Jonathan thrust a hand into his pocket and extracted a piece of paper which he handed over. Five separate nights had found him lurking outside the house and his findings were tabulated day by day. The list was a revelation. Christopher recognised many of the names on it but one in particular sprang off the page.
'George Strype?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Are you quite certain?'
'I heard Molly Mandrake talk to him.'
'What did he look like?'
Jonathan gave a brief description. Christopher was left in no doubt that Penelope Northcott's fiancee had gone in search of pleasure at the house. It made him smart with anger on her behalf. At the same time, it opened up a new line of thought. If George Strype was a patron of the establishment owned by his late father-in-law, he must have known more about Sir Ambrose's life in London than he admitted. Penelope's faith in the man was sadly misplaced. Christopher was confronted by a moral dilemma. Did he inflict more pain by telling her the truth or did he hold his peace and allow her to marry a man who had already betrayed her?
He studied the list again. His finger stopped at another name.
'Who is this?'
'Where, sir?' Jonathan peered. 'Ah, the Frenchman.'
'Sharonta?'
'That is what it sounded like.'
Christopher was bewildered for a moment then light dawned.
'Could it possibly have been Charentin?'
'Yes, sir. That was exactly it. Sharonta.'
'Cha - ren - tin,' enunciated the other. 'No first name?'
'Molly simply called him Mussyer Sharonta.'
'Or something akin to that,' said Christopher with a kind smile. 'Well, Mr Bale, you have done wonders. I know you found it demeaning to spy on the establishment but it has yielded results. Mrs Mandrake is even more popular than I thought. Some of the most illustrious names in the government are recorded here. There is even a senior churchman or two. Red faces would light up London if this list were ever made public.'
'How does it help us?' 'I am not certain yet. What we have to establish is the link.'
'Between what?'
'One house in Paris and another in Lincoln's Inn Fields.'
'Sir Ambrose Northcott was one such link.'
'There has to be another.'
'Mr Strype?'
'He must certainly be looked at and so must Monsieur Charentin. The search evidently begins in Mrs Mandrake's house. One of us must pose as a client to get inside it.'
'Not I, sir!' cried Jonathan, baulking at the notion.
Christopher laughed. 'Do not worry, Mr Bale,' he said. 'This is not an office which I would thrust upon you. I know it would compromise your principles simply to step across the threshold of that sinful place. And I must confess that I do not look forward to the experience myself but it is an absolute necessity.'
'I begin to think that you may be right.'
'Be frank with me. Should I go there with a face like this?'
'You do not look at your best, Mr Redmayne.'
'Then I will wait a day or so until these bruises fade. When I look presentable again, I will prevail upon my brother to introduce me to Mrs Mandrake. Henry owes me a favour.'
'Do you wish me to go with you, sir?'
'You?'
'To guard your back,' said Jonathan seriously. 'There has already been one attempt on your life. You survived that but only because you killed your assassin. Next time, you might not be so fortunate.'
'I am relatively safe now that I am back in England.'
'Sir Ambrose was murdered here.'
'Only because he was taken unawares.'
'Every man can use an extra pair of eyes.'
'It is a kind offer, Mr Bale, but I will not take advantage of it. I was attacked in France because I was on the right trail. Monsieur Bastiat wanted me killed before I found out anything else.'
'He may have confederates in England.'
'I am certain that he does,' said Christopher, 'but I do not intend to hide from them. I want to draw them out into the light. When I went to France, I was inclining to the view that Sir Ambrose's death had some political implications and I still believe that is the case. But I am now convinced that something else provided the real motive behind it.'
'What is it, Mr Redmayne?'
'What I saw in Monsieur Bastiat's face, on the shelves of his library and hanging around the neck of Marie Louise Oilier.'
'Around her neck?'
'Religion.'
The weight of responsibility which at first threatened to crush Geoffrey Anger instead brought out unseen strengths in the clerk. Once he had grown accustomed to the death of his employer, he realised how much freedom it suddenly gave him. After years of tyranny by Solomon Creech, he was now temporarily in charge of the office, winding up its business before closing the premises and searching for another lawyer. Papers which had hitherto been hidden from him now lay at his disposal. Clients whom Creech had jealously kept to himself were available for his inspection. Going through the contents of the safe was an education to Geoffrey Anger. The sense of power helped him to grow in confidence. He was still very shocked that Solomon Creech had been murdered but, he now saw, it was not an undiluted tragedy.
When Christopher called at the office next day, his appearance had markedly improved. Jacob had bathed his face and shaved him with such care that he felt no pain. The bruising had largely disappeared. Even the colouring around his eye had paled to a faint tint. He was both surprised and pleased to find the timid clerk in a co-operative mood. After giving him a brisk welcome, Anger escorted him through to the inner office and offered him a chair. The clerk then settled into the seat which had been sculpted over the years by the buttocks of Solomon Creech.
'I have been expecting you to call, Mr Redmayne.'
'Good.'
'This is what you have come for, I think.'
'What is it?'
'The verdict of the coroner's jury on the death of Mr Creech.'
'It is certainly something which I would like to see, Mr Anger.'
'Feel free to peruse it, sir.'
The clerk handed over the document which had been lying on the desk. It did not take Christopher long to read it. The report bore a close resemblance to the one issued after the post mortem was carried out on the body of Sir Ambrose Northcott. It recorded an unsolved crime.
'The verdict of this jury is that a certain person or persons unknown did feloniously, wilfully and with malice aforethought, batter Mr Solomon Creech and throw him into the River Thames to drown. In the opinion of the jury, Mr Creech would not have survived the brutal injuries which were inflicted upon him by the aforesaid person or persons but the actual cause of death was drowning.'
After glancing through the rest of the judgement, Christopher put the document back down on the desk and looked into the solemn face before him. He wondered just how helpful the man was prepared to be. Geoffrey Anger's occupation of his employer's office had already yielded reforms. Christopher noticed that it was substantially tidier than before and that fresh air had been allowed to disperse the worst of its smell.
