‘Master Solper,’ Cranston continued conversationally, ‘I have come here offering you your life. Not much perhaps, but if you answer my questions I can arrange for a pardon to be sent down under the usual condition: that you abjure the realm. You know what that means? Straight as an arrow to the nearest port, secure a passage and go elsewhere. Anywhere - Outremer, France, Scythia, Persia - but not England, and certainly not London! You do understand?’

The young man licked his lips.

‘Yes,’ he muttered.

‘And if you do not satisfy my curiosity,’ Cranston continued, ‘I am going to knock on the door, leave, and tomorrow you will hang. So, if I want to buy a poison in London, where would I go?’

‘Nightshade House.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘It’s owned by Simon Foreman. It’s in an alleyway.’ The young man screwed up his eyes, concentrating on getting the facts right. ‘That’s right, a street called Piper Street, Nightshade House in Piper Street. Simon Foreman would sell anything for a great price and not ask any questions. It is probable the poison in that phial came from him. He could tell you.’

‘One further question. Sir Thomas Springall - you knew of him?’

The young man nodded his head towards the door.

‘Like Fitzosbert, he liked young boys, the softer and more pliant the better, or so the whisper says. He went to houses where such people meet. Springall was also a moneylender, a usurer. He had few friends and many enemies. There was gossip about him.’ The young man drained his cup and sat cradling it, eyes fixed on the wine remaining in the jug. ‘It was only a matter of time before someone used that information.’ He shrugged. ‘But Springall had powerful friends at court and in the church. No bailiff or constable would touch him. He and all his kind meet in a tavern outside the city on the Mile End Road - it’s called the Gaveston. You can buy what you want there, as long as you pay in good gold. That’s all I know.’

Fitzosbert banged on the door.

‘Sir John, are you finished?’

‘Yes,’ Cranston called. ‘Listen!’ he said to Solper. ‘You are sure you know nothing else?’

The young fellow shook his head.

‘I have told you all I know. The pardon, you will keep your word?’

‘Of course. God keep you, Solper,’ he muttered and went towards the door just as Fitzosbert threw it open. The coroner gently pushed the keeper out before him, took out his purse and clinked a few coins into his hand.

‘I thank you again for your hospitality, Fitzosbert,’ he said. ‘Look after our friend here. Some more wine, a better cell. Letters will come down from the Guildhall tomorrow. You will act accordingly. You understand?’