‘May was beyond reason,’ said Scot, standing next to Chaloner, to indicate where his loyalties lay. ‘You know what he is like once his temper is roused. He was insane enough to think he could disguise himself as Dillon – you can see that from his clothes – but he badly over-estimated his talents. And I shot him, anyway.’
Chaloner could tell from the contemptuous expression on the Spymaster’s face that he thought Scot was protecting a friend with a false confession. He tried not to sag in defeat, suspecting Williamson would read resignation as guilt.
‘Is Dillon dead?’ asked Wiseman. ‘Only I thought I saw him in the audience during my dissection. It gave me rather a shock, to be frank, and put me right off my stride.’
‘That would have been May,’ said Scot. ‘Probably.’
Williamson continued to glare at Chaloner. ‘Did May show you that letter before you gunned him down? Keep your hands in the air, or I will order Holles to open fire.’
‘What letter?’ asked Chaloner, hastening to comply. Williamson nodded that Scot was to search May’s body. Scot obliged, eventually locating a pocket sewn into the coat lining. He withdrew a piece of paper that was soiled and soft, as though it had been handled a lot. He scanned it quickly, then held it for Chaloner to read – the spy was not about to give Williamson an excuse to kill him by lowering his hands to take it. It was a brief note that said:
Noe Mann shoulde beare the insults of a Womann like Silens Webb. Lette her Husbande paye the pryce for her Vicious Tonge. If you succeede, the Summe of Twentie Pounds wille be Youres. And nor need you fear Reprisals against you. Youre Maister wille allow noe Mann to hange for Murdur, and God wille be Thankfull for your Ridding Him of this Devil’s Sporn and soe wille I. Clarendon.
‘It was among Dillon’s possessions at Newgate,’ said Williamson.
‘Were there other letters, too?’ asked Chaloner. ‘In cipher?’
Williamson nodded. ‘My clerks decoded them, but they all pertain to Fanning’s attempt to leave Newgate via a barrel of poisoned ale. I cannot imagine why Dillon kept them.’
‘Because he thought Fanning was wrong to escape,’ explained Chaloner. ‘Fanning offered to include him in the rescue, but Dillon declined, because he was utterly convinced that his employer would save him. He planned to show Fanning’s letters to his patron later, to prove who had remained steadfast and who had not.’
Williamson was not very interested in Fanning’s floundering trust. ‘The important document is the one Scot holds, because it proves that Dillon and Fanning murdered Webb on Clarendon’s orders. Dillon obviously kept the note to remind himself that salvation would be supplied – you can tell from the state of it that he read it again and again, seeking reassurance. So, now we know why he killed Webb, and why he thought he would suffer no punishment for it.’
‘That is not Clarendon’s signature, sir,’ said Chaloner, disappointed in him; he had expected more from a man of Williamson’s reputation. ‘It is a forgery, and anyone can see it.’
Williamson raised an eyebrow. ‘It looks authentic to me, and I see his mark with some regularity.’
‘It is shaky and hesitant, because it was copied,’ stated Chaloner firmly. ‘His usual signature is free-flowing and confident. And that is not all. This note asks for someone to be murdered. Clarendon is not a fool, and would never append his own name to such an order.’
‘That is true,’ acknowledged Williamson. ‘However, when I showed it to May, he pointed out that a man only exercises caution when there is a danger of his being apprehended. His observation is a valid one; Lord Clarendon must have assumed he would not be caught.’
‘I repeat: he is not a fool,’ said Chaloner, thinking the same could not be said about May – or about Williamson for listening to him. ‘He would never put his name to something like this, no matter how small the chances of discovery. And nor does he order a man murdered because he took offence at comments made by his wife.’
‘It does seem out of character – he is not a violent person,’ said Wiseman. His eyes widened in alarm when Chaloner shifted his position and six muskets rattled simultaneously as aim was adjusted. ‘And I abhor unnecessary bloodshed, too. Will you put those things down before someone is hurt?’
‘Not yet,’ snapped the Spymaster as Holles started to comply. ‘Not until Heyden has confessed to what he knows. And then we shall decide whether we shoot him here or he goes to the Tower. I would not stand in front of him, if I were you, Scot. Or you, Eaffrey. You both resigned today, so you are of no further use to me, and I do not care if I am obliged to shoot through you to reach him.’
‘Move away,’ murmured Chaloner to his friends. ‘He means what he says. No wonder it is taking you so long to arrange Thomas’s freedom, Scot. The man is ruthless.’
‘I accept your reasoning, Heyden,’ said Williamson, once Scot and Eaffrey had retreated to a safe distance. His face was cold and hard. ‘Clarendon did not order Dillon to kill Webb. However, that means we are back to the beginning again, because we still do not know the identity of Dillon’s master. So, you will provide me with the answer. If I am satisfied with it, I may let you live.’
‘Me?’ asked Chaloner uneasily. ‘But I do not know–’
Williamson gave a nasty little smile, which put Chaloner in mind of a lizard. ‘Then you had better start doing some hard thinking. And if I am obliged to tell you again to keep your hands above your head, I shall order Holles to shoot them off.’
Chaloner knew he would carry out his threat, just to avenge May. He fought to shake off the weariness that was making his wits sluggish, struggling for an answer that would save his life.
‘May,’ blurted Scot. ‘The master was May. He told Dillon–’
Williamson turned his reptilian glare on his ex-spy. ‘May had invested a fortune with Webb, and Webb’s death meant he lost most of it. He would never have killed the man. Try again.’
‘I expect it was Behn,’ said Wiseman with his customary confidence. Chaloner was grateful, because their suggestions were giving him time to assess his own conclusions and test them for flaws. ‘Once Webb was dead, Behn persuaded Silence to make him a gift of Webb’s ship. And Behn and Webb argued violently on the night of the murder – I saw them myself.’
‘I think the killer is Silence,’ countered Eaffrey, seeing what Wiseman and Scot were doing and eager to play her part. ‘She is suddenly free and a wealthy woman.’
Williamson’s smile was malicious. ‘Not as rich as she believes, though. I saw Webb’s last testament, and most of his fortune will go to the Guinea Company.’
‘Company members, then,’ said Scot, ‘because they knew the terms of the will, and decided they wanted the windfall sooner rather than later. Further, Temple is without a serious business rival now Webb has gone, and–’
‘Stop,’ snapped Williamson. ‘You are wasting my time with your guesses. Well, Heyden? Let us hear whether your wits will save your life.’
Chaloner gestured to the letter, raising his hands again when Williamson’s eyes narrowed. ‘The note mentions an insult, and I think we can conclude that whatever Silence said to offend the writer was spoken at the Guinea Company dinner. We know it was busy that night, and that there were spats between a number of parties. However, Clarendon was not one of them, because he was not there. In addition, Silence likes the Earl, so would never have offended him. However, she did rail at someone by criticising his clothes and the way he smells.’