Free Figure of Hate by Bernard Knight Page A

officer appeared in front of their stall, the two men straightened up and touched their fingers respectfully to their foreheads. There was no need for them to be told who he was, and they went straight into their story.
    'Our master is missing, sir,' said the one in the apron, a short fellow with a bulbous nose and a thick neck.
    'We've not seen him since Sunday evening.' De Wolfe held up a hand. 'Wait, start at the beginning. What's his name and where's he from?'  
    'He's August Scrope, Crowner. A master silversmith from Tomes - in fact, he's warden of our guild in that part of Devon. We are two craftsmen from his shop there.'
    'What age was he?'
    John used the past tense, but they seemed not to notice.
    'Not quite sure, Crowner - but he looked about forty.' He glanced at the other man for support; the latter nodded his agreement. 'He was a widower, though he now lives tally with a younger woman, who warms his bed and makes his food.'
    'Why d'you think he's gone missing, and not just decided to go on a drinking spree or bed a wench?' growled Gwyn. :
    The spokesman of the pair shook his head firmly.
    'Against his nature, sir, he's not much of a drinker and he seems content with his own woman. Anyway, his man has vanished with him!'
    The story soon came out in detail, related alternately by the two metal-workers from Totnes, a substantial town in the south of the county, August Scrope, who was proud of his widespread reputation for fine workmanship, had a previous commission from a wealthy shipowner in Topsham to make a matching set of heavy bracelets and a necklace for his wife. They were made ready by the time of the fair and Scrope arrived in Exeter a day early so that he could make a side trip to the nearby port and deliver them personally and collect the payment. Staying at the New Inn in the city's High Street on Sunday night, he was to leave early the next morning for Topsham, taking with him his body servant Terrus as protection while carrying the valuable silver.
    The two craftsmen had been left behind in their more modest lodgings to guard the rest of the stock for display at the fair until their master returned on Monday afternoon - but neither he nor his henchman had shown up.
    'Is this man Terrus reliable?' demanded de Wolfe. 'Might he not have robbed his master and made off?'  
    The elder silversmith shook his head emphatically.
    'Never, sir! He's been with us a dozen years and accompanied the master many times with far more valuable pieces than those. I fear they've been waylaid somewhere.'
    The coroner sombrely told them of the finding of a body in the river and motioned to Thomas to unwrap the bundle of clothing and show it to the two men.
    Their distress was only too evident when they immediately confirmed that the garments belonged to August Scrope, especially when the extensive blood soiling spoke mutely of the wounds he must have suffered.
    Rather than launch into a description of the body from the river, de Wolfe took the two men to the dismal chamber in the tower of the Watergate, leaving Theobald and the steward to guard the silver-strewn stall while they were absent. Though the face was ravaged beyond recognition, they unhesitatingly confirmed that the body was that of their master. The younger smith was devastated, falling to his knees among the clutter around the body and sobbing out some prayers. Thomas, ever sympathetic to another's distress, laid a hand on his shoulder and murmured some consoling words.
    'How can you be so sure, with his features so ill used?' John asked the older man, who, though pale and drawn, seemed less affected than his workmate.
    'Everything about him cries out August Scrope,' he replied bitterly. 'His size, his hair, even the rough skin of his neck which I have stared at in the workshop these many years.' Then he pointed at the head of the corpse. 'And those ears, sir! One sticks out, the other is flat and has that pointed lobe. It's him right enough - now what's to