He was still on the floor when Silas returned with the coroner, a fussy-looking little man with a red-veined face and a pair of pince-nez perched on his nose. Thomas took a deep breath and rose to meet him. ‘Henry Pearson, sir, coroner. It is my duty to investigate all unnatural deaths in the city and in cases of murder to identify and bring to trial the murderer.’
‘Thomas Hill, sir. An old student of Master Fletcher, and an old friend.’
‘Did you find the body?’
‘I did. Master Merkin was behind me.’
‘Have you left everything as you found it?’ The coroner was brusque.
‘I’ve touched nothing. The body is in the bedchamber.’ Pearson bustled past him and into the chamber. When he emerged, he was ashen.
‘Master Fletcher suffered greatly before he died. Judging by the state of rigor mortis, I would say he has been dead for a good seven hours.’
‘So he was murdered in the night?’
‘That is my opinion. Have you any idea why anyone would do this?’
Thomas had no intention of disclosing Abraham’s position, or his own, to Henry Pearson, coroner or not. ‘None, sir. Abraham was a quiet, scholarly man. I can conceive of no reason for this barbarity.’
‘Have you seen anything suspicious?’ he asked Silas.
‘No, sir,’ replied Silas firmly. ‘Both college gates are locked from midnight to six in the morning. Anyone wishing to enter must ring the bell. I only let them in if I know who they are.’
‘Then the murderer was already in the college before you locked the gates. Either he’s still here or he must have slipped out again this morning. Have you been at your post all the time?’
‘Yes, sir, except when I came to unlock the door for Master Hill.’
‘Then if he left, that was when. He would have been watching, knowing that sooner or later the door would be found locked. Alternatively, he is living here.’ Pearson changed direction. ‘You say the door was locked. Could the murderer have had a key?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Silas firmly. ‘Master Fletcher had his key. I have the other two.’
‘Could one have been stolen, and later returned?’
‘No, sir. I’d have noticed. I check all the keys every morning.’
‘Then either Master Fletcher opened the door to his murderer, or the door was unlocked. The murderer took his key and locked the door when he left. Master Fletcher probably knew the man.’
‘Not necessarily, Master Pearson,’ pointed out Thomas. ‘Abraham Fletcher was blind. He could have opened the door to a stranger without knowing it.’
‘In that case, he would have been an easy victim and the murderer’s motive will be more difficult to establish. Had he any relatives in Oxford?’
‘Not as far as I know, sir,’ replied Silas. ‘He never mentioned any.’
‘A pity. You’d be surprised how many murderers turn out to be wives, husbands and sons. Did he have any enemies?’
‘I can think of none.’
‘Alas, Master Hill, it seems he had at least one. One who was searching for something. What could that have been?’
‘I doubt it was money. Abraham was not a wealthy man.’
‘It looks more like a document or information of some kind. The murderer must have hoped to find it in a book. What subjects did Master Fletcher teach?’
‘Mathematics, philosophy and a little divinity.’
‘What might be secret about those?’
‘Very little. He was just an elderly scholar who loved books and learning.’ Thomas was getting angry. He was feeling the strain of answering the coroner’s questions, and of having to lie. He did not know who the murderer was, but he was quite sure about the motive. It was about ciphers, and, most probably, the one under Thomas’s floorboards. But he could not risk telling the coroner that.
‘And why would he have been tortured?’ The little man was persistent, as coroners usually were.
‘Master Pearson, I really have no idea,’ said Thomas. ‘Abraham Fletcher was my friend. This has been a terrible shock, and I would like to go now.’
‘Before you do, sir, someone will have to come to my house formally to identify the deceased. I will have the body taken there as soon as I have inspected the room.’
‘I will come tomorrow,’ said Thomas. ‘May I go now?’
‘You may, sir. I know where you are if I need you.’
In the courtyard outside, Thomas was horrified to find a curious crowd of soldiers. The coroner must have been recognized, and word spread around the college. Soon it would be around Oxford. He wondered if that was the murderer’s intention. Ignoring the stares and whispers, he hurried past the soldiers and across the yard, hoping not to be accosted again by Fayne.
He opened the door to his room, and stood staring. In the time he had been in Abraham’s room, someone, and it was not hard to guess who, had been there. The bed had been stripped of blankets, papers were strewn across the floor and his clothes had been dumped in a corner. Fayne. The cowardly oaf had taken his revenge in this petty way. Then Thomas looked around. It was subtly different to the last time. Not only had the lock been opened with a key, rather than broken, but this time he had the impression that the room had been searched. The papers on the floor had been placed rather than thrown there, as if the intruder had gone through them. Thomas pushed aside the bed, moved the pot and pulled up the loose floorboard. The message and his workings were still there. He replaced the board and sat on his chair. He wrinkled his nose — there was the faintest trace of a sweet smell he did not recognize. He put the notion aside and looked about. The room reminded him of the bookshop after the soldiers had wrecked it. For some time he sat and thought. Erasmus Pole and Abraham Fletcher cruelly murdered, a message encrypted with the Vigenère cipher, an unseemly fight and his room ransacked. What in God’s name had induced him to come to Oxford? He went to fetch Silas.
Silas too was horrified. ‘Master Fletcher and now you, sir,’ he said. ‘As well you weren’t here, or …’ He stopped himself just in time.
‘Did you have a spare key made, Silas?’
‘No, sir. It was only yesterday you lost it.’
‘And you’ve had yours on your ring at all times?’
‘I have, sir.’
Had his key not disappeared down that stinking drain after all? And if it had not, who now had it? Certainly not three small boys, who had no idea which door it opened. He thought about it, and about all the other things that had happened, and it hit him. Surely not. ‘Silas, please send a boy for Father de Pointz at Merton. Ask him to come at once.’
‘At once, sir.’
‘And, Silas, tell no one about this. It would only complicate matters.’
If Silas was surprised, he did not show it. ‘As you wish, Master Hill.’
When Silas had left, Thomas made no effort to put the room back together. He wanted Simon to see it.
Simon arrived within the hour. ‘What’s been happening, Thomas?’ he asked. ‘We hear there has been a murder. Is this connected to it?’
‘It is. And it’s Abraham who’s been murdered. Murdered and tortured. Simon, his eyes were cut out. How could any man do such a thing?’
Simon crossed himself. ‘Someone who wanted something badly enough, and thought Abraham had it. Poor Abraham. He was a good man. I grieve that he suffered. I shall pray for his soul.’ He paused and crossed himself again. ‘When did it happen?’
‘The coroner thinks it was during the night. The door wasn’t forced. Abraham let his own murderer in.’
‘And this?’ He indicated the ruined room.
‘When I was at Abraham’s room.’
‘Then the murderer did not find what he wanted in Abraham’s room and came here to look for it. Did he find it here, Thomas?’
‘Thankfully, he did not. I have it safe.’
‘And can you tell me what it is?’
No more pretence. Thomas retrieved the message from its hiding place and handed it to Simon. ‘This is what he was looking for. A text encrypted with a Vigenère square, a cipher thought to be unbreakable.’