"Mr. Templeton, the last witness made it very clear that there was no argument between the accused and the victim. Do you really wish to investigate the matter further? At risk to your client?"

"I do," Roger said firmly. "I would like to establish quite clearly and firmly that my client was running away from Mr. Enderby. I wish the jury to be very clear on the subject."

Sir Robert sighed. "Fine." He waved at Mr. Burns. "Your next witness, please."

Mr. Burns looked as confused as everyone else. "I would like to ask Mrs. Percival Eddings to please come forward."

A pet.i.te, t.i.ttering woman, solemnly wearing black as befitted the proceedings, stepped through the gate. And thus began a procession of Eleanor's acquaintances. As she stood and listened to one after another say essentially the same thing, she realized Roger was buying them all some time. But would it be enough? She prayed Hilary's continued absence indicated he was on to something.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

"I'm sorry, Sir Hilary," Mr. Unger said, and it was clear to Hil that he truly felt unhappy about confirming his earlier statement to Inspector Vickery. He sat in one of Hil's ornate chairs, his simple, brown broadcloth suit worn and wrinkled against the red velvet of the seat cushion. His hands were resting palms down on his knees, and he looked quite nervous. He smoothed a hand over his short, dark hair as he'd been unconsciously doing for the last half hour. Between forty and fifty, he was old enough to have learned his job and to approach it with a sense of responsibility and pride. "Saw her plain as day walking past The Bull and Mouth. She was wearing boys' clothes and carrying a little brown bag. Had a hat on, but could see her curly hair under it, and that face. No man or boy ever looked like that. No, sir. I knew it was a woman right away. Figured she was out on a lark, or running from something. She kept looking behind her. Crossed the street to avoid the light and looked startled when she saw me."

Hil scooted forward and sat gingerly on the edge of his seat, hoping to convey sincerity and trustworthiness, while also communicating the urgency of the situation. "I understand, Mr. Unger. I'm not questioning whether or not you saw her. What I wish to know is whether you saw anyone else."

"Anyone else?" the watchman said, puzzled. "Well, I saw a lot of people that night. Busy part of town, with the coaching station at The Bull and Mouth. Who are you looking for?"

"That, Mr. Unger, is exactly what we need to find out," Hil said. He turned to Wiley. "Can you think of anything to help jog Mr. Unger's memory?"

Wiley looked a little taken aback to be consulted. "Me? Well, I ..." He paused and ran a hand over his mouth and chin, looking a little nervous. "Well, if it was me, I'd ask if he'd seen anything or anyone else who seemed out of place, or different, like Mrs. Fairchild did."

"Exactly," Hil said triumphantly as he turned eagerly to Mr. Unger. "Did you? See anyone out of place or different, as Wiley suggested?"

Mr. Unger chuckled. "Seen a lot, actually. Run into all kinds of goings-on at a coaching inn, and in Ludgate in general, I tell you. Several fistfights, a stolen horse, a broken window." He stopped and tipped his head to the side, lost for a moment in his own head. Hil got the impression that he was a man who noticed, and noted, everything. "Now that you mention it, it was a night for misdressed young people on larks. I saw a man dressed as a woman leaving The Bull and Mouth around midnight. Old enough, not a boy, but still young. I remember thinking they must be having some sort of a silly party in there."

Hil's heart sped up. "A man dressed as a woman? Was he pretending to act like a woman, too? Or as you said, just being silly? Acting like a man wearing woman's clothes?"

"No," he said slowly. "He was acting like a woman, but the walk wasn't right, and he carried his reticule wrong. The bow on his bonnet was all wrong, too. Very messy. He stepped on something and hurt his foot and hopped about for a minute. Not ladylike at all. His clothes were old and shabby, but he was acting as if he were a proper lady. Very odd, I thought at the time. I thought some of his rowdy friends would follow him, because he kept looking behind him as he hurried away, but no one did. He ducked out of the light, too."

Hil felt euphoric. "Did you tell the inspector about this man?"

"Yes, yes I did," Mr. Unger said, nodding. "Not in as great detail, of course, but about a man dressed as a woman. He dismissed it as nonsense."

Anger rushed through Hil, but he tamped it down. "Why do you think he did that?"

"Well, he was looking for her," Mr. Unger said, acting surprised at the question. "Specifically wanted to know if I'd seen her."

Hil grew suspicious. "Who discovered the body? You? The innkeeper?"

"No, sir," Mr. Unger told him. "Inspector Vickery did. Said he'd gotten a note from someone telling him where to find it, and directing him to Mrs. Fairchild."

"d.a.m.n it!" Lavender said angrily. "Why didn't he tell us that?"

"Because he might not have been able to collect a reward for it, then," Wiley said in disgust. "Vickery's always about the reward. He's in it for the money, you know that."

"Well, aren't we all?" Mr. Unger said prosaically. "It's a job. Mouths to feed. Got to keep a roof over our heads." He eyed Hil's study. "Not all of us have got the blunt Sir Hilary has, you know."

"There was a time, Mr. Unger, when I was all about the money, too," Hil admitted, seeing Unger's point, and Vickery's, too. Easy money is easy money, after all. "I'm not faulting anyone here. Things happen. But I believe-no, I know-that Mrs. Fairchild did not do this awful thing. I believe the gentleman you just described did it, with a mind to incriminating Mrs. Fairchild. It was merely poor luck that had her pa.s.sing through there on her way here. A coincidence that could get her killed. Can you describe the gentleman you saw in women's clothes?"

"Well I don't know much about her, or whether or not she did it or didn't," Mr. Unger said. "All I know is what I saw. Let me see, about the gentleman. He wasn't as tall as you, but taller than me or the young gentleman over there." He pointed at Wiley, who looked dumbstruck at being described as a young gentleman. "Couldn't see much with the bonnet he was wearing. On the thin side, I think. Dark hair. Now that I think on it, he didn't wear a wig. Looked just like your lady friend, with her short hair."

"Hardly another coincidence," Hil murmured. "Go on."

"Not much more I can tell you," Unger said apologetically. "Didn't speak to him." He paused. "Wait. One more thing. He wasn't wearing gloves. Another dead giveaway he was no lady. And his fingers were dark, stained. Not sure with what."

"Blood?" Lavender asked eagerly.

But Unger shook his head. "No, sir, stained, not wet. Dry and stained. Black it looked, but it was dark."

Black-stained fingers. Hil sat back in his chair. He tapped his toe on the floor, thinking. "Perhaps ink?" he wondered aloud.

"Yes, sir," Unger said, his voice rising with excitement. "Ink! That's what it was." He looked at Lavender and winked. "He's good, all right."

"Thank you," Hil said drily. "Who has ink-stained fingers?" he asked the room in general.

"Printers," Wiley answered. "Artists. Perhaps one of those broadsheet fellows."

"Perhaps, but unlikely," Hil said. "They've no grudge against me. I provide too much fodder for their livelihood."

"But this story is a sensation," Wiley argued. "Maybe of their making, to fill their own pockets."

"It doesn't feel right," Hil argued right back. "This is too personal. A scandal could have sold broadsheets just as well. Revealing Eleanor's nightly visits here, for example. No, this is a direct stab at me, and it's meant to be a mortal wound. She will die unless we save her, and the villain knows it. It's what he wants."

"Well," Unger said, "I knew an accountant once who-"

"Exactly," Hil declared, jumping up from his chair, his mind awhirl. Taunton was smiling just as broadly as he was. "Say it again," he told Unger.

Unger looked worried. "I was saying I knew an accountant who-"

"An accountant," Hil said, the rush of satisfaction and excitement he felt when he solved a case crashing through him. "Or more correctly, an accountant who is the son of an accountant who even now, if still living, resides in Botany Bay as a result of my investigative work."

Wiley had jumped up as well. "The chap who's gone missing. The one we can't find."

"Who?" Lavender asked.

"Exactly," Hil said, ignoring the inspector for the moment. "And I would be willing to bet he is about this tall," he held his hand to his shoulder, "has brown eyes, a long, thin nose, brown hair, and at least one rather tired-looking brown suit, which he was wearing when he attempted to push first me, and then Eleanor, in the path of a speeding carriage." He ran to his desk and grabbed the broadsheet and brought it back. Shoving it in Unger's face, he pointed to the man in the picture and asked, "Was this the man you saw dressed as a woman at The Bull and Mouth?"

"The accident last week!" Wiley exclaimed, leaning over Unger's shoulder. "So it was related to this case. But why? If he had Eleanor in his sights, and she'd already been arrested, why try to kill you?"

"What accident?" Lavender asked, standing as well. He glared at the two of them.

"We were on our way to see him," Hil said. "Though I'm not sure how he could have known that. Perhaps frustration drove him to act?" Hil surmised. "Eleanor had been arrested, but she'd been released and was clearly walking the streets with me as a free woman. If he were unfamiliar with the details of her release, he may have thought his plans had gone awry."

"Oh, they've gone awry, all right," Wiley said with narrowed eyes. "Now he's in our sights, and we're d.a.m.n well going to find him and see he pays, and pays good."

"No talk like that in front of the constabulary," Unger warned. "Besides, I can't tell if that's him or not. I'd need to see him in ladies' clothes to say for sure."

Hil snapped his fingers. "Of course. Cruikshanks. He can draw him again, wearing the clothes as you described them. Come on." He grabbed Unger's arm and dragged him out of the chair. He was manic with the need to act. This was the first solid clue they'd had so far.

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Wiley dashed over to open it. James stood there with a note. "For you, sir," he said and handed it to Wiley.

Hil walked over to his desk and began rifling through the papers there looking for the information he had on his new suspect. "On the contrary, we are going to apprehend him and drag him into court and reveal his infamy there, where it will have the most impact on the jury, the judge, and public opinion. As much as I'd like to wring his neck," Hil hissed between clenched teeth, "just the way Eleanor would have died, it would do nothing to prove her innocence to show up with another dead body."

"Who are we trying to find?" Lavender demanded angrily, planting himself in front of Hil, his hands on his hips.

"Anthony Weekes Jr." Hil said. "Accountant and villain. His last known address was Fleet Street. Eleanor and I were on our way there to see him when he tried to kill us both." He handed Lavender the broadsheet. "That is a relatively accurate depiction."

"Then we're for Fleet Street," Lavender said, spinning around and heading for the door. "We'll find him."

"Cruikshank's first," Hil said. "If Unger can positively identify him from the drawing, then we have credible witnesses to present at trial. Eleanor must be acquitted first. Then we can find Weekes."

Wiley waved the note triumphantly. "You'll have to find him without me," he told Hil. "Our dead body has arrived."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

"I believe we have heard from enough witnesses concerning the events at the opera," Sir Robert said impatiently, after listening to more than an hour of testimony on the subject. The crowd was becoming restless, and with each successive witness they had further turned against the prosecution. At this point there was shouting for Eleanor's release, and denouncements of the 'blackguard' Enderby. She tried not to get her hopes up.

"Mr. Burns," the magistrate said, addressing the prosecutor, "we would like to hear from the watchman who saw Mrs. Fairchild at the scene of the murder."

Eleanor flinched again. She hated that word, murder, particularly when used in conjunction with her name. Her new name. She swallowed with difficulty as fear twisted her insides at the thought of revealing her real ident.i.ty. Roger had told her it might be necessary. She hoped not.

"We have been unable to locate him today, sir," Mr. Burns said after a hushed conversation with an aide. "He was last seen in the company of Inspector Lavender of Bow Street. Perhaps he was called to another case."

"I see," Sir Robert said icily.

"You have his sworn statement, sir," Mr. Burns boldly stated. "Surely the word of a member of such a notoriously faithful and respectable office is good enough for Mr. Templeton?"

"I am not refuting that Mr."-Roger paused and looked down to read off a paper-"Unger believes he saw the accused in Ludgate. I would, however, like to question Mr. Unger as to who else he saw that same night in the vicinity of the murder." Lyttle tugged on Roger's and arm and the two had a whispered conversation, Lyttle shoving a note he'd received earlier by messenger into Roger's hand. Eleanor fervently hoped it was from Hilary.

The prosecutor openly scoffed. "Is the honorable Mr. Templeton now going to try to convince us Mrs. Fairchild was running from someone else that same night in Ludgate?" Some people in the gallery laughed.

"No, sir," Roger said politely, tucking the note into his robes. "I am going to prove she was running from the same man in Ludgate."

"We will have the watchman here as soon as can be arranged, Mr. Burns," Sir Robert said in a tone that brooked no refusal. "Mr. Templeton, in the meantime do you have any further questions for the witnesses before this bench?"

"I would beg the court's indulgence, sir," Roger said gravely. "As we await the watchman, I would like to call a witness to the stand."

"You?" Sir Robert said, surprised. "You have evidence that is pertinent to this case and to which the crown is not privy?"

"I do, sir," Roger said. He looked at Eleanor meaningfully. She closed her eyes and suppressed a groan. He was going to do it. Or rather, he was going to make her do it. "I would like to call the accused as witness, sir."

"The accused?" Sir Robert said in amazement. "You do realize that doing so will leave her open to questioning by the crown prosecutor, do you not?"

"Yes, sir," Roger answered, showing no annoyance at being lectured to like a schoolboy.

"You do understand that your job is to represent your client, correct?" Sir Robert continued, openly mocking him. Mr. Burns chuckled.

"I do, sir. I believe her testimony will shed a great deal of light on the events in question." Roger looked calm and in complete control of the situation. Several women in the courtroom sighed with girlish abandon each time he spoke.

Sir Robert waved his hand at Roger, summoning him forward. Roger approached the bench. "Mr. Templeton, I feel it is in the best interest of justice to ask you to reconsider your request. Mrs. Fairchild is in a great bit of trouble here. By entering her testimony, you run the risk that she will incriminate herself."

"I understand, sir," Eleanor heard Roger say. "But I must insist."

Sir Robert shook his head sadly. "Fine." He waved him away and turned to Eleanor. "Do you understand, Mrs. Fairchild, that you are sworn to tell the truth here at all times? If you are proven false, that is yet another serious charge against you."

Eleanor looked to Roger to confirm that she should answer. He nodded. She turned back to Sir Robert. "Yes, sir. I understand. I swear to tell the truth to this court."

"Such pretty manners!" someone in the gallery exclaimed.

Roger walked over to stand in front of Eleanor, slightly off to the side so that Sir Robert and the gallery had a clear view of her. "Please state your full and correct name for the court."

Eleanor bit her lip and stared at Roger wide-eyed. "Are you sure?" she whispered.

"Aloud, if you please," Sir Robert said, watching her closely, obviously aware something was going on.

"My name," she began, then paused to take a deep breath and calm her racing heart, "is Mrs. Eleanor Margaret Stanley Enderby."

"I beg your pardon?" Sir Robert said, confused. "Where does the Fairchild come in?"

"It doesn't, sir," Eleanor said, standing up straight. "I made up the name Fairchild-well, not really. I did have an aunt Fairchild on my maternal grandmother's side. But I took the name Fairchild when I arrived in London."

"How are you related to Jacob Enderby?" Roger asked, antic.i.p.ating Sir Robert's next question.

"He was my husband," she answered.

"That's preposterous!" Mr. Burns exclaimed over the excited murmurs of the crowd. "Eleanor Enderby is dead. She was declared dead last year and buried by her grieving husband, Jacob Enderby."

Roger turned to Mr. Burns. "I a.s.sure you, sir, that this woman"-he pointed to Eleanor-"is the real Eleanor Enderby. And that Jacob Enderby knowingly and willfully misidentified a dead stranger as his wife in order to have her declared dead, so he could remarry. Mrs. Eleanor Enderby is alive and well and standing in this courtroom." He spun around and continued to point to Eleanor. "Right there. I know this for a fact," he said, taking a deep breath and shaking his head sorrowfully, "because she is my wife's dearest sister, and my sister-in-law. There is no mistaking her ident.i.ty. And there is no mistaking that Jacob Enderby sought her out in London in order to kill her."

The crowd gasped and the room immediately descended into chaos. It took several minutes for Sir Robert to quiet the gallery.

"Madam," he asked Eleanor, "is this true?"