The Gallows Murders

The assassin could be anywhere,' I whispered.
    Through the darkness came a whistle, full and merry on the night air, as if some lad was sitting on the quayside, a fishing rod in his hands. I recognised the tune, a lilting song, sung in the London taverns, about a young girl and her love for a great lord. Well, I did what I could. I whistled back. Once again an arrow smacked into the plaster above our heads. "Who's there?' Benjamin called.
    The whistling began again, but this time it was chilling. I could imagine the assassin walking up and down, soft-footed, notching another bolt into the groove. The plaster of the house was white, and that was what he was watching. If we moved, he would see our silhouettes from where he stood with his back to the river, cloaked by the night. "Whistle again,' Benjamin ordered.
    I tried to but my mouth was dry, and all I could do was croak. All the old signs of Shallot's terror were beginning to manifest themselves: a tightening of the stomach, a loosening of the bowels, and this overwhelming urge to run.
    'For the love of life, whistle that bloody tune!' Benjamin whispered.
    This time, panic lent its aid. I wet my lips, recalled the tune, and whistled it back. I also made the mistake of moving, and a crossbow bolt streaked across my hair. If it had been a barber's knife, I would have lost some of my lustrous locks. 'Now!' Benjamin screamed. 'Charge!'
    I had no choice but to follow him and, even as I did, I recognised my master's wisdom. We were now away from the wall and the assassin would have to retreat. We streaked like greyhounds towards the river, shouting and yelling so loudly that even a sentry on the walls of the Tower called out to ask what was the matter. We reached the quayside: to my right I heard the faint patter of retreating footsteps. There was nothing, only a few boats tied to their poles, bobbing in the full evening current. Benjamin stopped and crouched down to ease the cramp in his legs and snatch gulpfuls of air. Well, well, Roger.'
    He didn't have to commiserate with me. I was on my knees retching and coughing. I looked around, a postern-door in the Tower opened, and soldiers ran out towards us, carrying torches, swords drawn. 'Master Daunbey! Master Shallot!' I glanced up.
    Vetch came forward. What's the matter? You were attacked?'
    ‘No!' I snarled, getting to my feet and helping my master up. ‘We always do this just before we retire to bed!'
    Pushing our way through the soldiers, we made our way into the Tower. I was convinced it was time for old Roger to leave. As I settled on to my pallet-bed, I firmly resolved that, the first thing I would do the next morning, would be to persuade my master to join me.

Chapter 10
    ‘No, Roger, I will not.' Benjamin sat on his bed in our chamber in the Wakefield Tower and shook his head angrily.
    We had spent most of the morning sharing a wineskin I had filched from the Tower kitchens, and discussing who the assassin could be. Now tired, our wits dulled, our heads thick, Benjamin and I just sat in our comfortable quarters and wondered what to do next. Benjamin had been so morose, ‘I’d tentatively put it to him that perhaps we should spend a few months beyond the seas.
    'Roger,' he exclaimed, 'that would be betrayal of beloved Uncle's trust!'
    'Damn him!' I cried. 'Master, in the last few months I have been hounded from Ipswich by the Poppletons, almost poisoned by Quicksilver, nearly died of the sweating sickness, pushed into a wolf-pen, and now someone is shooting arrows at me. Not to mention,' I continued bitterly, 'my desperate run through Windsor Forest which, if the King gets his hands on me, I am doomed to repeat!'
    'How far would we get?' Benjamin retorted. ‘Don't you think the same thought has occurred to dearest Uncle? The ports would be watched. We would be arrested and back in the Tower, not as guests, but as prisoners. Moreover, if we journey abroad, how will we live? When could we come back? Moreover,' he added bitterly, 'you know the King's mind. He might start wondering who really is behind these blackmailing letters and demands for gold.' 'He wouldn't blame us!' I cried.
    Benjamin glanced at me: I knew he was right. In his present mood, the Great Beast would be only too willing to point the finger. 'Ah well,' I sighed. "What do we do next?'
    Benjamin stared round the chamber. We are well looked after,' he remarked. 'Let's wait here and think. Our enemies are bound to make a mistake.'
    I