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They must be grateful that the vagaries of wind and tide had meant that there could have been no confiding of Blatchett’s body to the waves, as Sandy suspected would have otherwise been the case, that would have greatly confused matters.

At least, said Will Brocken of the Detective Branch, we may report that he is deceased.

Sandy looked down at the body. That was certainly so. They had contrived, by a certain amount of disbursement of funds, to have it conveyed to the nearest town from the coastal hamlet – barely even that, a few cottages and something that might by courtesy be deemed a tavern – where he had met his end.

Had been seriously knocked about, but – although a local surgeon had been summoned and they must wait upon his verdict to be sure – what had probably finally done for him was a blow to the head, that might have been the result of a fall rather than any deliberate blow.

Sandy sighed. I will surmize, he said, that while he was awaiting the conditions that would permit setting to sea, he decided to beguile the time by making some approach to one or other of the local women. For he had most certainly been drinking. And her husband or lover or brothers and their friends fell upon him.

That seems very probable, Brocken conceded. Just because they are, we must suppose, smugglers, does not mean they are not very protective of their womenfolk.

Precisely.

They continued to contemplate the corpse for a while. Hardly the glass of fashion and the mould of form after his desperate flight.

I wonder, Brocken mused, what they have done with the horse – that once 'tis fed, and rested, I daresay will still be a good nag had he managed not to lame it – one did admit to him trading it for passage to Holland.

They must have hiding-places, given their occupation. I am not sure it would be prudent to suggest a search.

Local feelings? I am somewhat adrift in parts the like of this. I suppose we might sound out what Mr Chessley thinks.

Chessley was the local magistrate. Sandy had no great opinion of his intellect, but doubtless the man had some knowledge of local opinion. Though one also heard that in parts like these, there were those, even magistrates, that winked at the traditional maritime trade and were perchance more concerned to preserve good relations than pursue the law to its utmost extent.

He came in wringing his hands, just ahead of a fellow carrying a surgeon’s bag, saying that sure they were not used to this sort of thing hereabouts, casting a glance at Brocken as if he had brought it with him like some contagion from Town.

The surgeon, one Latchard, made slight poo-pooing sounds and remarked that 'twas not as though he was not called in to pronounce upon some suspicious death from one year’s end to the next – why, 'tis not so many months since –

Chessley waved his hands. Yes, yes, but an Earl, a stranger to these parts – flying from the Law –

Latchard had the expression of one that was entire used to Chessley’s outbursts. He suggested that they might leave him to work –

Brocken said that he had oft viewed autopsies and would be grateful of a chance to observe.

Oh, are you used to the business – be quite welcome. Mr MacDonald?

Sandy decided that he could leave the observation of the dissection to Brocken, and left the cellar.

Chessley took him to a snug chamber within the Town Hall, and offered him a choice of refreshments.

Taking a large glass of brandy himself, he sat down by the fire, shaking his head. 'Tis seldom we have any troubles with those – those fisherfolk – are wont to deal with their own bothers – keep themselves to themselves –

I hope, ventured Sandy, we may prevail upon the tavern-keeper to testify?

Mayhap, said Chessley in doubtful tones. He was silent for a while, and then began to grumble upon the inconvenience of empanelling a coroner’s jury, for some specific local reason at this particular time: or perchance, thought Sandy, because he found this entire business a grotesque intrusion upon the usual tenor of life in this quiet small town.

Sandy tried to suppress his own impatience. Recalled Clorinda’s maxim that one must play it out to the last act and the final curtain. But sure this was becoming a very tedious proceeding. He had to admit, he had grown more used than perchance entire befitted a philosopher to the comfort of Clorinda’s establishment! That was not in the least rivalled by the kind of places where they had been obliged to find lodging during the hunt. Were they not as bad as might be – he was in a position to be somewhat nice in the matter – still could not compare.

And he was greatly missing a certain small dusky sarcastic fellow, and wondering how he did, and how matters were getting on among their set.

As well as his accustomed contact with lively minds at the colleges wherein he taught, besides more informally in conversation with Hannah or Flora and their circle.

Certainly Brocken was an agreeable and intelligent young man – had formerly been one of Matt Johnson’s juvenile Runners, that he had fee’d to watch those that would not suspect street urchins of anything except mayhap having designs on their purse. In the evenings during this pursuit they had sat yarning over ale – talking of their exploits with Matt –

Of course Sandy had some reserve when it came to the Metropolitan Police! But sure there was a difference 'twixt the Detective Branch and the common constables that patrolled Hyde Park and places of resort.

So the coroner’s inquest came about with more expedition than he had feared, and here they were in the courtroom with a deal of interested spectators –

Including a familiar very black face. How had the news already attained to Gordon Marshall, leading reporter for the Lowndes Press? Already had his notebook and pencil out. A clew was provided when Sandy observed sitting next to him Ferraby Lowndes, that one heard was travelling the country about press business, and no doubt had been in the area and at once communicated this matter of interest.

Brocken sworn in to recount the tale of how Lord Blatchett came to be upon this coast – presumption of guilty flight following the death of his friend Mr Mortimer Chellow of which they might have read in the newspapers – authorities wished to interrogate him as at the very least, a likely witness –

Latchard’s evidence on the cautious side – the deceased had been battered about considerable but he could not swear to the circumstances – death resulted from a blow to the head, again, he could by no means testify to the immediate cause.

A certain amount of local sensation in court when the keeper of the low tavern in which it had happened took the stand and was sworn in. A thick local dialect – somewhat surly in manner – fellow had been seeking a passage – some agreement had, he thought been come to – fellow then commenced upon drinking – grew uprageous and violent – the company obliged to set hands upon him – in the affray fell over and hit his head upon a stool –

Entirely plausible – no mention of any consideration involved in bargaining for the passage –

There was very little delay in bringing about a verdict of accidental death, though the foreman of the jury and the coroner both delivered themselves of animadversions upon drink.

Brocken shook himself. Well, I may go close the case – his behaviour argues his guilt in the matter, would you not agree? – I daresay there will be some man of law – mayhap steward of the estate? – will make arrangements – out of our hands –

Gordon Marshall and Ferry Lowndes came over as the crowd began to exit the courtroom.

Well, said Gordon, the press was rather hoping that we would have the full panoply of a trial before his peers in the House of Lords, very picturesque, and mayhap coming to a hanging with a silken rope as befitting his rank, but his end points a moral and adorns a tale, one cannot complain.

He looked at Brocken. Might we go take a glass of ale or so, so that I might glean a report on the fine work of the Detective Branch?

Brocken gave a lopsided grin and said, ale would come very welcome, and he minded upon Mr Marshall’s excellent reporting on the business of the Pottingell silver theft that he had investigated.

They were ensconced in a decent local tavern, and going over the tale with various telling details from the pursuit, when Ferry Lowndes frowned and said, is there an heir? A brother?

A cousin, I fancy, said Sandy, but I do not spend my days in perusing the Peerage.

Anyway, this was all no longer his business, to his great relief, and he might return to Town, and assure Brocken of continuing friendship and that he would ever be agreeable to talking over cases.

On returning to Clorinda’s pretty house, he found her in somewhat of a fret.

Theatricals! she exclaimed. Here are Hattie and Amelia, quite beg me to assist in this matter of the memorial for Hywel Jenkins, and really, it requires somewhat 'twixt the skills of a lion-tamer and a diplomat. For indeed, all wish to pay tribute to the deceased, but –

Sandy grinned. They also wish their own standing to be properly recognized?

Clorinda sighed. Would that I might box their ears and send 'em supperless to bed. But, my dear, I apprehend that you have had a moderately satisfactory conclusion to your pursuit – read the report – one probably should not say, that is two very tiresome fellows out of the way, most uncharitable, but they are little loss – but you will wish to repair from your travels and I daresay have plans.

O, and I fail to mention that Lord Saythingport lately had a stroke and at present lies invalid at the Grigsons under the care of crack nurses.

Further enlightenment was conveyed when Sandy saw Maurice. A horrid shock for the poor little renter he was with at the time – a deal of careful covert conveying him to Asterley’s – yes, actually at the club – Sir Stockwell was like to have a fit himself –

So Asterley’s prophesy proved accurate!