Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I am his figurehead,” she replied. “I live in great wealth and luxury, to be—”

“A wooden effigy?” Matthew interrupted. “Is that all?”

“He enjoys my company and my advice.”

“That’s all he enjoys?”

“It is,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. Matthew felt a heightening of danger in the room. “I cannot be touched by any man. I refuse to touch any man, except for what you’ve witnessed. Samson has never seen my tattoo, for I always wear the silk gloves … unless I’m wearing the others. If you wish to know more, I would warn you that travelling in that direction has the effect of awakening my condition.”

“Well, let’s park the wagon,” Matthew said quickly.

“I agree.” She reached out and took the empty glass from him. “Now … if you are so stupid as to remain here when I’m offering you an escape, that’s all I have for you.”

“Not quite,” Matthew said before she could turn for the door. “As you say, Lash has the object of his desire. He doesn’t need the book, and Black doesn’t need that other book, either. God can only dare guess what use Black would put it to. So I am asking you as a sister to help me.”

“You’ve already rejected my help.”

“No. Help me to get the book, to get Firebaugh, to get Julian, and escape from this place with a good chance of finding my way back to Fell’s village.”

She allowed herself an incredulous smile. “Impossible. As much as I might like to sever the relationship between Samson and Cardinal Black, Samson’s planning for you to leave in the coach before dawn.”

Matthew grunted. His mind was working furiously and it seemed he could smell the friction of his brainwheels burning themselves. The tunnels … she said they brought the men through there for her to kill in the pit, but where might be the nearest entrance and exit?

He had a thought to bend down and examine the discarded clothes. He searched the pockets, not knowing what he was looking for … the spark of an idea … a shred … anything that might—

He felt something grainy on his fingers. A further inspection and he discovered that the substance grimed both sets of clothing. He stood up and held his hand where the light would benefit his vision.

“Coal dust,” he said. “On the clothes. Your victims aren’t delivered through a coal chute?”

“Samson uses wood in the fireplaces, not coal. As I say, they come through the tunnels. And my ‘victims’, as you call them, have been up to this point drunkards and the dregs of London gathered up from the low streets. Small men, as Samson would say. They only come in at night, and I’m sure Samson takes great precautions not to be seen.”