“That is correct.”

Sims cast a triumphant glance in the direction of the defense. “Then, sir, we are justified in calling these containers of explosives ‘bombs,’ are we not?”

“I believe so, sir,” Baker said.

“That will be all, Mr. Baker,” Sims said conclusively, and swept to his seat.

Savidge rose. “I have several questions of the witness.”

The judge pursed his lips. “You will be brief, won’t you, Counsel?”

Savidge bowed. “I fear I cannot promise, my lord. However, I shall certainly try to-”

The judge gave an audible sigh. “Proceed.”

“Very well. Mr. Baker, the nitric acid that you found in the bottles labeled one, two, and three. Does it have any purpose other than the manufacture of explosive?”

The chemist spoke somewhat reluctantly. “Nitric acid has many industrial uses related to metallurgy. It is also used to make certain fertilizers.”

“It could be used to etch metal printing plates, could it not?”

Mr. Baker was wary. “So I understand.”

“So it might not be surprising if nitric acid were found in the possession of a printer? And what about glycerine?”

“Glycerine,” Mr. Baker acknowledged slowly, “has a number of applications related to medicine.”

“It is used in soap, is it not? And in other cleaners? Could not Dr. Gabriel’s Pure Medicinal Glycerine also be used to remove printers’ ink from hands and equipment?”

“If you’re suggesting that-”

“I am only suggesting, Mr. Baker, that these substances have many innocent uses. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose. But in combination-”

“But the ingredients were not in combination,” Savidge retorted sharply, “or so the learned counsel for the prosecution has assured us. That is correct, is it not?”

Mr. Baker sighed. “That is correct.”

“Nor did any of one of the three defendants have in his possession all the ingredients required to concoct an explosive?”

“I… don’t believe so.”

“Very good,” Savidge said, with the air of a man who is finally getting somewhere. “Now, tell us how you handled these bottles.”

“Delicately. I had no way of knowing whether they might contain an unstable explosive compound.” Baker paused. “However, once I unscrewed the stoppers of the ginger-beer bottles, there was little need to run an analysis. In fact, I was glad I was wearing rubber gloves.”

Savidge looked puzzled. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Nitric acid fumes are very strong and quite distinctive. As I mentioned earlier, in concentrated form, the substance causes serious burns to the skin. It turns a bright yellow and begins to peel off after a little time.”

Kate noticed that Charles, who had been watching the proceedings intently, was writing again in his notebook.

“So you never touched these bottles with your bare fingers?” Savidge asked.

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Baker replied, with emphasis.

“Thank you.” Savidge looked up at the bench. “That concludes my examination of this witness, if your lordship pleases.”

“I am indeed pleased,” the judge said, with obvious relief. “We will break for lunch, and return at two P.M.” He banged his gavel sharply. “Court is in recess.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Kate had thought that she and Charles might have lunch together. He seemed, however, to be going off with Savidge, probably to talk over what had transpired that morning, and she did not like to intrude.

Still thinking about what she had heard that morning, she made her way out of the courtroom, left the Old Bailey, and walked the short distance to Ludgate Circus, where she chanced with pleasure upon a white-and-gold-fronted J. Lyons & Co. Ltd. tea shop, next door to Salmon & Gluckstein’s tobacconist shop.

The coffeehouses that had proliferated so widely in London since the 1650s had always been an almost exclusively male preserve, while the tea shops that had begun to spring up during the 1880s were principally the domain of women, respectable places where they could meet their friends and enjoy a bite to eat while out shopping. The first Lyons shop had been built in Piccadilly in 1894 and had become immediately and enormously popular; this one, Kate saw as she entered, was new and much larger than it had looked from the street. It had a flower garden decor, with plants hanging from the ceilings and potted palms in the corners. Each table was covered with a white tablecloth and centered with a fresh bouquet of tiny roses. The place was quite crowded, the air filled with a medley of perfumes and the sound of light voices. Here and there were a few young men, probably from the newspapers along Fleet Street, but the tables were mostly filled with women. Kate saw an empty table against the far wall, in front of the lace-curtained front window, to which she made her way and sat down.

In a moment, the waitress brought her a menu. She ordered a salmon salad sandwich, a piece of marmalade cake, and a pot of Earl Grey tea, and leaned back to enjoy the sight of the busy street filled with pedestrians, omnibuses, and cabs, as well as quite a number of motor lorries. As she watched, she thought about the events of the morning. She was not an experienced trial-goer, but it seemed to her that the judge had favored the prosecution in his ruling, especially in that business about not naming the informant. It seemed terribly underhanded and tricky to her. What if this so-called informant were only a convenient fiction to ensure that certain persons became “suspects”? Or what if an informant had an ax to grind, and wanted, for his own reasons, to deliver the “suspects” into the hands of the police? If the defense couldn’t question the informant, there was no way to ensure that the truth-

The waitress arrived with Kate’s tea in a gold-trimmed white china teapot. And at that very moment Nellie Lovelace, looking quite forlorn, opened the door and entered, standing hesitantly just inside.

“Nellie!” Kate called, waving to catch her attention. “Nellie, over here!”

Nellie saw her and came toward her. “Hello, Kate.” She seemed less than enthusiastic, or perhaps she was only weary. She did look tired, Kate thought-exhausted, in fact. Her face was gray and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was wearing a white shirtwaist blouse and a brown short jacket and brown skirt. The only color in her costume was a red tie and a red felt hat, its single feather hanging limply. She looked very young and vulnerable, almost like a school-girl.

“Do sit down and join me, Nellie,” Kate said. “What a lucky chance, to run into you this way, You’ve been at the theater, I suppose.” The Royal Strand was not far away, on Aldwych. She motioned to the waitress to bring another cup. “You’ll have lunch, won’t you? It will be my treat.”

“Yes,” Nellie said, sinking gratefully onto the chair. “How very kind of you to ask, Kate. I will have lunch. I know it’s my turn to treat, but I’m afraid I’m a little short of funds.” She asked Kate what she was having, and then repeated the order to the waitress. “What are you doing here, Kate?”

“I came for the trial,” Kate said, and added, at Nellie’s blank look, “the Anarchists’ trial. You remember, the three men who were arrested at the Clarion the day Lottie escaped across the roof.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Nellie said. “So much has gone on in my life in the past few weeks that I had quite forgot.” She sighed heavily. “You haven’t heard from Lottie, I don’t suppose.”