The Gallows Murders

remember a stranger. He must have an accomplice.'
    I sat and thought for a while, closing my eyes as I remembered the Tower as I had seen it: the soldiers, their women, the children, the officers, old Ragusa, the hangmen.
    'Don't forget, Roger, the day we returned to the Tower from St Paul's, everyone had been locked in and could account for their movements when old Horehound was crushed to death in the basement of the Beauchamp Tower. Everyone except-'
    'Except the hangmen!' I cried. They had all been drinking that afternoon and gone their separate ways. One of them must be Sakker's accomplice.'
    Benjamin wiped his fingers and sat back, rocking on his heels. 'If so, how does Sakker communicate with him?' He chewed his Up. 'And who told Sakker when the real Allardyce was travelling to London so he could be ambushed in Maidstone? One of the officers or hangmen? Any of them could easily find out when the real Allardyce was to be at the Tower-'
    'Or there again, Master,' I interrupted, 'once Sakker knew Allardyce was to leave Dover Castle, he'd simply wait there and follow him to Maidstone.'
    Benjamin nodded. 'Roger, the web begins to unravel.' He kicked the cracked bowl with his foot and clapped his hands. 'I was sure Sakker was at the root of it all. Our visit here was worth while.'
    We hastened downstairs and told the under-sheriff what we had found. He became excited as us and vowed that a swift return to the city was essential. 'If Sakker knows that we are now hunting him and have some idea about his disguise, perhaps we can tighten the net around him,' he exclaimed.
    Miranda clapped her hands, eyes shining with delight. She leaned on tiptoe and kissed Benjamin on both cheeks. He blushed and stammered, pointing to me. Of course, I received no kiss; nothing but her brilliant smile.
    In the end we did not reach London that day. The sky became overcast; one of those summer black storms swept over the flat Kent countryside. We were forced to take shelter in one of the many great taverns which line the pilgrims' way. We ate and drank well. For a while we forgot Sakker whilst Benjamin regaled the Pelleters with stories of our earlier exploits at the manor outside Ipswich. Even a blind man could have realised that Benjamin and Miranda had fallen deeply in love. They only had eyes for each other, and it was not a friendship which Master Pelleter opposed. Oh, Benjamin was a gentleman. He bade her a gallant goodnight, but only after spending hours with her in the corner of a taproom chattering and whispering. I sat like a ghost at a banquet, engaging Miranda's father in desultory conversation about the city and the effects of the sweating sickness. I did not sleep that night. Instead I tossed and turned on my pallet-bed, not because of the fleas which infested the blankets or the rats which came out to nose at my boots: all I could do was gaze at Benjamin sleeping in his bed like a child, lost in golden dreams about a woman I loved but who barely recognised my existence. Only then did I realise why people murder! How the red fury can cloud the mind, kill the soul, and turn one's being into a single thrust of a dagger. Of all the men I have ever known, Benjamin is the only one I have loved; yet, that night, the thought of murder crossed my mind!
    (Ah, I see my little clerk has stopped writing. Ever since I mentioned the name Miranda, he's had a look of puzzlement on his moon-like face. He sits, tapping the quill against his podgy nose, and squirming his fat little rump. He abruptly remembered the picture in my secret chamber, the letters in my coffers, and now he announces it. I can mouth the words for him: ‘But Miranda was your wife, your first wife? I have seen her picture!' Oh, he looks at me, the little man, his head cocked to one side, a look of puzzlement in those blackcurrant eyes of his. 'Explain! Explain!' His squat body throbs with curiosity. Well, the little turd will have to wait. He’ll have to find out how this woman, so beloved of Benjamin, so deeply enamoured of my master, became my wife. But not now. Ah no! As the good book says, there is a time and a place under heaven for everything and my little clerk will just have to wait. Enough about love!)
    The next morning we rose early. Our horses, now rested, took us swiftly back into London. As we crossed London Bridge, going on towards Catte Street, Pelleter explained that perhaps his bailiffs and spies may have found out something about Quicksilver, and