The Gallows Murders

where the secret lever was concealed. Of course, Undershaft himself had a great deal to hide. He did not want to be caught prying in other men's affairs, so he let the matter be.'
    'But the story you told in there, about Sakker being Allardyce and then later disguised as a labourer?'
    'Oh, that's true enough,' Benjamin replied. 'Don't forget, Roger, troops from the Tower were used by Pelleter to seize the Sakker gang. I suspect someone sent a warning to Robert and he escaped.' Benjamin rubbed his lips. 'And I wonder what happened to Allardyce's predecessor as clerk of stores? Did he meet with some unfortunate accident? I am sure that if we made inquiries, we would find Allardyce was a bachelor with few friends and no family.' He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘Mind you, Allardyce was merely coincidental to the plot. Sooner or later, Sakker would have arrived at the Tower in some guise or other.' Benjamin glanced down the gallery. 'The rest was as I said. Sakker came here as Allardyce. A small mistake was made on the King's birthday, but Sakker didn't mind: he'd already sworn vengeance against the hangmen. Undershaft and the rest were going to die anyway.' 'And did Sakker fake his own death?'
    'Oh yes, Ragusa is old, infirm and drunk as a sot. She wouldn't know if a man was alive or dead. Once the body was covered in a sheet, she'd trot off and the exchange was made. Sakker was now free to publish his letters at St Paul's Westminster or Cheapside. He also laid that trail of gunpowder in St Paul's when he seized the gold. He used that secret entrance into the Tower, and his disguise as a labourer, to slip back in to confer with his accomplice, as well as to launch that murderous attack on you, Hellbane and Wormwood. A man of shadows, Master Sakker. A good archer, he would know from his accomplice in the Tower where the real danger lay: that's why he pursued and tried to kill us.' 'But who,' I cried, ‘was Sakker's real accomplice?'
    'Well, Master Mallow lies under arrest.' Benjamin replied.
    'But, we have no real proof against him! Not a shred of evidence. We haven't found the seals or the King's gold!'
    ‘Precisely,' Benjamin replied. 'And that's why we are waiting here.' He heard a sound and tugged at my sleeve. 'And the real villain approaches.'
    We tiptoed round a corner, past the panelling and down a passageway. We stood in the shadows, watching that piece of panelling still illuminated by a torch fixed above it. We, of course, were cloaked in darkness. I just prayed the person coming soft-footed along the gallery we'd just left was not some guard or servant. I saw a dark figure enter the pool of light thrown by the torch. The man turned, looking over his shoulder, and then quickly pressed a small button concealed in the woodwork. A panel opened like a small window. The figure put his hand inside and part of the wainscoting came away, swinging back quietly on oiled hinges. The man then took a key out of his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and was pushing the secret door open when Benjamin raced quietly towards him. The man, however, stepped back and looked towards us. I glimpsed a podgy face, a hand going towards his belt, but Benjamin was already on to him, sending him crashing back to the floor. 'Roger, for the love of God help!' he called.
    I shook myself from my reverie. I admit, ‘I’d stood gaping there like some ploughboy. (Ah, I see my little chaplain snigger. I quickly rap him across the knuckles with my cane.) I hurried on down. Benjamin lay on top of Sir Edward Kemble, the wind fair knocked out of him. I helped Benjamin to his feet, and we both grasped the constable by the arms.
    ‘I thought you'd return,' Benjamin gasped, trying to catch his breath. Kemble stared back, his lips moving wordlessly.
    The guards outside are in my pay,' Benjamin explained. They were given explicit instructions to tell you that we'd left for the city.'
    We bundled the constable through the doorway into the darkness. Benjamin, sword drawn, pushed Kemble away.
    'Light the candles and torches, Master Constable. Let's see what this pit contains.'
    As Kemble fumbled for his tinder, I became aware of the deathly quiet in that secret chamber. The air was stale and fetid, but something gripped my heart and chilled my soul, as if Death itself had swept into that chamber and was now watching us from the darkness. At first my eyes found it difficult to adjust to the flickering light, whilst the dancing shadows increased my