In fact, he was kneeling beside the corpse. Having established that the man was indeed dead, Paul was searching his pockets as he looked for something that might indicate his identity. Clearly, he was wealthy, middle-aged and had an eye for fashion. Paul could see that the man had to pay substantial tailor’s bills. The rings on each hand were highly expensive and there were other signs of indulgence. Even in death, he had a touch of nobility about him, offset, as it was, by the blood-covered scalp. Feeling inside the coat, Paul’s hand closed around a purse. At the moment he brought it out, he realised that he had company.

Yeomans was standing over him in triumph.

‘So that’s what you’ve descended to, is it?’ he sneered. ‘You kill him first, then you rob the poor devil.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘You’re under arrest.’

‘On what charge?’ asked Paul, getting to his feet. ‘I was here, as you well know, for a legitimate purpose. Before I could reach Miss Granville to escort her from the theatre, you came blundering along and ordered everyone to get out of the way. The next moment, someone tried to assassinate the Prince Regent and killed this gentleman by mistake. If you’re hired to protect royalty, Micah,’ he went on, ‘you ought to do it more efficiently.’

‘We were efficient,’ declared Yeomans. ‘While Alfred Hale and I were guarding him, the Prince Regent was never in danger.’

‘Then why did someone fire a pistol at him?’

‘Don’t try to talk your way out of this, Skillen. You were the man with the weapon and the fellow at your feet was the intended target.’

‘Then where is the pistol now?’ asked Paul, arms at full length. ‘Search me as thoroughly as you wish. You’ll find no weapon. And please bear something in mind. When I’m not solving crimes that the Runners fail to solve, I work at the shooting gallery. With a pistol in my hand, I never miss, yet that’s what the assassin did. In the disturbance caused by your arrival, it’s my belief that he took his chance. We were first distracted by a shout from a confederate, causing every head to turn away. Aiming for His Royal Highness, the assassin instead shot the man standing closest to him. Look,’ he said, pointing, ‘you can see the wound in the back of his head. It should have been in the Prince Regent’s skull.’

‘Nobody would dare to shoot at His Royal Highness when they saw me at his side.’

‘It isn’t the first time an attempt has been made on his life. At the start of the year, someone hurled a rock that shattered the window of his coach.’