The Parliament House

horse.

    When they reached Old Street, they soon found the house. It was little more than a hovel. Whatever he had done with his blood money, Dan Crothers had not used it to find more a comfortable lodging. They tethered their horses and approached with care. Christopher sent Bale around to the rear of the house before he knocked on the door. There was no reply. He pounded with his fist and, this time, the door swung back on its hinges.

    'Mr Crothers!' he called. 'Are you there?'

    Still there was no response. Taking out his sword, Christopher pushed the door fully open and stepped furtively into the house. On the ground floor, it comprised two small rooms and an evil- smelling scullery. They were all empty. He went slowly up the bare wooden stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible but unable to stop the loud creak of a loose step. Two rooms stood ahead of him. One door was ajar and he could see that there was nobody inside the room. When he turned to look at the other door, however, he sensed danger.

    'Mr Crothers!' he called again. 'Dan Crothers!'

    There was an eerie silence. Convinced that there was someone in the room, Christopher inched forward. It was no time for misplaced heroism. The man had a musket and he knew how to fire it. Christopher had to temper his eagerness with commonsense. He yelled once more.

    'Mr Crothers - I'm coming in!'

    Kicking open the door, he then jumped back quickly out of sight so that any shot would go harmlessly past him. As it happened, there was no resistance at all. Dan Crothers was in no position to offer it. He was lying on his back in the middle of the room. Christopher took out the drawing to compare it with the face of the dead man. Bridget McCoy's work was uncannily accurate. All his features were there. Mr Field was without doubt the alias of Dan Crothers. There was one significant difference between the drawing and the man on the floor. It was a detail that the Irishwoman might be pleased to add.

    His throat had been cut from ear to ear.

        'There's no need at all for you to be there, Orlando,' said Dorothy Kitson.

    'I could not possibly let you go alone.'

    'I do not require a chaperone.'

    'I think that you do,' said her brother, fussily 'and that's why I insist on accompanying you. My presence will act as a needful restraint.'

    Dorothy laughed. 'A restraint against what?'

    'Impulsive action. It will also introduce some balance. If you went there alone, you would be hopelessly outnumbered.'

    'This is an informal meeting, Orlando, not a skirmish.'

    'Nevertheless, I'll not see my sister put at a disadvantage.'

    Orlando Golland had called on her to find out what time they were bidden that evening. Ordinarily, he would strenuously have avoided the company of Sir Julius Cheever but circumstances compelled him to go. What surprised him was how calm and unflustered his sister was about the forthcoming event. Golland was already having qualms.

    'I spoke to Maurice Farwell about it,' he said.

    'About what?'

    'This ludicrous friendship you have with Sir Julius.'

    'It's not ludicrous,' she replied, sharply.

    'Then what is it?'

    'Something that has given me untold pleasure. As for Maurice, I think it very unkind of you to discuss my personal affairs with him.'

    'I took him to task for introducing the pair of you at Newmarket.'

    'Then talked about us as if we were two horses in the paddock, I've no doubt.' Dorothy took a moment to suppress her anger. 'Orlando, I have a pleasant friendship with a certain gentleman. That is all. It's not a source of gossip for you and Maurice Farwell.'

    'But his wife foresaw it all.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'Adele had a distinct feeling about you.'

    'She made no mention of it to me.'

    'According to her husband, she sensed that you were ready to welcome a man back into your life again. The tragedy is that you chose Sir Julius.'

    'I chose him as a friend - not as anything else.'

    'He may have higher aspirations.'

    'Well, he has not discussed them with me.'

    'Maurice was as surprised as any of us.'

    'I'm not interested in Maurice's opinion, or that of his wife.'

    'He could not believe that Sir Julius could turn suitor at his age,' said Golland, 'and he found it even more difficult to accept that you should encourage his overtures.'

    'Sir Julius has not made any overtures.'

    'What else is this invitation but a declaration of intent?'

    'For heaven's sake, Orlando,' she said, her exasperation showing. 'It's perfectly natural that Sir Julius should want me to make the acquaintance of his daughters. It will put a stop to any idle speculation on their part about our friendship. At least,' she continued, 'I hoped that it would. Your presence will probably only inflame it.'

    'How?'

    'They will interpret it as a sign that you are examining their family to see if a closer relationship with them is desirable.'

    'I'm certain that it is not.'

    'Only because you do not know Sir Julius.'

    'Maurice Farwell does.'

    'Leave him out of this,' she responded, tartly.

    'He considers him to be an ogre.'

    'Maurice's views are irrelevant. So, for that matter, are yours. I'll not let anyone else live my life for me. I'm old enough and wise enough to make my own decisions. And that, Orlando,' she said, looking him in the eye, 'is exactly what I intend to do.'

    When he saw that the man was dead, Christopher Redmayne went to the window and summoned his companion. Jonathan Bale soon joined him and the pair of them bent over the corpse to inspect it.

    'He has not been dead long,' decided Bale.

    'How do you know?'

    'Because I've seen too many murder victims in my time.'

    'Yes, I'm sure.'

    'The blood is still fresh and there's no sign of rigor mortis. That only starts to set in after four hours or more.'

    'He was obviously a strong man,' noted Christopher, looking at the broad shoulders and the muscular arms. 'He'd not have been easy to overpower.'

    'That's why he was knocked out first,' said Bale, turning the head of the corpse so that a gash became visible. Blood had stained the back of the scalp. 'I think that Mr Crothers was hit from behind before having his throat slit. What I don't know is why anyone should want to kill him.'

    'It was because he failed, Jonathan.'

    'Failed?'

    'He had two attempts at shooting Sir Julius and, each time, his victim survived. It must have been very galling for his paymaster,' said Christopher. 'I was there when the second shot was fired and it looked as if Sir Julius was dead. That report would have been brought back to London. Imagine the shock for the man who employed Crothers when he realised that Sir Julius was, in fact, still alive.'

    'He'd be very angry, Mr Redmayne.'

    'I think he lost patience with his hired killer.'