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courage. Still, I turned to Knutzen. ‘You told them about the girl,’ I said quietly.
    ‘I told them what was necessary,’ he murmured in reply.
    ‘Concerning your suspicions. Or should I call them superstitions?’
    Knutzen stared at me in silence.
    ‘You told the Schuettlers, too,’ I went on, nodding my head in their direction. The brothers were standing together by the garden wall, shoulder to shoulder, like trees which had been planted too close together. ‘Who else did you tell along the way?’ I was working my self up into a temper. ‘I made myself plain, Knutzen. I instructed you to tell no-one!’
    He stepped in front of me, blocking the Schuettlers from my view.
    ‘I told them that there was a body at the bottom of the well…’
    ‘You told them how you think she was killed!’ I snapped.
    ‘I told them what they have a right to know,’ Knutzen repeated stubbornly.
    ‘A right?’ My anger exploded. ‘What right ?’
    As he began to speak, his voice was quivering, much like mine. At first, I thought that it was fear, but it was not. ‘You ought to have warned every one of the danger, sir. Not kept it a secret.’ His eyes glistened with the passion of self-righteousness. ‘When something like this happens, people have a right to know. They have a right to defend them selves, and protect their loved ones.’
    He stared away in open defiance.
    ‘Who else did you tell?’ I insisted.
    ‘A…a friend,’ he said at last. ‘Selleck the saddler. He lives in the village where the girl was living. He has a wife, and children. They’ll be the first to run the risk. He was going home from the market. I told him that Angela had died. And how she had died.’
    Knutzen looked me squarely in the eye for the first time in the eleven years that we had worked together. We had never faced off against each other like equals. His head was always slightly bowed when he spoke to me. Now, his eyes blazed.
    ‘They have the right to protect themselves until you find the killer, sir.’
    I was stunned. I had never seen this Knutzen before.
    ‘We’re ready to haul her up, sir,’ one of the ghouls called out.
    Knutzen ran to help the man as he began to pull on the rope. I went to help the other fellow, glad of the distraction. It was no easy task. The stretcher bumped against the stone walls – the shaft was only inches wider than the stretcher was long. Once or twice, it stuck fast, and we were obliged to hold the ropes steady until one of the men below was able to release it from whatever was obstructing it.
    It took some time before the stretcher came bobbing to the surface.
    The corpse had been lashed around with a grey tarpaulin sheet. A hand had slipped from beneath the bindings. The right hand. In the light of day, it was plump, not much larger than the hand of a baby.
    Thank God, they had covered the wounds in her neck.
    The corpse and stretcher were set down on the grass, while the ghouls sent down the ropes to bring up Tost and Bruno. I did not help them. I could not take my eyes from the body. It might have been a land-mine primed to explode. It would bring terror and destruction if the fuse were lit. I considered the route that the ghouls would have to take with their funeral cart on the way to the medical examiner’s office. They might be stopped by a French patrol before they got there. The French would want to know who had died. They would want to know how she had died. They would report the details to Colonel Claudet, who was commander of the garrison, and he would send for me.
    What could I tell him, except her name?
    If I told him about the puncture holes to her neck, the news would be on everyone’s lips in no time. And they would all reach the same conclusion as Knutzen. A virulent new epidemic would sweep through the town. Provoked not by illness, but by fear.
    I needed time.
    The corpse of Angela Enke must be kept away from prying eyes. As few people as possible must see her. If I could find