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face the most serious reparations that can be levied against you under the terms of the law.’ Bellows paused for breath. ‘In my opinion, you are a loathsome creature who publishes wilful lies about eminent members of society with the sole intention of causing them shame and embarrassment. The sooner you are locked up, the better it will be for all of us.’ Pushing his spectacles up his nose, he looked at Godfrey and added, ‘Do you have anything else to add?’
    ‘There was another matter I wished to draw the court’s attention to, Your Honour.’ Imploringly Godfrey looked around the room for Pyke.
    ‘Yes?’ Bellows said, both curious and irritated.
    ‘It relates to the activities of the plaintiff, your honour.’
    That drew a stern frown. ‘I will not permit you to use this court to further slander an innocent man, sir. Now if there’s no ...’
    ‘Actually, Your Honour, I’ve employed an investigator to look into the plaintiff’s affairs,’ Godfrey said, thinking on his feet, ‘and his discoveries are, indeed, pertinent to this case.’
    ‘I’ve already ruled in this matter . . .’
    ‘But since these discoveries refer to your good self, Sir Henry, I think you should bear them in mind before reaching a decision,’ Pyke called out from the floor.
    Everyone turned to face him and an excited ripple of chatter spread throughout the room.
    ‘Who has the gross impertinence to speak to me from the floor? C’mon. Identify yourself.’ Bellows leaned forward on the bench and surveyed their faces.
    Pyke raised his hand and waited for a space to be cleared around him. ‘Last week I followed Sir John Conroy to the Travellers’ Club on Pall Mall where, I believe, he dined as your guest, Sir Henry.’
    The colour soared in Bellows’s neck as he struggled to contain his embarrassment. The chief magistrate had clearly recognised Pyke, but was too affected by the accusation to formulate a coherent response.
    ‘Since this lunch with the plaintiff, so close to the date of the hearing, effectively exposes your neutrality as a sham, it would be fair to reach the conclusion that your office has no jurisdiction in this matter.’ Pyke turned to his uncle. ‘Come on, Uncle. Let me take you for a drink.’ Holding out his hand, he helped his visibly shaken uncle down from the dock and whispered, ‘Just put your arm through mine, walk and don’t turn around.’
    ‘This is absolutely outrageous,’ Bellows yelled from the bench, finding his voice. ‘I will not be addressed in such an unpardonable manner by a guttersnipe.’ He was standing up, his arms gesticulating like those of a police constable trying to control an unruly mob. ‘You are both in contempt of this court and I order your immediate arrest. Officers, take them to the cells and let ’em think about their actions.’
    ‘Just keep walking,’ Pyke whispered to his uncle, as he strode confidently through the parting crowd.
    ‘I said, Officers, arrest those men and throw ’em in the cells,’ Bellows shouted, his face scarlet with rage.
    As they approached the door, a man called Pierce, a Bow Street Runner from the old days, blocked their path. Perhaps he hadn’t seen who it was and was just acting upon Bellows’s command, but the moment their stares met, Pyke saw the uncertainty creep into the other man’s eyes.
    ‘Stop that bloody man,’ Bellows spat from the bench, his neck swelling with rage.
    Pyke stepped towards Pierce and whispered, ‘We’re leaving now and I don’t want to cause a scene. I’ve nothing against you, Pierce, but if you try to prevent us from leaving this room, we’ll have a problem.’
    At first Pyke didn’t think he’d move out of the way but at the last moment Pierce’s resolve crumbled and seconds later they were gulping the air on the pavement outside the building, Bellows’s threats still ringing in their ears.
    As they wandered down Bow Street, Pyke could hear his heart hammering against his ribcage and realised