end.'

    'We?'

    'Myself, your lawyer and your friends.'

    'Have you spoken with Martin Crenlowe?'

    'Yes, he told me about his visit here. I called on Sir Humphrey Godden as well.'

    'What about Captain Harvest?'

    'I left him to Jonathan Bale.'

    'What!' exclaimed Henry, pulsing with anger. 'You let that sour- faced Puritan know about my disgrace? How could you? Keep him away, Christopher. I want none of the fellow. His solemnity oppresses me.'

    'Jonathan is a good friend.'

    'Not to me.'

    'He's also a constable with a keen eye and a good brain.'

    'Yes,' said Henry bitterly, 'but he employs them both in the prevention of harmless pleasures. If he had his way, we'd all be in a state of never-ending penitence, wearing sackcloth and ashes as we shuffle our way to church. Jonathan Bale is helping me?' he cried in disbelief. 'He's more likely to turn public executioner for the privilege of putting a rope around my neck.'

    'You do not know the man.'

    'I know what he thinks of me. I see it in that ugly face of his. Nothing will convince me that that gloomy constable has my best interests at heart. He despises all that I stand for. Be honest, Christopher,' he urged. 'Does the fellow really believe in my innocence?'

    'Not entirely,' said his brother.

    'So what have you done? Hired him to prove my guilt?'

    'No, Henry.'

    'Then what?'

    'I need to lean on his experience.'

    'Even though loathes me?'

    'Henry-'

    'Why must you torment me like this?'

    He burst into tears and flung himself into his brother's arms. Henry was more despondent than ever now. Hoping that some progress had been made towards securing his release, he had learned of major setbacks. Christopher waited until the sobbing had stopped before he spoke. He eased his brother gently away from him.

    'The person who can help you most is yourself,' he said.

    'Me?'

    'Any new detail you can remember about that night may be crucial.'

    'I've tried and tried,' said Henry, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. 'But my mind is a very blur. This is no place for contemplation, Christopher. It's worse than Bedlam.'

    'Is there nothing that you can recall?'

    'Nothing at all. But I must tell you this,' said Henry, grabbing him by both arms. 'It may help in my defence. Granted, I could have killed that posturing Italian. But I'm sure that I did not because I feel no remorse. Do you see what that means? If I'd done the deed, I'd have felt sorry afterwards, when my anger had subsided. But I feel nothing. I neither rejoice in his death nor regret it. Explain that, if you will,' he demanded, releasing Christopher. 'How can a person of high emotion like me feel nothing whatsoever?'

    'No twinges of conscience?'

    'None.'

    'No satisfaction that a despised enemy was killed?'

    'That would only come if I'd been the one lucky enough to kill him.'

    Christopher was alarmed. He hoped that his brother would never have to go to trial but it was a contingency that had to be taken into account. Henry's comments might persuade him of his own innocence but they would hardly sway a jury in his favour. His last remark had made his brother blench. Uttered in the courtroom, it would suggest a heartless man with a burning hatred of the murder victim. Christopher knew that he had to mix strictness with his sympathy.

    'You did not tell me the whole truth, Henry,' he chided.

    'I did. I told you all.'

    'Not according to Sir Humphrey Godden.'

    'Does he call me a liar?'

    'No,' said Christopher, 'he merely doubted that his alleged cheating at cards was enough to make you turn against Signor Maldini. Apparently, you were exposed to scorn at the fencing school.'

    'I prefer to forget that shameful episode.'

    'It's important, Henry.'

    'Is it?' 'It provides you with a motive. Tell me what happened.'

    'Must I?'

    'Yes,' insisted his brother. 'If I'm to help you, I must know everything.'

    'Very well,' said Henry with a sigh of reluctance. 'I was the victim of the most dreadful act of spite at that fencing school one day. It was utterly humiliating. I'm no mean swordsman, as you know. I've worked hard to master all the accomplishments of a gentleman - fencing, dancing, drinking and gambling.'

    Christopher was sardonic. 'Not to mention the arts of the bedchamber.'

    'I had a natural excellence in that direction.'

    'What did Signor Maldini do?'

    'He set me up so that he could cut me down, Christopher. He waited until the school was full then chose me for a demonstration. I was flattered at first. That illusion did not last,' he said with rancour. 'While I had a rapier, Jeronimo Maldini seemed to have a magic wand in his hand. It did whatever he wished. He slashed my sleeves open, hacked off my buttons and made me look such a blundering clown that everyone jeered at me. It was quite insupportable.'

    'Why do you think he did that?'

    'To prove that he was the superior swordsman.'

    'That was evident before you started. Why pick on you, Henry?'

    'To vent his dislike of me.'

    'Was there not another reason as well?'

    'Not that I know of.'

    'Think again.'

    'He simply wanted to shame me.'

    'And we both know why,' suggested his brother. 'You talked of cheating at cards and Sir Humphrey Godden mentioned this bout at the fencing school, but there was another cause of strife between you.' He lowered his voice. 'What was her name?'

    Henry was shaken. 'I've not the slightest idea of what you are talking about,' he said, trying to muster some indignation. 'This conversation has taken an unsavoury turn.'

    'Who was the lady, Henry?'

    'What lady?'

    'The one who came between you and your fencing master.'

    'There's no such person.' 'Who was she?'

    Henry faltered. 'That's a personal matter and has no relevance here.'

    'So you confess that there was someone?'

    'Place what construction you will on my statement.'

    'Then I can only believe that you actually welcome trial and conviction,' said Christopher levelly, 'for you shun what might be significant evidence in your favour. Does it not occur to you that this lady may be in a position to save your life?'

    'She'd be more inclined to break my heart.'

    'Is that what she did when she went off with Signor Maldini?'

    'He tricked her,' yelled Henry turning on him. 'He used every foul device he knew to woo her away from

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