Revelation

We wasted no ceremony. At a gesture from Harsnet the constable smashed the recently repaired window to smithereens, and one after the other we stepped through. The drunken guard had staggered out into the yard and stood watching us, his face crumpling as he realized he was probably out of a job.

Inside, nothing but silence. 'It's like Goddard's house again,' Harsnet whispered. I noticed the bloodied piece of wood, which Cantrell said he had used to see off his assailant, propped against one wall. I wondered which of his victims he had struck with that.

'Let's get those men in from the front and search it,' I said.

The constables were sent to look through the house. I told them to disturb nothing. They returned minutes later to confirm the place was empty.

'Let's see what we can find,' I said to Harsnet.

There was nothing in the parlour, nor in the miserable-looking kitchen next to it, only dirt and pieces of bad food in a cupboard. We turned to the door that led off the parlour, which Cantrell had said had led to his father's workshop. It was a stout oak door and it was firmly locked. It took two of the constables to break it down. Inside it was dark, the shutters drawn over the windows. In the lights from the parlour I saw stone flags, some sort of cart against one wall. We all hesitated for a moment on the threshold, then I stepped in and walked across to the window. I removed the bar across the shutters and opened them, light and noise from the street spilling in.

There were three large wooden chests against the wall. And I recognized that pedlar's cart. I went over and touched the handle. Here he had carried his trinkets in his guise as a pedlar, and bodies too, unconscious or dead. I was suddenly full of anger, anger at what Cantrell had done and at myself too. 'I was a fool,' I said quietly.

'Why?' Harsnet asked. 'He made fools of us all.'

'For allowing myself to be so easily deceived, to see Cantrell as he wanted to be seen, as another of life's victims.'

'We must look in these chests,' Harsnet said quietly.

'I'll take this one. You take that.' I lifted the lid of the nearest chest, dreading what might be within. It was a pile of disguising clothes, tattered robes, fake beards and wigs too — a whole ward-robe.

'Those must have cost money,' Harsnet said, glancing over.

'Some of them look old and well worn.' I pulled out a colourful patchwork coat. 'This is Joseph's coat of many colours. I've seen others like it at disguisings. He wouldn't need all of these.'

The chest Harsnet had opened contained bottles and jars of herbs and drugs, wrapped in rags. I opened them carefully. One stoppered bottle contained a thick, bitter-smelling yellow liquid. I lifted it out. 'I think this is dwale.'

'Where did he get it?'

'Made it, I would think, from Master Goddard's formula.' I took another bottle, sniffed the contents carefully, then tipped a few drops on to the ground. The vitriol hissed and spat.

'There can be no doubt now,' Harsnet said.

'No.'

'Where did his raging fury come from?' I asked.

'It came from the devil,' Harsnet said flatly. He looked at me. I shook my head.

'That would make it simpler, I suppose. Easier to bear.'

'Perhaps it is simple. You have thought too much on this man.'

'I have had cause to. He killed my friend.' I bent and opened the third chest, and we looked inside. There, under some cloths, lay a large flat wooden case. I recalled seeing something similar at Guy's. I opened it, then stepped back with a gasp.

Inside the box, neatly laid out, were knives of different sizes, a little axe and even a small cleaver. Trays contained little hooks and pins, and pliers and tweezers of various sizes. The cleaver and some of the knives had blood on them, and a foul smell rose from the box. 'Goddard's surgical equipment,' I said.

'As I said, possession by the devil.' Harsnet turned aside, his mouth twisting with disgust.

WE WENT UPSTAIRS. There were two bedrooms. One, which had been stripped bare of all furniture except an old bed, I guessed had belonged to Cantrell's father. The other was his. There was an old truckle bed, and another chest, old and scarred, and a table with a large, heavy copy of the Bible in English set on it. The chest contained some of the poor clothes we had seen Cantrell wearing, and a rickety table and stool.