‘You asked my fellow friars about me?’ asked William indignantly.
‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘But it worked to your advantage. You are virtually the only one of us with a sound alibi, and who definitely did not commit this crime.’
William puffed himself up. ‘My money is on the culprit being that Dominican – Clippesby. I have never liked him. He is treacherous and duplicitous.’
‘Let us not jump to conclusions before we have the evidence,’ said Michael. ‘But we should start if we do not want to be here all night. You take the table and the aumbry, William; Matt can search under the benches, rugs and chairs; and I will see what we have left in the chests.’
‘Our poor hutches,’ said William, shaking his head as he began to rifle through the contents of Runham’s wall cupboard. ‘How will the College survive with no loan chests?’
They were silent, each concentrating on his work. Bartholomew found a list of payments and dates hidden in the lining of a rug, and passed it to Michael, understanding nothing of the figures that were scrawled there, but suspecting they were significant. William discovered an hour candle that had fallen underneath the desk.
‘Can I have this?’ he asked, secreting it in his grimy habit. ‘Runham will not be needing it again.’
‘Wait,’ said Bartholomew, reaching for it. ‘Why did we not think of this before? Now we know when Runham was murdered – exactly!’
‘The hour candle fell over during the struggle!’ exclaimed Michael. ‘So, when was he killed?’
‘About eight o’clock,’ said Bartholomew, studying the stump. ‘That would be four hours or so after sunset, and about two hours after dinner.’
‘Well, that excludes Kenyngham, then,’ said Michael. ‘And Suttone. Both of them were at compline at that time, and I know they lingered at the church afterwards. And it vindicates me, too, because the Chancellor was visiting me on University business from sunset until almost ten.’
‘I have no idea where I was,’ said Bartholomew gloomily. ‘Somewhere on the Trumpington road, alone and in the dark.’
‘I can vouch for Paul being with me at compline between seven and nine, but we still have Clippesby unaccounted for,’ said William with relish.
‘And Langelee,’ added Michael. ‘All the workmen had gone by then – they do not work as late as eight, so that eliminates opportunistic robbery as a motive. And there are the servants – Cynric, Agatha, Walter and so on.’
‘Not Cynric,’ said Bartholomew immediately. ‘Rachel Atkin will not let him out after dark. He would not have been at liberty at eight o’clock.’
‘I will talk to your students – Gray and Deynman – who fell foul of Runham the afternoon he died, and see if they can tell me where they were at eight o’clock,’ said William importantly. ‘I have considerable experience of investigating murders, and now I have been absolved of suspicion, I will devote myself to the task in hand.’
‘And I will have discreet words with Langelee and Clippesby, to see what they can tell me about eight o’clock on that fateful day,’ said Michael.
‘I will help,’ offered William eagerly. ‘I would love to interrogate that Clippesby.’
‘I said discreet,’ said Michael. ‘If the killer is a scholar, then he is not going to be stupid – unless it is Langelee – and I do not want to frighten him into caution. I want him to be relaxed and to make a fatal slip.’
They were silent again, completing their methodical search of Runham’s room. The only sounds were occasional footsteps in the courtyard, and the increasingly frequent exclamations of understanding and indignation as Michael came to grips with the documents in Runham’s chests.
‘This is really outrageous,’ he said, waving the piece of parchment Bartholomew had discovered under the rug. ‘I am horrified!’
‘What is it?’ asked William, crawling on his hands and knees to inspect the area behind the table.
‘It is a list showing how Runham raised the money for his new building work,’ said Michael. ‘He estimated that he would need ninety pounds for raising a new court and for refacing the north wing, using the cheapest materials available. He raised thirty pounds in donations, including five marks from your brother-in-law, Matt. That was generous.’
‘I know,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But he regrets parting with it.’
‘He is a true merchant,’ said Michael. ‘But despite his best efforts, Runham was still sixty pounds short. He arranged to borrow thirty pounds from the guilds of Corpus Christi and St Mary – to be repaid with interest within the year. God’s blood! Thirty pounds plus interest! That is going to be a millstone around our necks.’
‘If he had thirty from donations and thirty from loans, where did he find the remaining twenty?’ asked William, proving that he had not paid attention during his arithmetic lessons.
‘It seems he raided the College hutches,’ said Michael. ‘It is all written down here. He took all the available money – which amounted to a total of ten pounds and two shillings – and he sold unredeemed pledges worth another three pounds and eight shillings. Foolish man – he sold that Aristotle of Deynman’s for two shillings, and it was worth at least twice that.’
‘So that explains why he went about dismissing his Fellows,’ said William. ‘He did not want us to notice that he was raiding the hutches.’
‘You are right,’ said Michael. ‘He had rid himself of you, Paul, Kenyngham and Langelee, and was working on Matt. And he was also interfering with the cooks, so that I would leave, too. Thus he would have disposed of anyone who knew how much was in the hutches. With us gone, the hutch money was his to use as he pleased.’
‘And he sent down Gray and Deynman,’ added Bartholomew. ‘They regularly used the hutches when they were short of money – far more frequently than any of the other students – and so would know what was in them.’
‘Of course,’ said Michael. ‘I begin to understand. Runham was not indulging himself in a series of personal vendettas, but had a carefully formulated plan to make Michaelhouse’s money disappear with no questions asked.’
‘But even with the loans, the funds from the merchants and the contents of the hutches, Runham was still short of sixteen pounds and ten shillings to make up his ninety,’ said Bartholomew.
‘I know,’ said Michael, frustrated. ‘He has been selling something, but this list does not specify what. He sold five items for which he received about ten pounds in total. I imagine the rest came from the fact that he did not pay the grocer and that he saved money on the choir’s bread and ale allowance.’
‘And by dismissing the servants,’ said Bartholomew. ‘So, how much of this ninety pounds do we have left? How much of it was stolen?’
‘We still have about half of it,’ said Michael promptly. ‘I counted it all with Kenyngham when we found Runham dead. Because of the piecemeal way in which Runham raised his funds, it came in all sorts of ways – gold and silver coins, jewels valued at specific amounts, promissory notes. A lot of it would have been too heavy to carry unnoticed from the College, while the promissory notes would obviously be worthless to a thief. Oswald Stanmore is not going to pay a thief five marks for presenting this piece of paper to him.’
‘But someone has the other half of our ninety pounds even as we speak,’ said William angrily. ‘We must search the College immediately, and see who has his room stuffed with stolen money.’
‘Already done,’ said Michael. ‘Kenyngham and Suttone undertook that unpleasant task, and found nothing. I told them to pretend to be looking for a missing book. If the builders discover that we do not have the cash to pay them, they might riot.’