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know,’ Mr Clarke said solemnly.
    Finally it was done. The water had vanished and with it the remnants of the flour. But lying at the bottom of the pan were a couple of tiny white crystals. Sombrely, the Apothecary and the shop manager each took one on a finger and licked it. Then the two men looked at one another.
    â€˜Arsenic,’ they said in unison.
    â€˜So the food for the Livery Dinner was deliberately poisoned?’
    â€˜Clearly yes.’
    â€˜What shall we do?’
    â€˜In view of Master Alleyn’s death this is now a case of murder.’
    â€˜You are going to inform the constable?’
    John shook his head. ‘No, I shall take a hackney straight to Bow Street and there acquaint Mr John Fielding with the facts of the case.’
    Mr Clarke looked suitably earnest and impressed. ‘The Principal Magistrate himself?’
    â€˜There is no one else capable of dealing with such a monstrous crime,’ John Rawlings answered firmly as he put the grains of arsenic into a vial and made to take his leave.

Chapter Five
    The hackney coach which John Rawlings had been lucky enough to hire in Fleet Street drew to a halt. Turning his head to look out of the window, the Apothecary allowed his gaze to wander over the tall thin house outside which it had stopped, remembering the very first time he had seen the place. That had been in 1754, four years earlier, when he had been barely twenty-three and under suspicion of murder. To say that he had been terrified was a laughable understatement, and his first meeting with the great John Fielding, the Blind Beak, had been even more alarming. It was just as if those sightless eyes could see straight through the black bandage which always concealed them and right into the very mind of the person being questioned. That opinion of the Magistrate’s unnerving gift had not changed in the intervening years, during which John had come to know the man solely responsible for keeping the peace in the wild streets of London.
    â€˜The Public Office, Bow Street. We’re here, Sir,’ the driver called down.
    â€˜Yes, I know. Thank you,’ the Apothecary answered, clambering out and feeling in his pocket for the fare.
    â€˜Rather you than me, Sir.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜They say that the Blind Beak can punish hard if he feels so inclined.’
    â€˜Fortunately I’m not in line for correction at the moment. This is a social call.’
    But was it? Even as he said the words John knew that in fact this was the start of another exhaustive search for a killer. He and John Fielding had worked together to bring a murderer to justice on five different occasions. Now the discovery of arsenic in the kitchens of Apothecaries’ Hall was clearly the beginning of a sixth. With a rather solemn tread John climbed the three steps leading up to the open doorway of the Public Office and went inside.
    It was a tradition, founded by the first Bow Street magistrate, Sir Thomas de Veil, that the justice and his family live over the court and public rooms, and John Fielding and his household had followed this custom. Above the functional ground floor there were four more storeys, the last being in the roof itself, where two large dormer windows indicated the servants quarters. However, Mr Fielding’s favourite receiving area for social visits was on the first floor, a large comfortable salon where, in summer, the windows often stood open to let in the air. But on this gloomy evening a jolly fire threw its glow onto the walls, setting the shadows dancing and enhancing the candlelight.
    The Magistrate turned his head as John entered the room, having knocked politely first. Just for a moment there was complete silence, then the Blind Beak said, ‘Mr Rawlings?’
    Mr Fielding’s intuition was uncanny and, as always, the Apothecary felt daunted. ‘How did you know?’
    â€˜Your tread, Sir, and the odour of you. Not a foul