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knew his title cowed some, made sycophants of others. He wanted Bellingham to treat him like any of the officials who must surely have seen him since he killed Perceval.
    Bellingham’s clothing was well-made, but ripped and torn in places, and James realized that he must be in the same clothes he’d worn when he shot Perceval yesterday afternoon. His handling on being taken into custody was obviously rough.
    Bellingham looked down and ran a restless finger over some notepaper on the desk. He was dark-haired and had a long, thin face. “Do you have my papers, sir? Or can you get them? They were taken from me after… They were taken from me, and I need them back to argue my case.”
    James frowned. “What papers are these, Mr. Bellingham?”
    “My notes. My petitions. The evidence to prove that I followed every step correctly. It will show the court can do nothing but acquit me, sir. Because I fulfilled every requirement, left no stone unturned. When there was no other recourse, I had to take the regrettable step of killing the prime minister, but there was not malice on my part in the act. It was purely justice. I had to administer justice for myself, because the government would not do it for me.” He sounded so reasonable, the hair on James’s neck rose.
    “How was killing Mr. Perceval administering justice, Mr. Bellingham?”
    Bellingham shook his head as if there was a bee buzzing about his ears. “It is simple. They would not compensate me for the most terrible dereliction of their duties, sir. The most terrible…” His finger moved faster and faster over the desk. “I have a family, I have to support them, and how could I when my business was ruined, and the government to blame for that?”
    “So you received no help when you made known your troubles?”
    “No help from anyone who held authority! Some sympathetic ears from a few quarters these last few months, sir, but they could only give advice, no real help.”
    James leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair. “Sympathetic ears?”
    Bellingham looked up and held his gaze for the first time. James suppressed a shiver at the dead calm in his eyes. “Just so. Sympathetic ears. That’s all.”
    It didn’t sound rehearsed, so much as learned.
    Someone had repeated this to him, over and over again.
    “Who did these sympathetic ears belong to?”
    Bellingham slid his gaze away, and folded his hands over his stomach. “No one of import. Men in the coffee houses and taverns, is all. Men who know how hard it is for a man to make his way with the government against him.”
    “Mr. Bellingham, I need to ask you directly. Did you receive any help in carrying out the murder of Mr. Perceval?”
    Bellingham stood suddenly, shaking with emotion. “It was not murder, sir! It was justice. Justice with no malice aforethought.”
    “My apologies, I misspoke.” James kept his voice even.
    Bellingham looked across at him, and seemed to be convinced. He sat again, relaxing back against the chair.
    “There was no one. I have pursued this since I returned from Russia, with no help, no help at all.”
    There was no guile about him. Bellingham was telling the truth as he knew it.
    James rose and gave a bow. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bellingham. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
    It should have been a ridiculous thing to say, but Bellingham gave a genuine smile and bowed back. “I’m sure I will, sir. Thank you for your company.”
    He was let out, and Newman led him through an office, his step light and cheerful, almost incongruous in the fetid, gloomy surroundings.
    James fingered the guinea again. “Mr. Newman, what can you tell me about your prisoner?”
    “Cool customer, Your Grace. Very cool. Calm as you please, he is, when you’d think he’d be pacing up and down and wringing his hands. But none of that.” He smoothed a hand over his almost bald head and then rubbed the back of his neck.
    “Who’s been to see him?”
    “Plenty, but