The Gallows Murders

have been involved in the blackmail?' I asked.
    ‘I doubt it’ Benjamin replied. 'A born rogue, Quicksilver would not wish to excite attention. Which brings us to the intentions and true motives of the men we are hunting.' He ran the nail of his thumb round his lips. 'Sakker is definitely involved. An Oxford-trained clerk, he would know all about the Chancery and how to draft and publish a letter.' Benjamin tapped me on the knee. ‘I’m sure your theory is correct. He probably worked in the Tower for a while as Philip Allardyce, clerk of the stores. Somehow he faked his own death, which left him free to run about the city issuing proclamations, killing Undershaft and the rest.'
    Benjamin paused, staring into the cold ash in the fire hearth. 'A man like Sakker would love that, cocking a snoot at authority whilst carrying out his own private war against the hangmen who executed his family. But -' he held up a finger – the mystery still remains. Who is his accomplice?’ Benjamin paused. "We know Sakker must hate the hangmen, yet, out of fear or some other motive, one of them might be his accomplice.' He sighed. ‘Whatever, Sakker seems to move in and out of the Tower as he pleases.' He stood up. ‘But come, let's find out what our friends have discovered.'
    So far, it transpired, very little, but then old Shallot became involved. One of the great virtues of being a rogue is that you know where people hide things. Oh, the bailiffs had found potion books, elixirs, even a grimoire of black magic, but nothing to prove that Quicksilver was really Greene, or that he had a hand in any dark deeds at the Tower. Nevertheless, I soon corrected that. You see, people always hide things in the same place: they also believe that their bedchambers are, somehow, the safest place: the receptacle of all their great secrets. (Even my little chaplain here, I know he has been moving my great four-poster! He will find nothing there! I have, over the years, learnt never to hide anything in my bedchamber.)
    Quicksilver was not so fortunate. His bedchamber had already been plundered, but I pulled the bed aside. I ignored the bailiffs' sniggers as I failed to find any loose board beneath, and I turned my attention to the bed itself. The headboard and posts proved solid, but I pulled the mattress off and beneath found a secret pocket cleverly sewn into its base. I rummaged about and drew out a sheaf of documents. My master cleared the chamber and took these over to the window to examine. The vellum had turned yellow and greasy with old age and the ink had faded. One was a love letter to Greene, probably from some long-dead doxy. Another was an indenture between Robert Brackenbury, constable of the Tower, and Edward Greene, yeoman; the date was January 1484. The third document was much more exciting: it was a plan of the Tower, or at least its walls, showing all the postern-gates and doors. Benjamin studied this closely and became excited.
    'Look, Roger, here! In the wall near the Flint Tower, there's a small water-gate. I am sure this was not on Spurge's map.' He rolled it up. ‘We are finished here,' he announced.
    He called Pelleter and told him we were leaving, and fairly hustled me out of the house. We hurried down to East Watergate, where we hired a skiff to take us back to the Tower. Once we were there, Benjamin immediately called a council with Kemble, Vetch, Spurge, Mallow and the hangmen. We met in the constable's chamber. Benjamin demanded Spurge's map and spread it out on the table, alongside the faded, greasy one taken from Quicksilver's mattress. 'Study them!' Benjamin exclaimed.
    Spurge leaned over the table and did so. 'Where did you get this from?' he asked.
    'Never mind! Never mind!' Benjamin replied. Tell me, Master Spurge, can you see any difference?'
    For a while we sat in silence. No one dared object: Benjamin's face and curt, clipped words being a stark reminder that he was the King's commissioner in this matter and had to be obeyed. We all waited whilst Spurge ran his finger round both maps; taking eyeglasses out of a velvet pouch, he put these on, whispering to himself. Now and again he would glance up anxiously at Benjamin who was sitting opposite. They are similar,' he muttered. 'Except-' 'Except what?' Benjamin snapped.
    'Here, near the Flint Tower, there's a small water-gate I have never seen before.' He glanced anxiously up at the constable. 'Nor was it on the maps I saw when I came here.'
    Kemble just shook