By Murder's bright Light

other visitors?’
    ‘ Bernicia ,’ Minter the surgeon said with a smirk. ‘Who’s she?’
    Now even Crawley was smiling.
    ‘Well, come on man, share the joke!’
    ‘She’s a whore, Sir John. Well, Roffel’s mistress. A pretty little thing. She has a house in Poultney Lane near the Lion Heart tavern. She didn’t know that Roffel was dead.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘When we told her the captain was dead, coffined and sent to his wife, she started blubbing. We let her stay for a while in the captain’s cabin, smacked her bottom and sent her ashore. No more bloody fingers for her.’
    ‘What do you mean, bloody fingers?’ Cranston asked.
    Cabe leaned forward, out of the shadows.
    ‘When we took ships, Sir John, we were always in a hurry. We boarded them, despatched the crew, grabbed the plunder, sank the ship and left. Roffel always scrutinised every corpse for valuables, particularly rings. If they didn’t come off fast enough, he hacked the fingers off. He thought it was a joke. He used to give the rings, fingers still in them, to Bernicia his doxy.’
    Athelstan looked away in disgust. He had heard about the war at sea, bloody and vicious on both sides, but Roffel seemed the devil incarnate. No wonder his wife could hardly be described as the grieving widow.
    ‘And after Bernicia had left?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Everything was done. Bracklebury fixed the watch — himself and two other reliable fellows. We had our purses full of coins, so we took a bumboat and went ashore.’
    ‘Wasn’t the watch rather small in number?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Not really,’ Crawley said. “The ships are moored in line on the Thames . An officer and at least two men should stay on each vessel, one at the stem and one in the bows.’ His eyes fell away.
    ‘But not really enough?’ Cranston insisted.
    This is the devil’s own ship, Sir John,’ Coffrey said. ‘We wanted to get off. Especially after...’
    ‘After what?’ Athelstan asked quietly.
    ‘Children’s nightmares.’ Crawley laughed. ‘I’ve heard of this.’
    ‘During the afternoon,’ Cabe explained, ‘when the day began to die and the mist started rolling in, some of the men said the ship was haunted by Roffel’s ghost.’ He shrugged. ‘You know sailors. We’re a superstitious lot. They talked of feeling cold, of an unseen presence, of scrabbling noises from the hold. They put this to the mate, he asked for two volunteers to stay, the rest of us went ashore.’
    ‘So, after dark,’ Athelstan said, ‘there was only the mate and two of the watch? Did anyone here approach the ship?’
    There was a chorus of denials.
    ‘But we keep in contact,’ Crawley explained. ‘On every hour, when the candle flame reaches the ring, the password is sent along from ship to ship by speaking trumpet. On the half-hour, a shuttered lantern on each ship sends three quick flashes of light as a sign that all is well.’
    ‘So.’ Athelstan stretched. ‘Further up the river you have the Holy Trinity. The watch on that ship would pass the message to the God’s Bright Light. A password on the hour, a lantern flashing every half-hour?’
    Crawley nodded.
    ‘And was this done?’
    The watch on the Holy Trinity did it.’
    ‘But did the God’s Bright Light pass it on to the Saint Margaret ?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ Crawley replied. That’s where the mystery comes in. You see, Father, the Holy Trinity is my own ship. I let my men go ashore and I myself commanded the night watch.’
    ‘And the messages were sent from you?’
    Crawley nodded. ‘At five o’clock I sent on the password, through a speaking trumpet. At half-past five the lamp winked three times.’
    ‘And at six?’
    ‘Ah, there were no more messages. One of the crew returned with a whore. He found the ship deserted and raised the alarm. He forced the whore to help him and rowed, with her screaming and shouting, over to my ship. I and my two men went aboard. It was like a ghost ship. The cabin was tidy, the decks in order, nothing amiss. The lantern on top of the mast was still burning as was the shuttered lantern in its recess outside the cabin door. No mark of violence, nothing missing.’
    ‘So’ — Athelstan picked up his quill to make a few more notes — “let us say this sailor returned fifteen minutes after the last message was sent and fifteen minutes before the password. According to his story and to yours, Sir Jacob, in that time three able-bodied sailors disappeared from this ship?’
    ‘It