Athelstan now saw why Cranston had hired Mirabilis. Southwark was bad but this area around Whitefriars was worse. Even though it was still daylight, the alleyways and runnels were dark, closed off by the houses built on either side. A silent, evil place, becoming more ominous the deeper they went. The houses around them, built hundreds of years ago, now derelict and unkempt, huddled close together, blocking out the summer sky. Underfoot the track was dirty, caking their boots and sandals with ordure and mud. Most of the doorways were empty. Now and again a shadow would slip out but, seeing Cranston’s long sword, retreat again. Mirabilis twisted and turned, Athelstan and Cranston finding it hard to keep up. Abruptly he stopped and indicated an alleyway, a long, dark passage ahead.

‘Piper Alley,’ he whispered. ‘Goodbye, Sir!’

And, before Cranston could object, Doctor Mirabilis slipped up another alleyway and disappeared out of sight.

Athelstan and Cranston walked cautiously down Piper Alley. The houses on either side were shuttered and closed. At last they came to one fitting Doctor Mirabilis’s description of Simon Foreman’s house. It had a huge, battered sign at the end of a long ash pole.