‘And why has Whittlesey told so many lies?’ Bartholomew was more suspicious of the slippery envoy than the belligerent scholar. ‘Not just to the soldiers on the gate, but about his knee – I am sure he made up the tale about falling down the stairs. And there was the whispered discussion with Lyng on the night that Lyng died – the one Richard Deynman witnessed.’
‘I had not forgotten that – or the fact that we do not know whether to believe his claim about not being in Nottingham when Dallingridge was poisoned.’ Michael sighed dispiritedly. ‘All I can say is that the behaviour of both is odd and worrisome.’
‘Of course, we still have two other good suspects for the murders. Namely Hopeman, who is tipped to win the election now that Godrich is no longer eligible. And Cook.’
‘Yes,’ said Michael tiredly. ‘But we have no evidence against either. So today, I shall speak to everyone who saw Tynkell and Moleyns die. Again. Perhaps time will have altered their perspective, and something has occurred to them that will lead us forward.’
They attended church, but Bartholomew found it difficult to concentrate, his thoughts bouncing between the murders and Matilde – because if Meadowman had made such good time on the roads, then perhaps she had, too, and would arrive sooner than expected. And then what? He still had reached no decision about what to say to her. Wryly, it occurred to him that if he dithered long enough, he might not have to make one – she would grow tired of waiting and abandon Cambridge a second time.
He was equally distracted at breakfast, although it was a paltry affair, over in record time when Langelee decided that the victuals did not warrant a moment longer than was absolutely necessary to swallow what was offered.
‘I shall not be teaching today,’ announced Kolvyle, as the Fellows stood to leave the hall. ‘I have business of a personal nature to conduct.’
‘Then it can wait,’ said Langelee tartly. ‘Because we are too busy to–’
‘Bartholomew or Michael can take my classes,’ interrupted Kolvyle. ‘I have minded theirs often enough these last few days, and it is time they returned the favour.’
‘That is not how it works,’ said Langelee irritably. ‘You cannot pick and choose when you deign to work, and your students are expecting what you promised them today – three lectures on Gratian, and a good debate on primogeniture.’
‘Then they will just have to live with their disappointment,’ retorted Kolvyle carelessly. ‘Because I shall not be here. And do not threaten to dismiss me, because we all know that if you do, you will never recruit another scholar of my intellectual calibre. I am here to stay, so I suggest you get used to it, Master.’
The last word was injected with such sneering contempt that Bartholomew was sure Kolvyle was going to lose teeth for it. Fortunately for Kolvyle – and for Langelee, as Masters punching Fellows was frowned upon in the University – Michael stepped forward to intervene.
‘What is the nature of this personal business, Kolvyle?’ he asked briskly. ‘If it is urgent, I am sure some accommodation can be reached.’
‘It is private,’ replied Kolvyle loftily. ‘Now, get out of my way.’
‘Come back!’ roared Langelee furiously, as the youngster began to flounce off. ‘Or keep walking and never return, because this is the last time you will defy me.’
Kolvyle turned, gave a provocative little wave, and aimed for the gate.
‘Right, that does it,’ snarled Langelee, clenching his fists. ‘I shall clear out his room and toss his belongings into the street. I refuse to endure another moment of his odious company.’
‘Please wait until tomorrow afternoon,’ begged Michael. ‘We cannot afford a scandal in Michaelhouse right before the election, as it might adversely affect my … I mean Suttone’s chances of winning.’
Langelee inclined his head stiffly. ‘Very well. But keep Kolvyle out of my way, or there may be another murder for you to solve.’
‘Speaking of murder,’ said Suttone uneasily, ‘may I have Cynric again, Matt? It would be a pity if I were dispatched on the very eve of my victory.’
Bartholomew nodded absently. ‘I wonder what manner of “personal business” draws Kolvyle away from his duties. It must be important, as he has never refused to teach before.’
‘It does not matter, because he is no longer a member of Michaelhouse,’ declared Langelee. ‘But enough of him. Suttone, why are you still here? Smarten yourself up, then go and win some more votes. The honour of the College is at stake here, man.’ He turned to Michael. ‘And you should be out hunting the killer if you aim to leave us on Thursday.’
‘And leave you must,’ added Suttone. ‘Because we do not want the grasping Bishop of Bangor to get there first, and lay sticky fingers on your mitre.’
‘No,’ agreed Michael fervently. ‘We do not.’
There was a long list of patients wanting Bartholomew’s attention, and Aungel grinned his delight when informed that he was to mind the physician’s classes yet again. He produced a sheaf of notes that suggested he had anticipated as much, and had probably spent much of the night preparing. Bartholomew called for Islaye and Mallet, aiming to take them with him on his rounds, and was taken aback when they informed him that they had other plans.
‘There is a two-mark reward for recovering the University’s missing bell, sir,’ explained Mallet. ‘And Master Langelee says that we can keep a shilling each if we find it, with the rest going to the College coffers.’
‘But it is a weekday in term time,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘You are here to study, not go hunting stolen property. Besides, Egidia will tell Dick Tulyet where to find it now she is charged with its theft.’
‘She cannot, because she does not know,’ said Islaye. ‘She was questioned thoroughly last night, and the Sheriff is satisfied that, while she definitely helped to organise the thefts, Inge never trusted her enough to tell her where he stashed what they stole.’
‘And he was right to be wary,’ put in Islaye. ‘Because I hear it was her incautious tongue that betrayed them in the Griffin yesterday. If she had kept her mouth shut, they would have got away with it.’
‘So the only way you will ever see the bell again,’ said Mallet, ‘is if someone like us finds it before it is spirited out of the town, into the Fens, and around the coast to London.’
‘Kolvyle will be looking for it,’ added Islaye. ‘That is why he abandoned his classes today – he aims to have that two marks for himself. Well, we do not want him to get them. We will never hear the end of it if he does, and his gloating will be unbearable.’
‘Besides, your sister would be glad if we got the bell back,’ said Mallet. ‘She must be distraught that her beloved husband’s donation is in the hands of greedy thieves.’
‘All right!’ Bartholomew threw up his hands in defeat at the onslaught. ‘But only until noon. I want you back in the hall with Maimonides after the midday meal.’
Grinning their delight, the two students hurried away before he could change his mind. Bartholomew visited his patients alone, and met Edith on his way home.
‘The Sheriff has promised to catch the culprits,’ she said unhappily. ‘But why should I believe him? He has had no luck so far, and so many things have been taken – Dallingridge’s feet, Wilson’s lid, Holty’s pinnacles, Gonville’s lead, Cew’s brass …’
‘But he has caught them,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Well, Inge is still on the run, I suppose, but Dick has sent patrols to hunt him down, so it is only a matter of time before he is caught.’
‘Oh, Inge and Egidia were involved certainly,’ said Edith bitterly. ‘But they cannot have done it alone, and whoever helped them is cunning in the extreme.’