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By Root 345 0

way her body rocked up and down as she rode away from him. He remembered the sample of yellow powder that he had scooped from the ground in the woods and sealed inside the envelope. If the ruffians in the warehouse were right then there was something associated with the deaths of the two men that was contagious, or contaminating, or at least could cause health problems if touched. Assuming it was the yellow powder, he needed to find out what it was, despite Amyus Crowe’s thinly disguised warning. He certainly didn’t have the knowledge or the equipment to do it himself. He needed a chemist, or an apothecary, or someone similar who could analyse the powder, and he was unlikely to find anyone like that in Farnham. His brother had taken them through Guildford on their way to Farnham, and if that was the nearest big town then that was where Sherlock could find someone trained in natural science who could tell him what the powder was. Amyus Crowe had mentioned an expert there – Professor Winchcombe. Perhaps Sherlock could go and see him. All he had to do now was get to Guildford.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sherlock caught up with Matty Arnatt next day at the market. He was beginning to be able to predict Matty’s movements. It was late morning, and the market traders had been working since early morning. They would be thinking about food, and possibly taking it in turns to go and get something to eat – one of them watching over two stalls while the other went to get some bread and some meat, or a pie, and maybe a pint of beer. That meant lunchtime was one of those times when their attention would be spread thinnest, giving Matty the chance to snitch some fruit or vegetables from the corner of a stall without being noticed. Sherlock disapproved of theft, but he also disapproved of people starving and of kids being rounded up and sent to a workhouse, so he supposed it was a balance of ethical dilemmas, and to be honest he didn’t begrudge Matty the odd worm-eaten apple. It wasn’t going to bring down the Empire.

The market was spread over a small field with buildings on three sides. There were stalls selling piles of onions and parsnips, potatoes and beets, and other vegetables in a variety of colours that Sherlock didn’t even recognize. Other stalls had knuckles of ham suspended from hooks with flies buzzing around them, and fish laid out on straw. There were people selling various materials and clothes as well – druggets and bombazines, barragons and shalloons, tub greens and serges. A makeshift pen to one side held a herd of sheep along with a couple of pigs that were lying down, sleeping despite the hubbub. The mixture of smells was almost overwhelming, with only a faint hint of decay in the air. By sundown, Sherlock guessed, the whole place would stink of rotting vegetables and fish, but by then most of the shoppers would have gone and only the poorer locals would remain, hoping the market traders would start to reduce their prices to get rid of their stock.

There seemed to be a subdued air to the market. It wasn’t as lively as Sherlock remembered. Rather than the hustle and bustle that a small town market ought to generate, with people treating it as much as a social event as an opportunity to buy whatever they needed, the shoppers appeared to be set on heading towards whatever they needed, buying it with the minimum of bartering and then heading out again.

‘Was Crowe in?’ Matty asked as Sherlock approached. He was sitting on an upturned wooden crate, watching the market traders intently for a moment’s inattention.

‘Not at first, but I met his daughter.’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen her around.’

‘You could have told me about her,’ Sherlock complained. ‘She caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting her to be there. I must have looked like an idiot.’

Matty glanced momentarily at Sherlock, eyeing him up and down. ‘Yeah, pretty much,’ he said.

Sherlock felt self-conscious and changed the subject. ‘I’ve had a thought—’

He stopped as Matty suddenly darted off into the crowd, slipping between shoppers like an eel between rocks. Within moments