Sea Change by Robert Goddard

that his narrow, bony nose seemed only to emphasize — said slowly in English, 'Your name is William Spandrel?'
    'Yes.'
    'This is your examination on the charge of the murder of Mijnheer Ysbrand de Vries. Do you admit the crime?'
    'No.'
    'You were caught in the act, Spandrel. You cannot deny it.'
    'I can explain.'
    'Do so.'
    Spandrel had already decided that his only chance, and that a slim one, of escaping from the trap Zuyler had lured him into was to tell his inquisitors the truth — the whole truth — and to hope they could be persuaded to doubt Zuyler's version of events. He did not know precisely what that version of events was, of course, but he had little doubt that it painted him in the blackest of colours. He told his story from the beginning, therefore, and held nothing back. He could not judge how convincing it sounded. He was met only by the blankest of faces. When he had finished, there was a discussion in Dutch, then a brief silence, broken by a question he thought he had already answered.
    'What did the despatch-box contain?'
    'I told you. I don't know.'
    'Where is it now?'
    'I don't know. If it's not in the chest in Mijnheer de Vries's study, then Zuyler must have taken it.'
    'Why would he do that?'
    'I don't know.'
    The man by the window barked a sudden intervention. The English-speaker reacted with no more than a rub of the brow, then said, 'You are an agent of the Marquis de Prie, Spandrel. This is known.'
    'Who?'
    'You told Mevrouw de Vries that you had come from London by way of Brussels. Why visit Brussels unless it was to attend on the Marquis for instructions?'
    'I've... never been to Brussels in my life.' A sickening realization clogged Spandrel's thoughts. Estelle de Vries had lied. And that could only mean that she and Zuyler were in this together. 'You must believe me.'
    'How can we? The Marquis's intelligence is faulty. Cornelis Hondslager was killed in a tavern brawl several weeks ago.'
    'Zuyler must have lied to me about him too.'
    'You are the liar, Spandrel. Admit it. Spare yourself a great deal of suffering.'
    'I've told you the truth.'
    'We will give you time to think. Then you will be re-examined.' The man rose, crossed to the doorway and shouted something in Dutch. One of the guards appeared and there was a murmured conversation.
    'Zuyler killed him,' Spandrel shouted in desperation. 'Don't you understand?'
    'We are moving you to a cell on your own,' came the unruffled reply. 'You may be able to think better there. For your sake, I hope you do.'
    Solitary confinement made Spandrel yearn for the
    company of Dirk the garrulous pickpocket. A despair, blacker than the night beyond the small, barred window set high in the wall, closed around him. And daybreak did not dispel it. His head ached less and his ribs seemed to be healing well, but that only cleared his mind of a precious distraction from the bleakness of his plight. He had told the truth, but it had done him no good. Sooner or later, torture, or the threat of it, would force him to change his story. Then his guilt would seem to be confirmed and punishment would swiftly follow. Such was the cruel logic of the law in every land. He would admit he was the agent of a man he had never heard of. He would admit to a murder he had not committed. Then they would have done with him.
    Why had Estelle de Vries lied? Only one answer made sense to Spandrel. She and Zuyler must be lovers. Now, she could inherit de Vries's wealth and marry the younger man. Yes, that had to be it. Spandrel was the unwitting means to their happy end.
    And the three men who had tried to kill him? Were they really agents of de Vries? Or was all of that a piece of play-acting, commissioned by Zuyler? If so, Sir Theodore Janssen might have meant to honour their bargain after all. In that case, Spandrel need only have left Amsterdam when he had the chance and he could even now be contemplating a future free of debts and rich in opportunities.
    Instead, he was