piazza had front doors that opened on to vaulted arcades in the manner of Sebastiano Selio. Not everyone had approved of the importation of Italian styles to a prime site in the capital and Jones had sustained heavy criticism from some quarters, but Christopher had nothing but praise for Covent Garden. The church of St Paul's dominated one side of the square and looked out on the high terraced houses that extended along the other three sides. The properties had an imposing facade, generous proportions, a pleasant garden and stabling at the rear. When they were first built they attracted rich tenants, but the area was slightly less fashionable now and had yielded the palm to the new developments to the west such as St James's Square. The presence of the market brought more visitors to Covent Garden but deterred potential tenants who did not like the crowds that flocked round the stalls in the square.
Christopher had little time to admire the scene on this occasion. Obeying the instruction in the letter to Sir Marcus Kemp, he made his way to the church of St Paul's just before noon and waited at the specified spot. The market was in full swing and the noise of haggling was carried on the light breeze. Somewhere in the middle of the tumult was Jonathan Bale, concealed from sight, keeping his friend under observation and ready to follow anyone who might relieve Christopher of the large purse he was carrying. As the latter stood in front of the church, he wondered if anyone would approach him when it was seen that he was not Sir Marcus Kemp. Suspecting a ruse, the blackmailer might simply retreat. Noon came and passed but nobody stopped to speak to him, let alone to relieve him of one thousand guineas. Christopher's thoughts turned to the magnificence of the square again. Inigo Jones had begun as an apprentice to a joiner in St Paul's Churchyard. It always seemed incredible to Christopher that a man from such humble origins could rise to the position of the King's Surveyor of Works and be responsible for such buildings as the Banqueting House and the New Exchange.
Caught up in his admiration of a fellow architect, Christopher did not notice the young boy who came trotting up to him. He was a tall, thin lad with tousled hair. His clothing was shabby and his manner obsequious.
'Are you from Sir Marcus Kemp, sir?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Christopher, seeing him for the first time.
The boy held out his hand. 'I am to take what you have, sir.'
'Who sent you?'
'A gentleman, sir. Give it to me or I get no reward.'
'Which gentleman?'
'In the market.'
'Where? Point him out.'
'Please, sir. He'll not wait.'
'Did he give you a name?'
'No, sir.'
Christopher showed him the purse. 'Point him out and you shall have the money.'
'There, sir,' said the boy, indicating a tall man in the crowd.
'Where?'
'Beside that stall.'
Having distracted Christopher, the boy grabbed the purse and went haring off.
'Wait!'
Christopher's shout was drowned beneath the sea of voices in the square. Though he tried to keep track of the boy, he soon lost him in the melee. The lad disappeared into the heart of the market and for a moment Christopher feared that Jonathan Bale might have missed him as well, but he trusted in the constable's vigilance. Whichever way the boy went, the constable would somehow follow him. All that Christopher could do was wait outside the church until his friend returned with information about the whereabouts of the blackmailer. It might even be that an arrest would already have been made. He wondered if he should slip into the church and offer up a prayer for the capture of the man who had caused such grief to so many people. Inevitably, his thoughts settled on Susan Cheever.
He did not have long to wait. As soon as he saw Jonathan Bale emerging from the throng, however, he knew that there were bad tidings. The constable was alone. When he reached Christopher, he lifted his broad shoulders in apology.
'He was too quick for me, Mr Redmayne.'
'That lad could certainly run.'
'Not him, sir,' explained Jonathan. 'The man we're after. He's more cunning than I bargained for. My legs are not that slow. I caught the lad before he got to The Strand. He was eating an apple that he bought with the money he earned.'
'Where was the purse?'
'He was paid to slip it to another boy by one of the stalls.'
'Which stall?'
'He could not remember,' said Jonathan sadly, 'and there was no point in trying to shake the truth out of him. The lad was an innocent pawn in all this. He did not even get a proper look at the man who employed him.'
'It was cleverly done, Mr Bale.'
'I know. He took the purse from you, darted into the crowd, and gave the money to a second boy who then passed it on to the man we want. The villain was taking no chances. He used two boys as his couriers and watched it all from safety.'
'Yes,' sighed Christopher. 'We were outfoxed.'
'Only because we were expected, Mr Redmayne.'
'Expected?'
'The blackmailer realised that a trap was being set for him.'
'How?'
'I have no idea,' said Jonathan, 'but that lad did not pick you out by chance.'
'What do you mean, Mr Bale?'
'It was one thing I did squeeze out of him.'
'Well?'
'He knew your name, Mr Redmayne. Someone recognised you.'
Christopher felt as if he had just been kicked hard in the stomach.
Celia Hemmings was writing a letter when she heard the doorbell ring. Pleased to learn that the visitor was Christopher Redmayne, she asked that he should be shown into the room at once. She gave him a cordial welcome and swept aside his apologies.
'If you are in the area, call at any time,' she said.
'That's most kind of you, Miss Hemmings,' said Christopher, taking the seat that was offered 'but I would hate to impose on you.'
'From what I hear, Mr Redmayne, you impose on nobody.'
'Who told you that?'
'Your brother. You were mentioned in passing on more than one occasion by Henry. As someone who cheerfully loathed the very notion of work, he simply could not comprehend how you could enjoy it.'
'I luxuriate in it, Miss Hemmings.'
'Quite, sir. So I need hardly fear a daily visit from you.'
'No,' said Christopher pleasantly. 'Once we have solved this murder, I will be spending all of my time on the new house for Sir Julius Cheever.'
'He is not at all as I imagined,' she observed. 'Gabriel had painted him as a monster yet he seemed like a dignified old man when I saw him at the funeral.'
'His son's death mellowed him considerably.'
'Then he really does breathe fire?'
'Not exactly, Miss Hemmings,' replied Christopher with a smile, 'but he can singe your ears if he has a mind to do so.'
'I hope he does not even know of my existence.'
