Pol waited until the early hours of the morning before he acted. There had been no noise coming from downstairs for the last couple of hours and Pol assumed the inn was locked up tight for the night.

Pedlar was snoring loudly in his bed and didn't stir when Pol rose from the trundle and dressed quickly in the dark. He tiptoed out of the room and along the passage to the room where Ursula Fisher slept.

Her leather suitcase was half full of clothes, the two dresses being hung tidily on the small coat rail. Keeping one ear out for any change in the sleeper's breathing, Pol checked under the bed. He smiled, sliding out the small case he found there. The lock was mere seconds work for Pol and he lifted the lid to find a series of test tubes, a small pair of jewellers' scales, a large magnet wrapped in cloth and three jars with screw top lids. Each of these had a number on the front and a skull and crossbones warning sign. He left them as they were.

Now he knew. Ursula Fisher was a scientist, or at least a skilled technician. She had brought the tools of her trade with her, to assess the validity of Maybury's research.

He re-locked the case and gently slid it back under the bed.

Reginal Gifford was his next target.

Once again, Pol slipped into the room without waking the occupant. A quick search showed him nothing out of the ordinary. Clothes which were neatly folded, a pair of gold cufflinks resting on the bedside table, boots place side by side under the bed. Nothing else under the bed. His suitcase stood empty in one corner.

Pol went across to the coat rack. Next to Gifford's brown leather travelling cloak, was a purple silk jacket. Pol checked the pockets of both. With a feeling of satisfaction, he drew a folded parchment out of the jacket's inside pocket. He took it across to the window, where a sliver of outside lamplight peeped through the curtains.

It was a letter of authority to Reginald Gifford from the Goldsmith's Guild of Eskia to act on their behalf. Pol put it back where he had found it.

A good night's work, thought Pol, as he closed the door behind him. One more to go.

He hesitated with his hand on the door knob. He had a strange feeling that at some time in the future, a goose had walked over his grave. Impatiently, he shook it off. He had no time for superstition. Naturally, he had to be more cautious in Coppersmith's room. He knew he was already suspicious of him, and was probably more alert than the others, but Pol needed to know more about him. He had thought he recognised a kindred spirit but exactly what was his role in this group?

Pol opened the door and went in. A faint light from the window showed Coppersmith asleep in bed.

Pol padded across to the sole piece of luggage in the room. Once again, he found only clothes. A dark grey travel coat hung on the rail and the grey jacket and trousers he had been wearing that evening were draped over a chair.

Softly, he knelt down and peered under the bed. Nothing, except a pair of boots, one oddly shaped. He tipped it up into his hand but nothing fell out. He felt inside but the odd shape was built into the structure. Evidently an injury or accident to his left foot, which probably explained the cane. Pol replaced the boots and got to his feet. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. He frowned. There must be something. He scanned the room one more time without success.

Pol moved closer to the bed and looked down. The sleeper's breathing remained steady and unchanged. Pol looked closer. There! Poking out from under the pillow. A small corner of parchment. Dare he risk it? Curiosity fought with caution and curiosity won.

Holding his breath, he reached out and took the corner delicately between two fingers.

Bands of steel wrapped around his wrist and Pol was suddenly jerked off his feet, landing face down on top of Coppersmith. Heart thudding in shock, Pol tried to pull free but was trapped by two arms holding him firmly in place. The mechanical eye swivelled until it was looking directly into his face. The injured side of Coppersmith's mouth twisted strangely and Pol realised it was grinning.

"Hello Flynt! When I asked if we could talk later, I didn't expect you to come to my bed."