The first soldier was impressed, but still a little uncertain, “Lazender?”

Toby forced himself to relax, even to smile. “My name is Richard Cromwell. Take me to your captain. Who is he?”

The first man shifted uneasily. “Ford, sir. Captain Ford.”

“Ah! Ford!” Toby laughed. “I know Ford! Let’s go and see him. Come on! You have your duty to do.” He smiled at the first man. “What’s your name?”

“Wiggs, sir. Edward Wiggs.” Wiggs looked pleased.

“Let’s get it done then, Wiggs, then I can be about my father’s business.”

Wiggs was quite prepared to let Toby go there and then, but the other two decided that a walk to Ludgate, their guardhouse, would be a welcome break in the monotony.

Toby contained himself. It was maddening, but to do the wrong thing was to invite disaster. He must pick his spot, and he watched the corner of Essex House coming closer as he carefully rehearsed his actions in his mind. Wiggs was on his left, saying that a word in the right place would be most welcome, thank you sir, while the other two trailed behind. They were all relaxed, lulled by Toby’s cheerful cooperation, and then they were at the corner, the archway to Fleet Street on their right, and Toby pointed to the roof of the arch and laughed. “Look at the stupid man!”

They looked, of course, and Toby brought his right knee about into Wigg’s crotch, snatched the falling pike, and then ran. He heard the bellow of pain behind him and then started shouting himself, “Make way! Make way! Stop him!”

The crowd assumed he was a soldier. They parted before the blade and looked round for the man he was chasing. The illusion was helped by Wigg’s two colleagues who came shouting behind.

Toby was far fitter than the London apprentices who made up the city’s garrison. He sprinted into the center of the Strand, going away from the city, away from Campion, and then he twisted to his right into one of the fetid alleyways that lay to the north. He dropped his pike so he could go faster through the narrow maze. The shouts faded behind him.

He slowed at each corner, walking unconcernedly if he saw people ahead, greeting them casually, then running when an alley was clear. He knew now that he had escaped the soldiers, but he was tormented for Campion.

He paused at the corner of Bull Inn Court. The hue and cry was fifty yards away, lost in the complex of alleys, as he knocked on the blue door.

“Mister Toby!” Mrs. Swan’s eyes widened.

“Sh!” He put a finger to his lips, stepped past her, then bent over in the hallway to let his breath come in great gasps. “I’m not here, Mrs. Swan.”

“Course not, dear. Never seen you.” She shut the door. “Tell me!”

“In a minute.” He straightened up, smiling at her. “I think I need your help.”

“I think you do too, dear. Where’s Campion?”