Christopher blenched. 'Why ever not?'
'You are inclined to passion, sir.'
'Passion!' 'You are showing it now.'
'Only because you are provoking me!'
'Are you so easily provoked, Mr Redmayne?'
Christopher turned abruptly away and fought hard to master his temper. There was a lengthy pause. Jonathan took another look at the corpse. When he spoke again, his tone was more conciliatory.
'I do not believe that you committed this crime, sir.'
'Oh, you've worked that out, have you?' said Christopher, swinging back to face him. 'First you insult me then you exonerate me. What new piece of evidence have you stumbled on?'
'The evidence of my own eyes. You would not take such a risk.'
'Risk?'
'Of being recognised by the nightwatchman. Jem Raybone is a sharp-eyed man. Even at a glance, I think he would pick you out. No,' decided the constable, 'you were not the man who was seen going into the cellars with Sir Ambrose Northcott.' Christopher nodded gratefully and breathed heavily through his nose. 'Do you know if Jem saw one or both men leaving?'
'Neither. He was looking the other way.'
'So the murder could have taken place there and then?'
'Yes, Mr Bale.'
'The condition of the body suggests that it did. I would like it confirmed by a surgeon,' said Jonathan softly, 'but my guess is that Sir Ambrose was killed at least twelve hours ago. In which case, the prime suspect must be this unidentified companion.'
'Not I,' insisted the other.
'Who is not - I now accept - you, sir.'
A long sigh. 'I am glad that we agree on that.'
'The vital question is this: why did Sir Ambrose Northcott come down here with that man in the first place? Did he sense no danger?'
'Not until it was too late.'
They gazed down soulfully at the corpse. The nightwatchman's voice broke in. He was standing on the cellar steps, guessing what must have been discovered and afraid to venture any closer.
'Mr Littlejohn has just arrived,' he called.
'Keep him out of here,' replied Jonathan.
'What shall I tell him?'
'I will speak to him myself, Jem.' He was about to move off when Christopher's hand detained him. 'You have inadvertently taken hold of my arm, sir,' he said politely. 'I must ask you to release it.'
'Gladly,' said Christopher, retaining his grip, 'when you tell me why you dislike me so much.'
'My opinion of you does not come into it, Mr Redmayne.'
'It informs your whole attitude towards me.'
'That is not true, sir.'
'Something about me seems to irritate you.'
'I am not irritated,' said Jonathan calmly. 'But I will admit that I would rather be in this cellar with someone else.'
'Why?'
'It is a personal matter. Now, please let go of me.'
Christopher released his arm then followed him through the cellars and up the stone steps. Both men were glad to be back out in the fresh air again and they inhaled deeply. Samuel Littlejohn was waiting for them, his face etched with concern. He lurched forward.
'What has happened, constable?' he said.
'I have sad news, I fear,' said Jonathan. 'Sir Ambrose Northcott has been stabbed to death. His body lies in the cellar.'
Littlejohn recoiled and brought both hands up to his head.
'This cannot be!' he gasped.
'Mr Redmayne found and identified him.'
'It is true, Mr Littlejohn,' confirmed Christopher.
The builder was aghast. 'But what about the house?'
'That is the least of my concerns at the moment, sir,' said Jonathan briskly. 'A murder has been committed. Finding the killer is my priority. Jem,' he continued, turning to the nightwatchman. 'Run to the Hope and Anchor on St Peter's Hill. You should find Abraham Datchett and his partner there. Bid them come as fast as they can.'
'Yes, Mr Bale.'
The nightwatchman hurried off. Littlejohn was still stunned.
'What shall I do with my men?' he asked blankly. 'They will be coming to the site very soon, expecting to start work.'
'Send them back home, sir,' advised Jonathan.
'Work must be suspended,' agreed Christopher. 'The first thing we must do is to inform Solomon Creech. He is responsible for all of Sir Ambrose's affairs and will make decisions on his behalf. Who knows?' he said with forlorn enthusiasm. 'There may yet be some way in which the house can be built. Sir Ambrose's family may take on the responsibility themselves.'
'Is that likely, Mr Redmayne?' asked Littlejohn with a sigh. 'Sir Ambrose was killed here. The property will hardly hold fond memories for his family. We have lost everything.'
'Not necessarily.'
'The project is doomed.'
Christopher tried to console him but his words sounded hollow. In his heart, he shared the builder's pessimism. Construction had to be abandoned. There seemed to be no chance of it ever being resumed. In a city where so much rebuilding was taking place, Samuel Littlejohn would soon find alternative work for himself and his men but Christopher might not. His one venture into architecture had foundered.
Preoccupied with the business implications, Littlejohn also spared a thought for a member of his family. There was real pain in his voice.
'What will become of Margaret?' he asked.
'Your daughter will be upset at the turn of events.'
'She will be distraught, Mr Redmayne.'
'Was she fond of Sir Ambrose?'
'It is not his death which will hurt her the most,' said Littlejohn. 'It is the consequences. If we stop work on the house, how will Margaret see you? That is why she came to here so often.'
'I see.'
'You must be aware of her feelings for you.'
'Well... yes, Mr Littlejohn.'
'The girl dotes on you, sir.'
Christopher saw that there might yet be a consolation for him. In losing a prized commission, he would also escape the attentions of an amorous young lady. There was an awkward pause. It was broken by a sound behind them and they turned to see Jonathan Bale rolling back the tarpaulin so that he could select a plank of wood.
'I will need to borrow this,' he explained. 'We can use it to carry the body up from the cellar. Will your men bring a cart, Mr Littlejohn?'
'Yes, constable. Make what use of it you will.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'Will you need a hand to lift the body out?'
'No, sir. The watchmen will help me along with Jem Raybone. But I would appreciate the loan of the cart to take it to the mortuary. How soon will it be here?'
'Very soon,' said Littlejohn, looking rather embarrassed. 'It is a mean conveyance for so august a gentleman as Sir Ambrose Northcott.'
