She stared at him in blank surprise. ‘Oh no, that would be foolish. I think you should go and try to find Jack. And when you do could you ask him why he was so horrid to me at the fight. All I wanted was to greet him.’
John laughed, he could not help himself. It was like being in the presence of a very small adult.
‘You’re sure?’
‘I am positive. Emily and I have some walks planned. We’re probably going to have an adventure.’
‘Well don’t make it like ours, whatever you do. I don’t want you going near Vinehurst Place, do you hear?’
Rose gave a demure curtsy but refused to meet John’s eyes.
‘I repeat, you are to leave that house alone.’
‘Yes, Papa,’ she answered, but behind her back she was crossing her fingers.
John took the public stage to Brighthelmstone, a relatively short drive, and arrived there in the late afternoon. Booking himself a room in The Ship he immediately set out to explore the place, which was small and somehow rather sad-looking. However, walking by the sea he spied several bathing machines with brave souls venturing into the waves. Immediately he was seized by the desire to swim, having been sitting long enough in the cramped conditions of a coach. Acting purely on impulse he went down to one of the machines, tramping over the pebble on his booted feet, and booked himself a place behind a portly young man, obviously in agony through gout-ridden toes.
The attendant hired him a pair of flannel drawers and an oilskin cap for his hair, which John refused. Stepping out of the machine and down the steps the Apothecary strode manfully into the waves and in a few minutes was swimming strongly out to sea. He had always loved the sport, probably because he was good at it, and now he felt happy and more relaxed that he had in an age.
In front of him, even further out than he was, he could see a single swimmer, his arms rising and falling as he executed a perfect crawl. At the rate he was going, John thought, the man would soon end up in France. An urge to catch him up possessed John and he increased his speed. Ahead of him he saw the swimmer turn his head as if conscious of his pursuer and though he could not be certain because of the distance, the Apothecary had the fleeting impression that the man was black.
A strange feeling overcame him at that moment as he became convinced that the man he had come to Brighthelmstone to find was swimming but a few yards away from him. Striking out for everything he was worth, he determined to catch him up. And then, at that very moment, the man’s head vanished. John stared round as best he could through the waves but there was no sign of him anywhere. And then he felt a pair of strong arms encircle him and he was dragged down beneath the water.
Holding his breath John shot to the surface again and saw that it was indeed the Black Pyramid who held him in a potentially lethal grip.
‘Right, you little bastard,’ said the black man, his face streaming, ‘exactly what game are you playing with me?’
‘I might ask the same of you,’ the Apothecary gasped back.
‘You have no right to spy on me. Who are you, you miserable little worm, wriggling all over the place?’ And without waiting for a reply the black man dragged him under the sea again.
John truly thought that he was drowning and felt more terrified than he had ever done before. He started to fight, beating at the brawny black chest with his fists and kicking as powerfully as was possible in that vast and unfriendly ocean.
They came up for air once more. ‘Frightened, huh?’ said the Black Pyramid in such an aggressive tone that John once more feared for his life.
‘Yes, I’m frightened,’ he spluttered. ‘In fact I’m scared witless.’
‘Good,’ answered the Black Pyramid, and baring his teeth he pushed John under and held him down.
What saved him he never afterwards could tell. Whether another intrepid swimmer drew near or whether the black man decided that John was simply not worth running the risk of being caught for was forever moot. But the fact was that he was suddenly released and floated up to the surface in a kind of stupor. His future hung in the balance but he somehow managed to pull himself together and struck out for the shore. In the distance as he turned towards the Brighthelmstone coast he could see the Black Pyramid swimming out further than ever — and faster too.
Somehow the Apothecary made the shingle at the foot of the bathing machines and there he collapsed, lying flat on his face and gasping. A bathing attendant came down the steps.
‘Are you all right, Sir?’
He literally could not speak, having saved the last of his breath to swim to the beach. Instead John gave a weak nod of the head.
‘Well, you don’t look all right, Sir, if you’ll pardon my saying. I’ll give you a hand into the machine.’
He assisted the trembling Apothecary to his feet and half carried him up the few steps into the bathing machine from which he had started his perilous swim.
‘I’ll just sit down for a minute,’ gasped John.
But it was half an hour before he could make the effort to get dressed and then he walked very slowly back to The Ship where he went into the residents’ parlour and ordered himself a large brandy. He was just sipping it when his would-be murderer walked into the room.
‘You survived then,’ the black man said laconically.
‘Yes,’ John answered, equally briefly, then added, ‘Why did you do it?’
‘Because,’ said the Black Pyramid, looming over the Apothecary’s chair, ‘I was sick of the sight of you. Wherever I went, there you were.’
John took another mouthful of brandy, then said, ‘Did you know William Gorringe — or should I say Fulke Bassett — before that coach ride?’
The black man hesitated, sucking the air in through his teeth, before saying, ‘Yes, I knew him.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘What makes you ask that?’
‘You’ve just demonstrated that you are capable of it.’
‘Oh yes, I am quite able to take a life.’
‘Then did you?’
‘I refuse to answer that.’ The Black Pyramid suddenly gave a slow smile and John thought how handsome he was and how transformed he was by smiling. ‘Listen, my friend, let me buy you a drink and you can answer some of my questions for a change.’
‘Very well. I accept.’
The fighter lowered his enormous length into the chair opposite John’s. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what is your interest in this killing?’
‘Did I not inform you that in the past I have worked with Sir John Fielding of Bow Street?’
‘I do not recall it.’
‘Well, I have done so, many times. And though this is not one of his cases I can honestly say that I am deeply interested in this particular affair. Probably because I was travelling in the same coach as the victim.’
‘I see.’
At that moment the girl arrived with their drinks and the conversation ceased until she had gone. Then the Pyramid said, ‘And so you think that one of the passengers is guilty, do you?’
‘Obviously so.’
‘But surely it could have been an outsider who attacked him.’
‘It could have been but I don’t think it was.’
There was a long silence during which both men drank a draught, then the black man said, ‘Well, you need look no further.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked John.
‘Because I killed him,’ said the Black Pyramid, and once again smiled his slow dark smile.
It was too easy, thought John. He had never before received an admission of guilt and now that he had he was frankly flabbergasted. Every instinct he possessed told him that the fighter was telling him the truth, yet still he had the small niggle of doubt.
‘You are certain?’ he said feebly.
