‘Do you think he’d give me the big one?’ Carey asked.

‘Why not, sir? I’ll ask him.’

Carey picked up the report and decided he could do some more letters later. He also took up a purse fat with money from his winnings of the Sunday and decanted some coins into his belt-pouch. The rest he put back in his heavy locked chest.

Carey took Simon Barnet with him to see Andy Nixon in the dungeons, by which time Dodd had finally woken and appeared, scratching and yawning and foul-tempered for some reason. It passed Carey’s understanding how anyone could oversleep past dawn unless they were ill or injured. They all went under the Keep steps and through the ironbound door.

Carey lifted Simon Barnet up to look through the Judas hole in the dungeon door. The boy stared gravely for a while until his eyes had adjusted to the small light from the lantern in his hands and nodded.

‘Ay.’

‘Is that the man that wanted my glove?’ Carey asked, putting him down again.

‘Ay, it’s him, sir.’

‘When? What time of day did he come to you?’

‘Afternoon, sir, on Monday.’

‘You’re sure? I may want you to testify and swear on the Bible that it’s him. Can you do that?’

‘Ay. My word on it,’ said Simon with dignity.

They went to check on Barnabus in the lower of the two gatehouse cells, looking through the barred window.

‘At least Scrope had him moved,’ Carey muttered.

‘I don’t like the look of you, Barnabus. Are you all right?’

‘Don’t feel very well, to tell you the truth, sir.’

It smelled bad, and the floor was slimy although Barnabus had been careful to do his business as near to the drain as he could get. Carey frowned.

‘Who chained you?’ he demanded.

Barnabus looked dolefully at the chain from his ankles to the wall.

‘Sir Richard Lowther.’

‘I might have guessed. When did he do it?’

‘Yesterday, after they moved me from the ’ole.’

Just after I had that argument with him, Carey thought, biting down hard on his anger; damn him. Barnabus was sitting on the wooden bench bolted to the wall which was the only other furniture of the cell, with his arms wrapped around his body.

‘I’m working on getting you out but you must tell me everything you can. For a start, can you think of any reason why Andy Nixon might hate you enough to try and get you hanged for a murder he did?’

‘I dunno, sir. Never met him.’

‘All right, what about Sunday night?’

‘Sunday night, sir?’

‘Yes. Where were you at midnight on Sunday when you should have been lighting me home?’

‘Oh well... er...’ Barnabus looked shifty.

‘How did you manage to get so stinking drunk you passed out by the gate until morning?’

‘I... er...’

‘You didn’t rob someone, did you?’

Barnabus coughed and looked very shifty. Carey stared at him until he shrugged. ‘In a manner of speaking, sir.’

‘All right, what happened?’

‘Well, I was coming back to you when I tripped on a... well, somebody who’d bin in a fight and got the worst of it, I’d say.’

‘Where?’

‘Down the alley between Scotch Street and Fisher Street.’

‘And so you robbed him?’

‘No, sir. First I helped him in his door, then I robbed him.’

Carey put his hands to his head. ‘Barnabus, I have told you about footpadding...’

‘I didn’t footpad ’im, sir; ’e was already done over. I just...’

‘You just bloody robbed a man who was lying there helpless. For God’s sake, Barnabus, where’s your Christian charity?’

‘I was drunk, sir. It seemed like a good idea...’

‘How much did you get?’

‘Half a crown sir, and some pennies.’

‘Well, you could hang for that half a crown, you silly bugger. You robbed Andy Nixon and I would imagine that’s the reason why he went to the trouble of incriminating you.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Which has indirectly caused me an immense amount of aggravation.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’

‘You damn well deserve to be in here, and that’s the truth.’