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“These tablets were found at the premises of a suspicious death. We think they are lead.”
    Borislav picked out a tablet and examined it under a magnifying glass. The bright electric light shone down on his bowed head, his pink scalp shining through salt-and-pepper hair.
    “Yes, they appear to be lead,” he said. “How unusual—highly concentrated, I suspect. But I cannot tell for certain without tests.”
    “St. Mary’s is conducting tests. I was just wondering if you had come across tablets with this type of unusual scoring before,” Dody said.
    “Not that I can remember, but I will check with Joseph. They were supplied in the matchbox?”
    “Possibly; they were found in it. And the victim was from this area.”
    “Unfortunately there are many around here with the ability to manufacture tablets such as these. All it requires is some basic scientific knowledge, equipment, and a pill press such as you would find in all chemists, pharmacies, and apothecaries—sometimes doctors’ surgeries. Even a doctor like yourself would be capable of manufacturing them . . .” Borislav broke off and rubbed his chin.
    “What’s on your mind, Borislav?”
    “Oh, it is nothing, really. But—you are aware that lead is often used for criminal abortion?”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, the lack of a specific container could indicate they have been made without a licence by someone who did not wish to be traced. You can imagine how these tablets would appeal, especially if not diluted with superfluous ingredients. The higher potency means they have a better chance of working.”
    “More expensive?”
    Borislav nodded. “I imagine so, but not too pricey or else the poorer classes would not be able to afford them. A rather strange fellow has been visiting me of late.” Borislav paused and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Both Joseph and I have had occasion to serve him and we have both questioned his motives. He calls himself a doctor, though I have my doubts about that. He tends to buy supplies relevant to female needs, if you get my drift. I wonder if he might have something to do with these tablets?”
    “The man practises obstetrics, you mean? Do you know his name?”
    “Something foreign, I think.” Borislav’s Russian heritage made him no less suspicious of foreigners than most English. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dorothy, but that is all I remember. At times I have been driven to having words with him for pestering my female customers. I would go to the police if I had anything more conclusive.”
    “Will you let me know when he next visits—see if you can get his name for me and any other details? I might be able to find something about him in our Book of Lists.”
    “Ah yes, your record of suspicious persons.”
    “I’ve also seen tablets like this in the possession of a scullery maid I have been treating. I only had the chance for a quick glance, but they might have been scored this way. Perhaps she has had dealings with your foreign doctor? I will track the girl down and ask her some questions. I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this.”
    “Tread cautiously, Dorothy: asking the wrong kinds of questions in an area like this might not be such a wise move. It would be all too easy for you to kick over the wrong stone.”
    Dody heard the shuffle of feet, the clearing of a female throat. She stepped aside to let Borislav serve a customer, a plump woman of indeterminate age who ordered eight ounces of humbugs.
    Borislav scooped out a clump of sticky sweets, weighed and bagged them, and exchanged friendly conversation with the woman about the close weather. Perhaps they would be blessed with a shower tonight. He finished up by trying to persuade her to part with tuppence for some soothing peppermint lozenges. She declined, her departure from the shop accompanied by the vigorous clanging of the spring bell on the door.
    He turned back to Dody and shrugged. “Can’t win ’em all.”
    She