The Gallows Murders

is, they do not live in the Tower.'
    Kemble was waiting for us beyond the gateway. He took one look at Benjamin's face and shook his head mournfully. 'The gold was taken!' ‘Yes, it was stolen!' Benjamin snapped.
    Sighing heavily, Kemble took us up into his chamber in the royal quarters where Vetch and Spurge were also waiting. They had apparently been spending their time feasting; the ragged remains of a pheasant lay on a platter. Kemble was sobersided, but Vetch and Spurge looked flushed and bright-eyed.
    'So they can't arrest us,' Vetch muttered, once we'd announced what had happened. He got up and shakily filled two goblets, brought them back to the table and pushed them towards us.
    'Someone will hang for all this,' Spurge squeaked. He looked slyly at me. 'And it won't be us.' ‘What happened?' Kemble asked. Benjamin told him in quick, clipped tones. The constable leaned back in his chair, whispering under his breath and shaking his head. 'And you have no suspicions?' he asked.
    Two villains are at work here,' Benjamin explained. 'One in the Tower and another outside. However, I have not any evidence to point the finger of accusation.' ‘Did anyone leave the Tower?' I asked.
    Kemble shook his head. ‘You saw for yourself Master Shallot, all doorways were barred and bolted. Men patrol the ramparts and towers, two soldiers guard each postern-gate.' 'And the hangmen?' I asked.
    They are in their quarters. Every hour, on the hour, at least until noon, Vetch went round and checked.' My master sipped at the wine cup. ‘What do you think, Master Daunbey?' Vetch asked.
    'I am wondering where the rogue is who took the two thousand pounds' worth of gold,' Benjamin replied. 'And will he be satisfied with that or strike again?' He put his cup down on the table. 'Sir Edward, how long have you been constable of the Tower?' 'About two years this Michaelmas,' Kemble replied.
    'And you have heard no legends or stories about the Princes?'
    The constable shook his head. ‘I have told you, as I have told others, their fate is a complete mystery.' ‘But you know the story of Tyrrell?' Benjamin insisted.
    Aye, he was alleged to have been involved in smothering the Princes, but the King's father made a careful search. No remains were ever found.'
    Suddenly there was a drumming of feet on the stairs outside and Mallow burst into the room, his face white as a sheet. For a while he just stood there trembling, then he came forward like a dream-walker. 'Sir Edward,' he muttered, 'you'd best come. All of you!'
    Benjamin sprang to his feet and grasped Mallow's hand. 'It's as cold as ice!' he exclaimed. He forced the man to sit down on the chair and thrust the wine cup to his lips. 'Drink, man!' Mallow blinked.
    'Come on, drink!' Benjamin fairly poured the wine into the fellow's mouth.
    Mallow coughed and shook himself. 'It's Horehound,' he whispered. He stood up, swaying slightly. ‘You must come!'
    ‘Well never make sense out of him!' Vetch snapped. He grasped Mallow by the jerkin. 'Where is Horehound?'
    The cellar,' Mallow muttered. The death cellar in Beauchamp Tower.'
    'It's where the execution block and axe are kept,' Vetch explained.
    And, leaving Mallow, we all left the room. Outside, on the green, the news of something dreadful had already spread. Soldiers, servants, even masons who were preparing a stretch of the inner wall, were hurrying towards the huge, forbidding Beauchamp Tower. When we reached it, the rest of the executioners were gathered round the door; a royal Serjeant was trying to hold the people back. The fellow was pallid-faced, slack-jawed, his mouth still stained with vomit. He glimpsed Sir Edward and pointed with his thumb towards the half-open door.
    'Sir Edward,' he exclaimed, 'there's a demon in the Tower!'
    Kemble led us into the stairwell and down to the basement. Someone had lit the sconce-torches on the wall. The shadows flickered and danced as if ghosts had come to plague us. At the bottom was a small cellar or cavern. In one corner stood a huge block, cut from some massive oak, with an axe in it. I also glimpsed in the poor light a massive, metal-studded door, almost covering the floor. What's all the fuss about?' I asked. Benjamin pointed. I grabbed a torch from the wall and stared; on either side of the door a hand stuck out and, at the far end of the door, the top of Horehound's head. I took a step nearer. My boots squelched in the blood and I became aware of a fetid smell. Benjamin remained, but