"She'd been wedged there a few hours, I'd say."

Thompson got to his feet, swung his arms, his coat swinging with him. "And she's only a few hours dead. That means she could have been pitched in near the Middle or Inner Temple. From the Temple Stairs, perhaps? About half-past four this afternoon? What are the gentlemen of the King's Bench getting up to, I wonder?"

I saw in his eyes that he only half-joked. Why a pupil or barrister of the Temples would kill a young woman and toss her into the Thames I could not fathom, but someone there might have done so. Thompson thought so too.

It would not be Thompson's task to investigate this crime. His jurisdiction lay on the river, and on the wharves and docks where thieves might break into the loaded merchantmen. Pomeroy and his foot patrollers would be the men combing the Temple gardens to find someone who might have witnessed the crime. But I saw a gleam of professional curiosity in Thompson's eyes.

The same curiosity sparked in me, mixed with deep pity for the young woman. I too wanted to discover who had done this to so harmless a creature, perhaps spend a few minutes alone with the man when we found him.

As I made to rise, the woman's torn glove moved under my fingers, and I felt something cool and metal. A ring had been hidden by the gloves, protected from the water. It was loose, even on her bloated finger, and slipped easily into my hand.

Thompson looked my way in curiosity as I rose, and I brushed off the mud and balanced the ring on my palm. Pomeroy crowded close, his heavy breath on my shoulder.

The ring was a thick circlet of silver bedecked with a strip of diamonds. Even muddy, it glinted in the lantern light, smooth and whole and costly. It was the sort of ring a gentleman of fashion would purchase for himself and perhaps bestow on his paramour as a keepsake.