Tulyet frowned. ‘What are you saying? That Godrich and Whittlesey are innocent?’
‘Not “innocent” – they are clearly up to something untoward, or they would not have raced off in the middle of the night, telling lies and riding King’s Hall’s fastest horses. But I am not sure that either killed Tynkell, Moleyns and Lyng.’
‘So our culprit is still here?’ asked Tulyet. ‘Perhaps waiting to strike again?’
‘It seems likely,’ said Bartholomew.
While they waited for the beadles and soldiers to don travelling clothes, pack supplies into saddlebags, and ready horses, Bartholomew, Michael and Tulyet continued to discuss what they had reasoned. Michael was torn between despair that they still did not know the killer’s identity, and relief that he might be spared the embarrassment of accusing one of the Archbishop’s nephews of the crimes. Meanwhile, Bartholomew had continued to ponder the thefts.
‘Pitch,’ he said, suddenly and somewhat out of the blue. ‘Lakenham lost a bucket of it to thieves, did he not?’
Tulyet regarded him warily. ‘So he claims. Why?’
‘Because Rougham told me that Inge had “accidentally swallowed” some resin.’
‘And?’ asked Tulyet, even more mystified. ‘What of it?’
‘Pitch is distilled from resin,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And Lakenham’s was taken at night, when it is difficult to see. Burglary is a tense business, and anxious men are often clumsy …’
Tulyet blinked. ‘You think Inge is the thief now? And he swallowed pitch in the process? I hardly think–’
‘We know Moleyns escaped from the castle to steal,’ interrupted Bartholomew, speaking urgently, because the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was right. ‘So why not Inge and Egidia as well?’
‘Because I questioned them thoroughly, and I am satisfied that neither was involved. They knew what Moleyns was doing, certainly, but were not invited to take part. Which annoyed them, actually, as I suspect they would have welcomed a chance to earn some quick money.’
‘Exactly! Being excluded must have been extremely galling, especially as Moleyns held the purse strings, and was not overly generous. I suspect they saw how easy it was for him to steal, so they decided to do the same.’
Tulyet made an impatient sound at the back of his throat. ‘And you think they then elected to filch great lumps of stone and metal? That is ridiculous, Matt! Even if you are right about them taking a leaf from Moleyns’ book – and I am not saying you are – they would have opted for coins, too. Cash, which is readily slipped into a purse and hidden.’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘First, they do not have “friends” to tell them about hidden hoards. Second, Moleyns was already targeting coins, and they would not have dared to compete with him. And third, his crimes won him only modest returns – he was careful never to take too much lest someone complained. The theft of stone and brass, however, is on a much grander scale – one that will allow them to break away from Moleyns once and for all.’
‘I am not convinced, Matt,’ warned Tulyet. ‘Why would a lawyer and the wife of a friend of the King opt to take building supplies, of all things?’
‘Because they knew the tomb-builders in Nottingham, where the cost of raw materials was almost certainly discussed. Inge is an intelligent man – he would have seen the enormous profit that could be made. Moreover, he hails from the Fens, and so will know how to spirit illicit goods away through the marshes. He may even have local contacts to help him.’
‘Isnard and Gundrede,’ spat Tulyet. ‘I knew it!’
‘Not them,’ said Bartholomew quickly. ‘They helped Moleyns to steal, not Inge and–’
He trailed off in horror, wondering what was wrong with him. First, he had blurted the secret of Tynkell’s inked symbols to Michael, and now this. Tulyet eyed him balefully.
‘So that is how you found out what Moleyns had been doing: they told you. Of course, I imagine their uncharacteristic attack of honesty only happened once he was dead, and they were no longer in a position to profit from him.’
‘I still do not see Inge and Egidia stealing stone feet, pinnacles, bells and brasses,’ said Michael, taking pity on Bartholomew and deftly steering the discussion away from the uncomfortable topic of Moleyns and his local helpmeets.
‘Then how did Inge come to swallow resin?’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘It is not something that can happen under normal circumstances, which means it happened under abnormal ones – such as that he was out burgling and some splashed into his mouth.’
‘This is arrant nonsense,’ said Tulyet irritably. ‘I cannot believe we are even discussing it when we have so much else to occupy our minds.’
Bartholomew raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Can we question them anyway? It will cost us nothing, and what do we have to lose?’
‘Nothing, I suppose,’ conceded Tulyet reluctantly. ‘But–’
He broke off as the landlord of the Ship approached.
‘You forgot this, sir,’ the man said obsequiously, handing over the missive that Robin had brought. ‘You left it on the table.’
Tulyet nodded his thanks and opened it. He scanned it absently, then gaped his astonishment. ‘It is from Godrich! Written in haste on his journey south. It says that–’
Michael grabbed it and read it himself. ‘That when Moleyns was tried for the murder of Peter Poges, the evidence pointed to Inge and Egidia as the culprits, which is why he arranged for Moleyns to be acquitted. He claims there was nothing improper in the jury’s verdict.’
Tulyet snatched it back again. ‘He also says that he requested another trial, but powerful people intervened and the matter was quietly forgotten.’ He looked up at Bartholomew. ‘So, it seems you were right to suspect Inge and Egidia of something untoward. My apologies.’
‘If Godrich is telling the truth,’ cautioned Michael. ‘It is difficult to know what to believe in this web of deceit and lies.’
‘It is,’ agreed Tulyet. ‘But I am sure about one thing: it is time we had a word with Inge and Egidia. About the hapless Peter Poges and the thefts.’
Inge and Egidia had moved from the castle to the Griffin, the large tavern where Cook had taken Helbye for treatment. It was a pleasant, rambling affair that smelled of the fresh rushes that had been scattered on the floor and the half-sheep that was roasting on a spit over the fire. Bartholomew, Michael and Tulyet entered to see the pair by the window, although Cook and Helbye had chosen to sit in a different chamber, for which Bartholomew was grateful – he did not want another confrontation with the barber quite so soon after the last one.
‘We have questions,’ said Tulyet, addressing Inge and Egidia without preamble. ‘If you answer truthfully, I shall allow you to abjure the realm. Refuse, and you will hang.’
Bartholomew blinked his surprise at the Sheriff’s opening gambit, but supposed a bombastic approach might serve to frighten them into a confession. Egidia was visibly alarmed, but Inge was made of sterner stuff, and regarded Tulyet in open disdain.
‘Do not threaten me,’ he sneered. ‘I know my rights. You cannot charge in here and–’
‘We can start with murder,’ interrupted Tulyet, brandishing the letter. ‘We have written testimony from a witness, who claims that you, not Moleyns, poisoned Peter Poges.’
‘Lies!’ declared Egidia, although the flash of fear in her eyes suggested otherwise.
‘Is that from Godrich?’ asked Inge, trying to examine the missive as Tulyet continued to wave it around. ‘That appears to be his seal.’ He laughed derisively. ‘And you believe it? A man who is steeped in corruption, and who perverted the course of justice at Moleyns’ trial?’