"In't rained," Shotts said grimly. "Those two fought like tigers fer their lives. Gotter be more blood. Not that I know what it'll tell us if there is! "Cept that someone else is 'urt, an' that I can work out ferme self "There's blood here," Evan answered him, seeing the dark stain over the cobbles towards the central gutter. He had to put his finger into it to be sure if it was red, and not the brown of excrement. "And here.

This must be where at least some of the struggle took place.”

"I got some 'ere too," Shotts added. "I wonder 'ow many of them there was.”

"More than two," Evan replied quietly. "If it had been anything like an equal fight there'd have been four bodies here. Whoever else was here was in good enough shape to leave… unless, of course, someone else took them away. But that isn't likely. No, I think we're looking for two or three men at the least.”

"Armed?" Shotts looked at him.

"I don't know. The doctor'll tell us how he died. I didn't see any knife wounds, or club or bludgeon wounds either. And he certainly wasn't gar rotted He shuddered as he said it. St. Giles particularly was known for the sudden and vile murders by wire around the throat. Any dirty and down-at-heel vagrant had been suspected. There was one notable occasion when two such men had suspected each other, and had almost ended up in mutual murder.

"That's funny." Shotts stood still, unconsciously pulling his coat a little tighter around him in the cold. "Thieves wot set out ter rob someone in a place like this usually carry a shiv or a wire. They in't lookin' fera fight, they wants profits and a quick getaway, wino 'urt to their selves "Exactly," Evan agreed. "A wire around the throat, or a knife in the side. Silent. Effective. No danger. Take the money and disappear into the night. So what happened here, Shorts?”