Gaetano?” I asked.
“Now is hardly the time for that,” said Newton.“We have data urgently requiring our collection; and only out of that will arise knowledge of what has here transpired. Besides, from the reeking mist of tobacco smoke in that room, it was clear to me that the Master’s door had not been opened in a good while. Ergo, none of them could have deposited Mercer’s body here.”
Walking away from the Master’s door, Newton glanced up at the outer ramparts that lay above the King’s Clerk’s house, the Master’s house, and my own house opposite, and watched as one of the Ordnance sentries walked a cold beat along the wall.
“Whoever stood upon that wall at six o’clock might have seen a hay cart stopped on front of the Sally Port stairs,” he said. “That was the same time that we were in the White Tower, for I remember looking at my watch
