Boyd's account ended: 'Folk below saw it all. One of Sandy's cronies said he was running away from a tall man, looked like an old soldier. He had a scarred face. They'd seen him about -'
Even as Faro retuned to the street below, aware that the description fitted Sergeant Batey, Leslie Godwin was hurrying to meet him.
The few of the small crowd who had not discreetly vanished at the sight of the police, shouted curses at the tall sergeant walking at his master's side. A few of the bolder ones threw stones.
And that was all the confirmation Faro needed before Leslie said a word.
'I know why you're here, Jeremy. And I'm desperately sorry about the accident. Should never have happened. I saw the lad Sandy. He recognised me and Batey here. When I called that I wanted a word with him -1 just wanted to tell him that you had money to give him, dammit, but I never got a chance. He wouldn't listen, thought we had it in for him because of the pickpocket business. He took to his heels. Batey in pursuit -you know the rest. God, I can't tell you how awful I feel. I blame myself -'
'You weren't to blame for his bad conscience,' said Faro in a poor attempt at consolation.
'Has the lad any family?' his cousin asked.
'A mother and siblings.'
'Right,' said Leslie, taking out a purse from his pocket and weighing it in his hand. 'I shall go and see them. I know it won't replace the lad, but it's the best I can do.'
As they turned towards the house, Faro said to Constable Boyd: 'You'd better accompany Mr Godwin. Might be trouble.'
'Thank you, Jeremy. Oh God, what an infernally sad business. If there's one thing I never get used to it's talking to bereaved relatives.' He sighed. 'You stay here, Batey,' he shouted over his shoulder to the sergeant.
And looking very unhappy indeed, Leslie started up the stone stairs with Constable Boyd.
Faro, left alone with Batey, said: 'Tell me exactly what happened, if you please.'
Batey shrugged. For a moment Faro thought he was going to ignore the question. 'Come on, man, I need to know. You're a witness to a fatal accident.'
'Told the constable. Ask the people who saw it,' Batey said sullenly. 'They'll tell you what you want to know.' And unrepentant, he grinned, turned on his heel and walked away with such an insolent swagger that Faro had a sudden desire for violence.
Staring after him, clenching his fists, he was still shaking with impotent rage, when Constable Boyd reappeared.
'Mr Godwin is with the lad's mother now. She wouldn't let me in, started screaming abuse at the sight of this -' he added, pointing to his uniform.
And Faro knew he could no longer avoid playing his part in this sad drama by visiting Mrs Dunnock, although God only knew what kind of comfort and consolation he could offer for the loss of her eldest bairn, doubtless the breadwinner in the household.
The words he rehearsed as he climbed the stairs sounded like cold sympathy, sentiments that always stuck in his throat.
The door was slightly ajar, and although the dreadful smell he had first encountered had moderated somewhat, the sound of weeping deterred him.
Leslie emerged and shook his head, and taking Faro's arm he led him away. 'Don't advise it, Jeremy. Not just now. Leave it for a while. I've done all I can.'
As they walked down the stairs, Mrs Dunnock appeared on the landing above them, her tear-stained face pale and strained, staring over the iron railing.
'Don't you bring your polis back here. Not ever,' she shouted to Faro. 'We don't want your sort here. Bastards,' she screamed, and shook a fist so violently that the bangle she wore fell off and rolled down the stairs, landing at Leslie's feet.
Snatching it up, he threw it back to her. With a final curse, she ran inside and banged the door shut.
'Poor woman,' said Leslie. 'At least she has a crowd of bairns and relations to help her through it all -'
'That bracelet,' said Faro. 'It looked quite valuable.'
'Quite a contrast to the rest of her.' Leslie nodded. 'I was thinking the very same thing. Doubtless booty from one of young Sandy's forays into crime.' And halting, he asked: 'What am I going to do about Batey?'
'I can't answer that question, Leslie.'
His cousin sighed. 'I don't know what to do, really I don't. You see, he believed he was helping me. When that happens, all other thoughts go to the wind. I suppose you've realised the poor creature is quite devoted to me. And a bit simple.'
Simple wasn't the word Faro had in mind for the unpleasant sergeant. Evil would have fitted his image much better.
'Head wounded. Tortured too. I feel responsible for him. I really do. And he would lay down his life for me. Did once. You can't repay those debts of loyalty.' He paused. *I gather your enquiries are still in the doldrums.'
'And likely to remain there,' Faro answered shortly. Declining his cousin's sympathy and cheerful suggestion that they sink their sorrows over a dram together, he excused himself.
He didn't feel sociable. He needed to think, and as he walked towards the High Street through the market booths, he found himself again considering the significance of recent events.
All around him stall-holders bawled their wares. Food and rags were the main sales. He hardly glanced at them.
And then he saw it hanging at the front of a rag stall, in the place of honour. A handsome travelling cloak, violet wool with a velvet collar.
Could it be - ?
To his question 'How much?', he was told one guinea.
Such a high price was unusual, pennies were the usual currency on rag stalls, and this price
