last of the baggage. Egerton Whitcombe thrust the letter at him.
'This must reach my mother as soon as possible,' he ordered.
Jonathan Bale was not looking forward to talking to either of the other witnesses but he had given his word. Accordingly, he called on Martin Crenlowe that evening as the goldsmith was about to close up his shop. When he heard why Jonathan had come, he invited him reluctantly into the building and took him to his private office. Crenlowe was civil rather than welcoming.
'I'll not be able to give you much time, Mr Bale,' he said. 'I'm expected at home.'
'Then I'll be brief, sir. You are a friend of Henry Redmayne.'
'And proud to be so.'
'Do you believe him to be innocent of this crime?'
'Yes, I do.'
'On what evidence?'
'My knowledge of the man.'
'You heard him threaten the murder victim. His dagger was in the man's back.'
'I refuse to believe that Henry put it there,' said Crenlowe. 'It's no secret that he and Signor Maldini fell out - I had no time for the fellow myself - but that does mean he was driven to murder. You see, Henry Redmayne is temperamental.'
'I've met the gentleman, sir.'
'Then you know that he's a creature of moods. Older friends like myself and Sir Humphrey Godden are accustomed to his ways. Others are not. That's why Henry tends to lose as many acquaintances as he makes. He is always parting with someone or other.
Goodness!' he said with a throaty chuckle, 'If Henry killed every man with whom he had a quarrel then you'd need to build a new cemetery to hold them all.'
'One death alone concerns me, Mr Crenlowe.'
'I understand that.'
'Then perhaps you'll tell me what happened on the night in question.'
'I've already given a sworn statement,' said Crenlowe with impatience, 'and spoken to Henry's brother on the subject. Do I really need to go through it all again?'
'There might be some tiny details that you missed earlier.'
'I doubt that. I have an excellent memory.'
'Yet you had been drinking that night, sir.'
'I can hold my wine, have no qualms on that score.'
Jonathan waited. The goldsmith was not as friendly as he had been led to suppose. He could understand why. Martin Crenlowe could be open with Christopher Redmayne because he part of his brother's circle and because he felt that he and the architect were on the same social footing. A lowly constable was a different matter, especially when he exuded such obvious disapproval. Crenlowe ran a searching eye over him.
'You've come to the wrong place, Mr Bale,' he said quietly. 'If you look for evidence that will help to hang a dear friend of mine, you are wasting your time here.'
'All that I seek is the truth, sir.'
'I sense that you've already made up your mind.'
'Change it for me,' invited Jonathan, folding his arms.
'Very well,' said Crenlowe after a long pause. 'I'll try.'
His narrative was short but lucid. He described the quarrel that had flared up between Henry Redmayne and the fencing master, then talked about the meal that four of them had shared at the Elephant. He explained how they had each gone off in a different direction. Jonathan was motionless throughout.
'When did you next see Henry Redmayne?' he asked.
'Not for some days.'
'Did he make any mention of that evening you all spent together?'
'None, Mr Bale.'
'So the name of Signor Maldini never came into the conversation?' 'Why should it?'
'The gentleman must have been missed by then.'
'Only by his friends and we did not count ourselves in that number.'
'Captain Harvest did.'
'James is a law unto himself.'
'Did he not tell either of you that Signor Maldini had disappeared?'
'No, we never saw him. James is not part of our inner circle. Besides, he comes and goes to suit himself. Sometimes, we do not catch sight of him for weeks on end.'
'I spoke to Captain Harvest.'
'Then you'll have some idea of his character.'
'Robust and forthright.'
'A little too hearty for my taste but he can be amusing company.'
'He insists that Mr Redmayne was the killer.'
'He would. He never liked Henry.'
'Captain Harvest is the only person I've met who mourns his friend.'
'Do not expect us to shed tears for him,' said Crenlowe sharply. 'Jeronimo Maldini was a snake in human guise. He got close to people in order to strike at their weak points. He upset me, he insulted Sir Humphrey and he outraged poor Henry.'
'Why did the three of you go to him in the first place?'
'Because of his reputation. He was a brilliant swordsman.'
'With a rapier?'
'With any weapon that man could devise. I've seen him use broadsword, rapier, Toledo, spontoon and backsword with equal proficiency.'
'What of Mr Redmayne? How proficient was he?'
'Henry was the best of the three of us, no question of that. We live in a dangerous city, Mr Bale, as you well know. Wise men learn how defend themselves. Henry was more than capable with sword and dagger.'
'Dagger?' said Jonathan pointedly.
'I was speaking about practice bouts at the fencing school.'
'But he knew how to use the weapon?'
'We all do, Mr Bale.'
'Not as well as Henry Redmayne, it seems.'
Crenlowe angered. 'I can see that you've not been listening to me,' he said with asperity. 'You claim to seek the truth but your mind remains obstinately closed to it. No more of it, sir. I resent the time you've taken up and I must ask you to leave.'
'There's one more question I have to put.'
'Good day to you, Mr Bale.'
'If Mr Redmayne is innocent, then someone else must be guilty of the crime.'
'So?'
'Is it conceivable that the killer could be Captain Harvest?'
Crenlowe was taken aback. He was obviously surprised by the suggestion and needed some time to assess its value. Jonathan could see his brain working away. The goldsmith was uncertain at first but the expression on his face slowly changed.
'Yes,' he concluded. 'I suppose that it is.'
Captain Harvest had a gift for being at ease in any surroundings. Whether mixing with aristocracy or consorting with the lower orders, he felt completely at home. He was also quick to make new friends, mastering their names with disarming speed and finding a way to be on familiar terms without causing the slightest offence. The three men with whom he was playing cards had been total strangers to him an hour earlier but Harvest chatted to them as if had known them for years. They sat around a table in the corner of the tavern, drinking beer and using a large candle to illumine their game. The Hope and Anchor was not the most salubrious inn along the riverbank. In the main, it catered for sailors, watermen, lightermen and others who earned their living from the Thames. The
