Gibbous House 12

‘I have occasion,’ he began, ‘to visit the inns of court from time to time. A trifling –if a little drawn out – matter of entail on my late mother’s side. My lawyers squirrel their precious papers in chambers not far from Hawthorne Lane. Shawcross & Co. They are of sufficient note to consign my dealings with them to various drones who comprise & Co. rather than any Shawcross. Having concluded my business, I intended to exploit the respite from the rain by means of taking the air until the fustian odour of mildewed documents had cleared my nostrils. It was as I was passing a mean little cut-passage that I overheard rough and uncultured voices.’

My interruption bidding him to fix a time for these events was greeted with the glare of Pliny’s Cyrenean serpent. Nonetheless, he resumed his account so:

‘It may have been a little after two, or it may not. One of what I supposed to be the ruffians was instructing the other in the positioning of what he termed the “hevidence.” From the grunts and epithets I presumed it was very heavy indeed.’

He paused briefly, shrugged at the indifference to his needle wit and continued:

‘I peered down the dim alley and was a little taken aback to espy two Metropolitans standing over what was clearly a corpse. Its hand was clutching a watch on a chain, a little unnaturally to my eye, as if he had expired in the act of dropping it. Nearby was a shabby topcoat clearly too large in dimension to have belonged to the departed. The larger of the two policemen gave me a gallows look and bade me depart. I took a look at the hunched and pathetic figure on the ground and went about my business.’

Again, Miss Lascelles’ indecorous curiosity saved me arousing suspicion:

‘Oh, how terrible! Who was he, do you know, sir?’

‘I do not.’ He paused, to gather his thoughts mayhap. ‘But do you know I cannot forget the poor fellow’s legs, most uncommon malformed they were.’

With that all fell silent for the remainder of the stage, until the luncheon halt at Buckden. In the silence, I pondered putative reasons for Cartwright’s demise and wished, in vain, to blame all on serendipity.

In consequence I was in a brown study throughout our sojourn in Buckden and missed the departure of the Reverend’s companion on the southbound mail. On boarding the coach once again, I noted the fellow had reverted to the fractious and fidgeting demeanour I had witnessed prior to the lady’s arrival for the coach from London. Perhaps the mantle of piety itched him somewhat. Caister and Pollock had taken seats each next the other and it seemed the froideur in evidence earlier had dissipated. Perhaps Miss Lascelles' presence had discomfited them, for they did look to prefer the company of gentlemen to that of the fairer sex, it seemed to me. As we rode in near companionable silence, my fellow passengers – having lunched in somewhat better style than I – soon succumbed to a post-prandial torpor.

For want of other entertainment , I reached into my pocket inside my frock-coat for the packet of papers the late Cartwright had as much as bequeathed to me. The papers were warm to the touch, having absorbed the heat of my body. On the point of extracting Coble’s will from the lining of my hat, I noticed that the blank vellum sheets were void no longer. By some arcane means, writing had appeared. Despite having the look of old and faded ink of poor quality, it was discernable none the less. What it was not, was intelligible, at least not to me. It had the angular lineaments of the Greek of the Ancients, although I knew enough to scry that it was not. But it most assuredly was as indecipherable by me as the shorthand of Huffam had been.