‘You could say that. Look at the note.’

I took the paper and opened it. Within was a scrawled message in a very shaky hand: ‘Here is the money I owe you for my keep from the time I stayed at Mistress Elliard’s. I am sore ill and would welcome a visit from you. Your brother in the law, Stephen Bealknap.’

Barak smiled. ‘Your mouth’s fallen open. Not surprised, mine did too.’

I picked up the sovereigns and looked at them closely, lest this was some sort of jest. But they were good golden coins, from before the debasement, showing the young King on one side and the Tudor Rose on the other. It was almost beyond belief. Stephen Bealknap was famous not only as a man without scruples, personal or professional, but also as a miser who was said to have a fortune hidden in a chest in his chambers which he sat looking through at night. He had amassed his wealth through all manner of dirty dealings over the years, some against me, and also by making it a point of pride never to pay a debt if he could avoid it. It was three years since, in a fit of misplaced generosity, I had paid a friend to look after him when he was ill, and he had never reimbursed me.

‘It’s almost beyond belief.’ I considered. ‘And yet – remember, late last autumn and into the winter, before he became ill, he had behaved in an unexpectedly friendly manner for a while. He would come up to me in the courtyard and ask how I did, how my business was, as though he were a friend, or would become one.’ I remembered him approaching me across the quadrangle one mellow autumn day, his black gown flapping round his thin form, a sickly ingratiating smile on his pinched face. His wiry fair hair stuck out, as usual, at angles from his cap. ‘Master Shardlake, how do you fare?’

‘I was always short with him,’ I told Barak. ‘I did not trust him an inch, of course, I was sure there was something behind his concern. I think he was looking for work; I remembered him saying he was not getting as much from an old client. And he never mentioned the money he owed. He got the message after a while, and went back to ignoring me.’ I frowned. ‘Even back then he looked tired, not well. Perhaps that was why he was losing business; his sharpness was going.’

‘Maybe he’s truly repenting his sins, if he is as ill as they say.’

‘A growth in his guts, isn’t it? He’s been ill a couple months now, hasn’t he? I haven’t seen him outside. Who delivered the note?’

‘An old woman. She said she’s nursing him.’

‘By Mary,’ I said. ‘Bealknap, paying a debt and asking for a visit?’

‘Will you go and see him?’