‘You may remember, or perhaps not,’ Athelstan replied, ‘that Brampton’s corpse was dressed in hose and a linen shirt. First, do we really accept that a man in the act of undressing suddenly decides halfway through that he will hang himself and goes up to the garret without his boots on to carry out the terrible act? Now, even if he had, the garret floor was covered with pieces of glass and dirt. However, when I examined the soles of Brampton’s feet, there were no marks or cuts. Yet there should have been if he had walked across that floor without his boots on. In fact, there was very little dust on the soles of his hose. The only conclusion is that Brampton died like Vechey. He was carried up to that garret, probably in a state of stupor, drunk or drugged. The rope was tied round his neck. He fought for a while, hence the strands of cord found under the finger nails, but he was murdered and left there to hang so others would think he had taken his own life.’

Cranston pursed his lips and smiled.

‘Most logical, Brother.’

‘The other factor,’ Athelstan continued, ‘is that Vechey and Brampton supposedly hanged themselves. Now, I examined the bruise on each of the corpses. It is a remarkable coincidence that two men, relative strangers, put a noose knot in exactly the same place, Vechey copying Brampton in every particular when he hanged himself. I went down to the execution yard where I saw three corpses. The executioner himself said that each hangman has his own hall-mark. The three corpses I studied there had the noose placed in the same spot. Vechey and Brampton also had the noose placed in the same spot. The only logical conclusion is that Brampton and Vechey were hanged by the same person.’

Athelstan picked up a quill with a modest flourish, uncapped the inkhorn and dipped in his pen. Cranston leant nearer. Athelstan found himself relishing the closeness. He felt as if he was back in time with his brother, plotting some mischief.

‘As the good book says, let us start with the last. Vechey—’ Athelstan wrote the name ‘—hanged by the neck under London Bridge. It appears he took his own life but the truth is that he was murdered. By whom and how?’ Athelstan drew a question mark and looked up at Cranston.

‘Perhaps we will know soon,’ Cranston observed. ‘On my way down I sent a message to the sheriffs office at the Guildhall and asked for two cursitors to make diligent inquiries amongst the taverns and stews along this side of the river. Perhaps they will discover something. Vechey was a fairly well-known man, a goldsmith. He would dress the part, even though he wore a cloak or hood. Such places tend to know their customers.’