The Gallows Murders

bachelors or widowers. They would have to stay.'
    'But Andrew Undershaft?' I asked. 'He was found burnt to death in a cage in Smithfield Market.'
    'He was different,' Vetch replied. 'Undershaft was a married man. He had his own house in the street of the Crutched Friars on the corner of Poor Jewry. We did not know about his death until the Tower was opened.' 'Hellbane?' Benjamin asked. 'How was he killed?'
    'Once the Tower was opened,' Kemble explained, 'everyone was free to come and go as they wished, provided they were not drawn for duty for the day.'
    'Let us see.' Agrippa, who had been sitting slouched in his chair, his black-brimmed hat over his eyes, abruptly sat up. He took his hat off, placing it on the stool beside him. 'Let us put things in order, Sir Edward. When did Allardyce the clerk in the store die?'
    ‘Well’ Kemble replied. 'He fell ill on the eighth but died on the tenth when his body was removed. Late in the afternoon, two of the guards took it down to the death-cart waiting near the Lion Gate.'
    Agrippa nodded. 'And on the thirteenth of July you sealed the Tower?' That is correct.' 'A month passed and nothing untoward happened?'
    'No,' Kemble replied. ‘We now know that on the sixteenth of July, Undershaft's corpse was found in Smithfield Market.'
    ‘Yes, yes.' Agrippa pressed a third finger. 'And on the twenty-ninth of July the first blackmailing letter was written, sealed and delivered?' Kemble and his two companions nodded.
    Agrippa continued. It demanded that a thousand pounds in gold be left within the door of St Paul's on the feast of St Dominic?' 'So it said,' Spurge squeaked.
    Agrippa closed his eyes. 'Now, if the gold was to be delivered on that date, the villain expected to collect it. Yes?' Again the heads nodded.
    'Where were you all on the eighth of August, on the feast of St Dominic?' Agrippa asked quietly.
    'In the Tower,' Sir Edward Kemble retorted quickly. 'My good doctor, the Tower gates were not opened until the twentieth of August. The same day a herald from the city claimed the contagion was dying and the infection had passed.'
    'So you were not in the city?' Benjamin asked. 'Either on the day when the gold was supposed to be left, or on the eleventh, the feast of St Clare, when this spurious Edward V had two proclamations issued: one pinned to the door of Westminster Abbey, the other to that of St Mary Le Bow in Cheapside.'
    'And nor was anyone else,' Vetch explained. ‘Nobody in the Tower garrison was allowed out until two days ago. God bless the King, but he cannot point the finger of accusation at us.'
    I turned and glanced at Benjamin; I gathered from the troubled look in his eyes that we had entered a veritable maze of puzzles.
    The blackmailing letter to the King might have been written and delivered by someone in the Tower,' he declared. 'Indeed, all the evidence points to that being the truth. Yet the gold was to be delivered and those two proclamations were posted when everyone was virtually incarcerated in the Tower' Benjamin shook his head then turned back to Kemble. 'But it is possible, Sir Edward, that this villainy is the work of two, rather than one person. One in the Tower and one outside.' 'But how would they correspond?' Vetch inquired.
    Here I intervened. 'Surely there are secret passageways, postern-gates that are unmanned?'
    'All were locked and sealed,' Spurge replied. 'As surveyor of the King's work, I did that personally. Every gate and door was barred, bolted and sealed by the constable. None of those seals were broken. Moreover,' Spurge added, 'you seem to imply that Undershaft's death is connected to this bizarre mystery. But why? And who could kill such a powerful man as Andrew? He certainly would not have gone like a lamb to the slaughter.'
    Benjamin toyed with the fur lining of his robe. 'Perhaps the villain is not even in the Tower,' he remarked, then tapped the table. ‘You do know a second letter has been delivered? Left in the Abbot's stall at Westminster Abbey?' 'Dispatched from the Tower?' Spurge squeaked. ‘Yes!'
    There is another problem,' Kemble pointed out, running one hand through his thinning hair. His face took on a smug look. 'Master Daunbey, like you my career depends on royal patronage, be it here or as keeper of the King's palace at Woodstock. Indeed, at Michaelmas I am to be relieved of this command to join an embassy to the Emperor in Bruges.' The fat little fool preened himself like a peacock. ‘What's your point?'