Dark Matter

Walking on a way, near the engraver’s house, we saw Richard Morris, who was another engraver, and Newton spoke with him awhile about a great many things, so that I almost did not notice how he subtly enquired after the health of Daniel Mercer, who now stood accused by Scotch Robin and John Hunter.

“He is well, I think,” said Mister Morris. “His uncle in America is lately died. But he is left some money, and does not seem too much put out.”

“A little money will often soften a man’s grief,” said Newton.

“It’s most convenient to have an uncle in America leave him money,” said Newton when we were alone in our office. “For there’s nothing attracts attention like a sudden bout of spending.”

“I had the same thought,” I said.

After this we had dinner, which I was very glad of, and while we dined we talked of other matters pertaining to the Mint as well as religious affairs, for I was keen to know more of why my master disputed Our Lord’s divinity; and I said that it was a strange thing indeed, for one who had been a professor at Holy Trinity College in Cambridge for so many years, not to believe in the very doctrine which had inspired the founding of that same college. But, hearing this, Newton became silent, as if I had accused him of hypocrisy, and I was glad when, by and by, his steel-nosed intelligencer in the mill rooms, Mister Kennedy, visited our office, as requested.

“Mister Kennedy,” said Newton. “What do you know of Daniel Mercer?”

“Only that he is an engraver, whom I had thought to be an honest man. I know him to look at, I think. But not to speak to.”

“You said you thought he was an honest man?”

“In truth, ’tis only your enquiry makes me think that it might be otherwise, sir. I’ve not seen or heard anything that might make me think otherwise. If I had, I assure you I would have told you straightaway.”

“I know you are a good fellow, Kennedy.” Newton placed a bright new guinea on the table in front of him. “I should like you to perform a service for me. I should like you to spy on Daniel Mercer.”

“If it be for the good of the Mint, sir,” said Kennedy, eyeing the guinea. He made it sound as if he had not spied for us before, when he had done so, many times, and for less money than was being offered to him now.

“It is. He is named from inside Newgate by Scotch Robin and John Hunter.”

“I see.” Kennedy sniffed loudly, and then checked that his metal nose, held onto his face by a length of string tied behind his head, was straight. “They might think to save their skin, of course, by naming an innocent man.”

“It does you credit to say so, Kennedy. But they were each questioned apart, and named Mercer separately, without any prompting from me.”

“I see.” Kennedy picked up the guinea.

“Mercer is suspected of stealing guinea dies. I should like you to tell me if you think it be true or not. Who his confederates are. And where they are to be found.” He nodded at the guinea in Kennedy’s grimy hand. “There will be another like it if your evidence may be used in court.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kennedy pocketed the guinea and nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

After this, Newton went to the Treasury while I returned to my house all the afternoon and night, writing up the depositions I had taken in several other cases that were pending—which work I was at till midnight, and then to supper, and to bed.

At about three of the clock I was awakened by Thomas Hall, the special assistant to Mister Neale, who appeared before me in a highly agitated state.

“What is it, Mister Hall?” I asked.

“Mister Ellis. Something terrible has happened. Mister Kennedy has been found dead in the most horrible circumstances.”

“Mr. Kennedy? Dead? Where?”

“In the Lion Tower.”

“Has there been an accident?”

“I cannot tell, but it may be that you should fetch Doctor Newton.”

So I made myself ready presently and accompanied Mister Hall to the Lion Tower, that was formerly known as the Barbican, which stood outside the main westward entrance to the Tower. It was a bitterly cold night and I was shivering inside my cloak, the more so when I was informed of the dreadful fate that had befallen Mister Kennedy, for it seemed he had been half eaten by a lion in the Tower menagerie. Amid much loud roaring, for the animal had only just been driven back to its cage with pikes and halberds, I entered the Lion Tower, which was most popular with visitors to the Tower since the Restoration. This tower was open to the elements, having no roof, with the animal cages arranged around the perimeter with a large exercise yard in the centre, where I beheld a scene of almost indescribable carnage.