‘I know,’ said Paul with a grin. ‘The trick is to wear thick gloves.’

Peter Skillen got to the coaching inn hours ahead of the departure time. Having left Hooper with a promise that he’d work around the clock to find out who had instigated the murder of the Radical Dandy, he wanted time alone to consider the situation and to collate all the intelligence he’d so far gathered about the Mellanby family and the activities of the local Hampden Club. Peter was worried that he and the brush-maker had parted on a sour note. The two men had enjoyed a friendly relationship until the name of Viscount Sidmouth was mentioned. They were suddenly on different sides of the argument. Hooper was adamant that the Home Secretary was directly responsible for the persecution of the Blanketeers and the decision to monitor political dissent in Nottingham. While not saying it in so many words, Hooper had come to believe that Sidmouth was somehow implicated in the murder of Sir Roger Mellanby.

The charge still hurt Peter like the sting of a wasp. He knew that Sidmouth had been party to the repressive legislation designed to clamp down on dissidents in a bid to stave off the danger of riots. Though Peter didn’t agree with the severity of the laws that were drafted, he accepted that public order had to be preserved. Hooper had been embittered by the fact that, even though the Hampden Clubs were careful to work within the law, they were still considered to be enemies of society. That was why someone had been sent to eavesdrop on meetings at the Black Horse, a fact that Peter could hardly contradict.

Since he regarded the Home Secretary as a good friend, Peter had tried hard to absolve the man of being the monster he was portrayed in places like Manchester and Nottingham. His respect for Sidmouth was not only based on the work he did for him in France during the war. They had kept in touch ever since and Peter had been able to solve a puzzling crime at the Home Office itself, earning him the gratitude of Sidmouth. Could a politician whom he admired for his integrity really be the ogre Hooper had described? If that were the case, Peter realised, then he’d let friendship leave him blinkered. It was a salutary thought.

Further introspection was brought to a halt by the noise of the door creaking on its hinges. Two men entered. One was carrying a heavy valise but it was the other who caused Peter to sit up in surprise. It was Barrington Oxley, about to set off on a journey. When the lawyer caught sight of Peter, he walked across to him.

‘Ah,’ he said with a smirk, ‘you’ve finally accepted what I told you. Coming here was a pointless exercise.’

‘I don’t agree, Mr Oxley. It’s been a journey of discovery.’