“Fine. If that’s right, why did he still have two plates on him?”

Baldwin stopped. “I… What?”

“If you’re right, then he must have passed everything out to his companion. So why did he have two plates on him when he was caught?”

“I suppose he might have discovered that his friend had gone so he had to take them out himself when he left the room.”

“Through the hall, you mean? That makes no sense. If he was part of an organized group, the reason for having someone outside was so he didn’t need to carry anything himself. Nor would he have left any spare things behind, like the saltcellar. If he was going to carry out something worthwhile, he’d have gone for that, but instead he took two plates, the last things I would have expected him to choose.”

“It would have been easier to hide two plates. They are flatter,” the knight suggested.

“True, but even better would be nothing. Why risk discovery by carrying them? Far better to leave them behind and make good his escape. Especially since you’re supposing his accomplice had disappeared – in that circumstance, I would have expected him to get out and not take anything with him. His only interest would be in how fast he could vanish, not what else he could take with him. That’s what I find so difficult.”

“Why? He was greedy, that’s all. He’s a thief. All right, so his accomplice had to leave for some reason, or maybe he simply took too long to get back. Whatever, Cole found himself with the last two plates and decided to brazen it out.”

“If you were him, would you have taken out those plates? Put yourself in his shoes. The whole theft has been thought out carefully, even down to the accomplice outside. And then the accomplice disappears… you don’t know why, but surely you would suspect he had been seen. You still have to escape – and that means walking through the hall, under the eyes of thirty – odd men. You have two plates left out of God alone knows how many, and you are so blase you decide to take them with you? I find that hard to believe!”

“Thieves can be irrational.”

“Not so irrational, surely, that when they know they’re being chased they keep some spoil on them! He would get rid of any incriminating evidence as soon as he discovered his pursuit.”

“You might have a point, but think on this: you have just had to murder a girl as well. That has thrown your plans all awry. You hide the body, and then escape, taking the shortest route. It could well be that your accomplice never disappeared: after having to commit murder, you decide to get out through the window yourself.”

“Somebody would see a man diving out through a window.”

“Would they? If so much silver could be shoved out without being noticed, I doubt it. If somebody’s carriage was in the way, maybe no one could see. Cole could have jumped out and remained hidden, then gone on later.”

“But, Sir Baldwin,” Roger interrupted, “who closed the shutters afterward?”

Baldwin found that he was frowning. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a merchant staring at them. Grinning apologetically, he continued in a mutter, “I have no idea, but it is the best explanation I can think of for now.”

“I want to know what really happened,” Simon stated.

Baldwin raised a fist to hammer on the door. “Well, rather than speculating, let’s find out. Simon, I… Where are you going?”

“Just a thought, Baldwin,” Simon called over his shoulder.

The butcher had that minute stopped, and was sitting on a three-legged stool, a pot of ale in his fist. As people walked past, all had a polite word with him, Simon noticed, and all received a nod and a smile from the genial man. Children got a wink too.

Simon was aware of his companions joining him as he reached the other side of the road. The inn’s hall ran parallel to the street here, the entrance almost in the middle. Here, almost opposite the jail, they were at the dais end, and to their left were the windows that gave on to the solar block commandeered by the captain. With the bustle and hubbub in the street, it was obvious to the two men that nobody could have taken anything from the inn unseen.

Walking slowly past the butcher’s, Simon went to the road which led up the hill. Aware of the amused patience of his friend, Simon walked past the butcher and his tripod to the corner where the two roads met, and looked up the incline.

The butcher had storerooms and a small pen, and past that was the cookshop, and then the alley which led to the inn’s yard. The road rose steeply after that, and was soon lost among the trees scattered on the hillside.

“Seen enough?” Baldwin asked.

“Yes, I think so.” Simon gave him a long and thoughtful look, then smiled at the butcher. “A pleasant morning, isn’t it?”

Adam smiled back. His back ached, his feet hurt, and he had nicked his thumb with his thin knife, but the sun was warm on his face, the ale tasted good, and there was little more for him to do that day. His apprentice could get on with things alone. “Yes, sir. It feels good to sit in the sun for a change.”

“It must be hot work in this weather,” Simon said, nodding toward the gantry where the apprentice sweated as he worked on the dead pig.

“Oh, not so bad, sir,” Adam said indulgently, pouring himself more ale from a jug beside his stool. “It’s all right out here. It’s when we have to work inside it gets a bit warm.”

“Are you out in the open most days, then?”

“Most mornings. Afternoons we spend indoors, jointing and cutting up. Then there’s the salting of the pork, and hanging of cattle to make them tender, and preparation for smoking, and sausage-making, and all the other tasks. It takes ages. People always think the killing’s the hardest part, but that’s only the beginning for us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roger saw the apprentice curl his lip as his master spoke. The rector was convinced that the “us” was not necessarily indicative of an equal share in effort. He restrained a smile with difficulty as Simon continued, “Were you here yesterday – last afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

Baldwin tried to control his excitement as Simon casually asked, “Here in the street?”

“Yes, right here. My boy there,” he jerked a thumb at the assistant, “was inside with some chickens and capons, but I had to take a rest. The noise they make goes right through my head.”

“Did you see anyone up there, by the windows to the inn?”

“What, there?” Adam asked, pointing and squinting a little.

“Yes, outside the living quarters to this side of the hall.”

“No. People keep away when there’s bits of offal in the road. I wasn’t here all day, but no, I didn’t.”

“Were you here for the early part of the afternoon, then?”

“I was here from about…” he glanced blankly at his apprentice as if for inspiration “… a couple of hours after noon, I suppose, until maybe four hours after. I got too hot then, and went in to the cool.”

“What about you – did you notice anyone round here? Anybody who shouldn’t have been here, or who was hanging around for some time?” Baldwin said to the apprentice.

“Me, sir? No, I was working in the room all afternoon.”

“It doesn’t look out over this street?”

The boy pointed to the window near Adam’s shoulder. “Yes, sir, but I was working. I didn’t have time to look out.”

Adam was nodding contentedly as he spoke, and Simon had the impression that he would, for all his easy smiles and cheerfully rotund features, be a hard taskmaster. “Very well,” he said with disappointment. “Thank you for your help.”

“Wait!” Adam said, and both turned to face him once more. The butcher smiled and went into his shop, returning with a short string. “You’ll try some of my sausages, gentlemen, won’t you?”

Tanner answered the door quickly, a disgruntled, unshaven figure in dirty russet tunic and hose. A strong and stolid man, he had dark hair and a square jaw, which now jutted with irritation as the visitors pushed past him. He walked with them to the curtain at the back of the room.