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nothing in particular, “to finish this case quickly. Joe and Mr. Rawlings, if you can interview Mrs. Bussell tomorrow and if Runners Ham and Raven can simultaneously follow any trails that the peachers might give us, it might well be over in a matter of days.”
    “Do you think Mrs. Bussell will confess then?” asked John, genuinely surprised.
    “No. But she could make a slip or conduct herself in such a manner that our suspicions will be confirmed and she can be brought to me for further questioning.”
    “But how to tie her in with the assassins, if assassins indeed they were?”
    “There are ways. Large amounts of money being drawn from a bank; suspicious meetings with strangers coming to the house. All that sort of thing. If she is our woman then we will nail her, never fear.”
    “He seems very confident,” said John to Joe as they descended the stairs.
    “It is very rare indeed, Sir, for a murdered man to leave behind the name of the person he believes will kill him, together with full details of the motive for so doing.”
    “Do you believe Mrs. Bussell is responsible, Joe?”
    “Yes, Sir, I do. Cutpurses? I don’t think so. Even if they were disturbed by the watch they’d have had the rings from the man’s fingers even if it meant the fingers going as well.”
    “I’m sure you’ve hit on the right answer. Of course they would. So where are you off to now? To see Ham and Raven?”
    “No, first Sukie and Little Will, two of our more reliable peachers.”
    “I remember them,” answered John, grimacing at the memory of the kidnap of Mary Ann Whittingham, Sir John Fielding’s adopted daughter, and the part the two peachers had played in rescuing her.
    “And you, Sir?”
    “To the shop to mix up some physicks for Mrs. Rayner and her hysterical sister. Then on to Bloomsbury Square to deliver them and at the same time find out where the ghastly Bussell resides.”
    “Will it be convenient for me to call for you in Nassau Street at nine o’clock tomorrow morning? Then we can proceed on to interview the suspect.”
    John smiled. “I wonder what she would do if she heard herself called that.”
    “Rant against authority, I dare say. Probably call Sir John and his men the most corrupt load of fobs ever to hold public office.”
    John laughed. “Do you know, I think you’re right.”
    “Think of being married to such a blower,” said Joe, looking grim.
    “Perhaps,” John answered thoughtfully, “as an act of self defence, Mr. Bussell has become just as nasty as she is.”

    As the Apothecary, carrying his medical bag and wearing serious dark visiting clothes, approached the house in Bloomsbury Square, a strange mixture of sounds greeted his ears. Distantly but penetratingly, a woman was screaming fit to bring the walls down, while another female voice was shouting the word ‘Stop’, presumably at the screamer. Meanwhile, yet another woman was calling out to both to be calm but becoming somewhat distressed herself in the process. It sounded like a scene from hell’s kitchen and it was with a great deal of trepidation that John rang the bell to gain admittance.
    As the door opened, the sound intensified, and the footman who answered looked apologetic. Despite this, he was opening his mouth to say that the ladies were not receiving and would have done so had not John forestalled him.
    “I have an appointment with Mrs. Rayner. She asked me to call with some medicaments. My card.” And the Apothecary swept it on to the tray.
    “Very good, Sir. If you would step inside I will inform Mrs. Rayner that you are here.”
    “Thank you,” John answered solemnly and put on his grave Apothecary’s face.
    The footman returned within a few minutes. “If you will follow me, Sir. Mrs. Rayner will see you in the drawing room. It is on the first floor.”
    The wine and spirits import business must certainly provide those who traded in it with rich pickings, John thought as he followed the servant upstairs.