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went up from the crowd as he walked round the ring with his arms raised aloft. Then another man, very bald and somewhat rat-faced, stepped up beside him.
    â€˜My lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray welcome Gentleman Jack McAra.’
    There was an even louder cheer as Gentleman Jack leapt into the ring in a sprightly fashion and cavorted before the crowd. Looking at him through narrowed eyes John decided to place a bet on the Black Pyramid, for McAra was frankly running to fat and appeared generally out of condition. He turned to Sir Clovelly.
    â€˜Do you fancy a wager, Sir?’
    â€˜I do indeed. I’ll put a guinea on Gentleman Jack.’
    â€˜And I’ll see you. I think the Black Pyramid is going to win. Will you take the bet?’
    â€˜I most certainly will,’ answered Sir Clovelly, and rubbed his chubby hands together.
    There were clearly a great many wagers changing hands for it seemed that McAra was known in the neighbourhood and had a particularly lethal punch. But John, surveying both candidates, felt certain that he had made the right choice and smiled to himself, ready to be entertained.
    The fight opened with a flurry of blows to the black man’s head, all of which he seemed to shake off as if a fly was buzzing round him. He stretched out his magnificent long arms and landed several buffets to McAra’s body which, John imagined, must have hurt tremendously. And so it went on. The two men straining and crunching their naked, bony fists into the body of the other, protecting their heads but unable to avoid the hits that were coming towards them.
    It seemed to the Apothecary that McAra was getting the worst of it, for though he admittedly had a cruel punch he was getting more and more out of breath and was sweating profusely.
    The Black Pyramid glistened with perspiration which he wiped off during the interval between rounds. John, observing him closely, saw that he had a faraway look in his eyes and realized that the black man was in a world of his own, that nothing mattered to him except finishing off his opponent. That, in that sense, he was a born fighter.
    The end came swiftly. Gentleman Jack threw a splintering punch, so loud that one could hear his fingers cracking on the Black Pyramid’s head. This clearly hurt the black man for with a roar he turned on his assailant and swung a blow to his jaw which made him drop in his tracks. The man in charge counted Jack out swiftly and raised a long black arm to the public. The Pyramid had won.
    John turned to Sir Clovelly Lovell who was looking slightly downcast.
    â€˜I think you owe me a guinea, Sir.’
    â€˜Yes, my boy, I believe I do.’
    â€˜Thank you. Now, would you mind excusing me for a moment? There are some people I must talk to.’
    John hurried over to where Mrs Silverwood and Mr Martin were wandering away round the fair. He bowed.
    â€˜An excellent fight, was it not?’
    â€˜It was indeed.’
    John addressed himself to the solicitor. ‘My dear sir, if you should recall anything further that the late Mr Gorringe said to you I wonder if you would be good enough to contact me. I am staying at present with Lady Elizabeth di Lorenzi.’
    â€˜Oh yes. She lives in the big house above the river Exe, does she not?’
    â€˜Indeed she does.’
    Mrs Silverwood’s face looked suddenly pointed. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘What is your interest in the dead man may I ask?’
    â€˜The answer is, madam, that I work occasionally for Sir John Fielding of Bow Street and nowadays I cannot come across a case of murder without investigating a little. Please forgive me.’
    Was it his imagination or had the pair of them gone suddenly quiet?
    â€˜I see,’ Mrs Silverwood answered softly. ‘Well, good day to you, Sir.’
    â€˜Good day, Madam,’ John replied, bowed, and went back to join Sir Clovelly Lovell.

Seven
    Any hopes the Apothecary might have had of questioning the