I knelt beside the constable. ‘He worked both sides of the ettiene, yes?’ I said.

‘That’s right, alongside his history of the town,’ Eder said.

The constable’s skin was as pale as Death’s horse. His eyes were bulging so far as to be trying to escape the man’s face. He had yet to turn putrid, no smell of rot in the air even as close to him as I was. Perhaps he had not been dead very long, but that was not how it looked to me, and there was a strange smell about the body. It tickled the nose but I couldn’t place it.

His mouth was closed tight but there was something on his lips, a little fleck of white. I moved my candle closer, thinking it might be spittle or a froth of a kind. I made a noise of surprise.

‘What is it, Inspector?’ Eder said, squatting down beside me.

With a fingernail I carefully lifted the little triangle of paper from where it lay crusted on the constable’s lips. But, instead of coming away with my finger, the paper pulled at the upper lip – it was part of a bigger piece, a piece inside the constable’s mouth.

I leaned in closer. The jaw wouldn’t be moved easily, but I did manage to peel back the lips. His mouth was full of paper. Rolls, scraps, pages, and balls, all stuffed deeply into the constable’s mouth and throat.

The mayor swore, invoking one or two of the lesser known saints.

With some effort I pulled a balled page from the constable’s mouth, but there seemed to be no end of it. The paper was dry, and much of its ink was intact. I opened the page out. A small, tight script ran in lines from one side to the other.

‘That’s his hand,’ Eder said.

I glanced up towards the desk, but that could wait until I’d made a full examination of the body. I put a hand on Eder’s shoulder to be sure the man was physically sound and not about to faint.

As gently as I could I rolled the constable onto his back. His limbs were stiff, but I managed to move his arms enough to get a better view of him.

The constable’s throat and chest were filled to bursting. His neck was swollen and distended. When I undid the buttons of his shirt numerous tumours pressed out, apparently only held back by his ribs, and his stomach was similarly engorged. Pressing and probing the man’s stomach I found nothing but solid, firm resistance.

‘Good God,’ Eder said. ‘What could cause such a thing?’

I leaned back on my heels and thought whether lying to him would be a kindness or not. Eder’s men were edging round the desk, their curiosity getting the better of them.

‘Send your men out,’ I muttered, deciding to tell the mayor the truth. The truth, at least, as I saw it.

‘Inspector?’ Eder said, but after one look at me he told the men to wait outside.