A tiring day had begun with an early departure from the inn where he spent the night. In his eagerness to confront Solomon Creech, he had ridden past Fetter Lane on his arrival back in London and gone straight to the lawyer's office in Lombard Street. The bruising exchange with his brother at the coffee house had been followed by the meeting with Jonathan Bale, after which he was drawn back inescapably to the scene of the crime. Searching the cellars for clues, he lost all track of time and only abandoned his examination when the candle he was using dwindled to a pale flicker. It was now well into the afternoon. Christopher began to realise that what he needed most was a restorative meal and a period of reflection. He was confident that the trusty Jacob would provide the first without hesitation then melt discreetly away while his master enjoyed the second. The house had never looked more like a haven of peace. As he dismounted and unsaddled his horse, he consoled himself with the thought that progress of a kind had been made.
