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sea, came the muted sound of moaning, punctuated by the occasional loud cry or scream and the noise of running feet. It was totally unnerving, and the Apothecary found himself wishing that he had never volunteered for such a wretched task.
    â€˜Hope we don’t have to wait much longer,’ said Samuel glumly.
    â€˜It’s not exactly jolly,’ John agreed.
    â€˜In fact it’s downright …’
    But the Goldsmith got no further. There was a tap on the door and a warder appeared. ‘Mr Burridge will see you now, he said. ‘If you would follow me, gentlemen.’
    They climbed a staircase, slippery with polish, and then proceeded down a corridor. All the while, the sound of muted cries continued, though the two friends could see no one.
    John cleared his throat. ‘Where are the patients?’ he asked boldly.
    The warder shot him a quizzical glance. ‘There’s some in the garden, some in the saloon, the others are locked in their rooms.’
    â€˜Are those the dangerous ones?’ Samuel enquired earnestly.
    â€˜They’re all dangerous,’ the warder answered shortly. ‘There’s not one I’d turn my back on if they held a pair of scissors. Any of ’em is liable to fly into a frenzy soon as look at you.’
    â€˜So in your view any of them would be capable of killing someone?’ asked Samuel, using the casual voice he always adopted on these occasions.
    The warder gave a hollow laugh. ‘Capable of it? Why, most of the creatures in here already have! Believe me, there is no patient of St Luke’s who hasn’t homicidal tendencies.’
    â€˜Even the beautiful girl, the one with the fair hair and blue eyes? Surely she wouldn’t harm a fly,’ said John, shocked.
    â€˜You mean Petronelle? Oh, she’s all right as long as she doesn’t see any children. Then she goes wild and has to be restrained. By more than one strong man as well.’
    â€˜Why is that?’
    â€˜Nobody has any idea, for nothing is known of her. She was picked up off the streets of London, quite crazed, rescued from a life of prostitution.’
    â€˜How old was she then?’
    â€˜Thirteen or fourteen.’
    Both John and Samuel shook their heads in sorrow, though neither was surprised, such a thing being commonplace rather than unusual.
    Reaching the end of the passageway, they drew to a halt outside an imposing door on which the warder knocked deferentially.
    â€˜Yes?’ came the answer, and the man, cautioning the two friends to wait, went inside, closing the door behind him. There was the murmur of conversation and then the warder reappeared and ushered them into the room with a slight bow.
    John led the way, then drew back, realising he was just a second or two too early. For the man in charge of St Luke’s was in the very act of slapping a serviceable wig on to his head and adjusting his cravat into a more fashionable knot. Hearing them come in, he turned and smiled somewhat sheepishly, revealing a large pair of loosely fitting false teeth which he raised to gum level with a sucking sound.
    â€˜Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said heartily. ‘And what may I do for you?’ It seemed clear from his manner that he either knew nothing about the missing member of staff or had not connected John with the matter. So it would appear that the news had not yet been broken.
    Coming straight to the point, the Apothecary said formally, ‘I am here on behalf of Mr John Fielding of Bow Street, Sir. This is his letter of authorisation.’ And he handed Mr Burridge the document that the Blind Beak had given him before they parted company on the previous night.
    The older man pushed his spectacles up his nose, thus magnifying his eyes which suddenly loomed, blue and bulbous. As he scanned the contents, his toothy smile vanished and his features became decidedly grumpy. ‘What is all this?’ he asked sharply. ‘Mr