His hair was grey, thick, his skin smooth. When Evan touched it with his finger it was cold and stiff. His eyes were still open. He had been too badly beaten for Evan to gather anything but a very general impression of his features. He might well have been handsome in life. Certainly his clothes, though torn and stained, had been of excellent quality. As far as Evan could judge, he was of average height and solid build. It was not easy to tell, when someone was so doubled up, his legs splayed and half under his body.

"Who in God's name did this to him?" he asked under his breath.

"Dunno, sir," Shotts answered shakily. "I in't never seen anyone beat this bad before, even 'ere. Must 'a bin a lunatic, that's all I can say. Is 'e robbed? I s'pose 'e must 'a bin.”

Evan moved the body very slightly so he could reach into the pocket of the coat. There was nothing in the outside one. He tried the inside, and found a handkerchief, clean, folded linen, roll-hemmed, excellent quality. There was nothing else. He tried the trouser pockets and found a few coppers.

"Button 'ole's torn," Shotts observed, staring down at the waistcoat.

"Looks like they ripped orff 'is watch an' chain. Wonder wot 'e was doin' 'ere. This is a bit rough fer the likes of a gent. Plenty o' tarts an' dolly mops no more'n a mile west. "Aymarket's full of 'em, an' no danger. Take yer pick. Wy come 'ere?”

"I don't know," Evan replied unnecessarily. "Perhaps if we can find the reason, we'll know what happened to him." He stood up and moved across to the other body. This was a younger man, perhaps barely twenty, although his face also was so badly beaten only the clean line of his jaw and the fine texture of his skin gave any indication of age.

Evan was racked with pity and a terrible, blind anger when he saw the clothes on the lower part of the torso soaked in blood, which still seeped out from under him on to the cobbles.