‘All right, Nigel yelled at the first unfamiliar black-robed person he saw, then,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘Do not quibble, Matt. Nigel’s information is worthless anyway: most men wear dark cloaks in winter, and he only claimed his attacker was large because he did not want to admit to being bested by someone small.’
‘Will you let Morden go?’ asked Timothy. ‘Even the exaggerating Nigel would have noticed if one of the intruders had been Morden’s size. He is very distinctive.’
‘I will keep Morden for a while yet,’ said Michael. ‘I refuse to allow him to go free on the word of such an unreliable witness. And do not forget that his glove implicates him in the burglary of my room, even if he did not later travel to Barnwell and stab Nigel.’
‘What do you think these intruders wanted from Ralph?’ asked Timothy. ‘Was it the same thing that they wanted from you?’
Michael shrugged. ‘I cannot imagine what, although I think we are right to assume that these two burglaries were committed by the same people.’
‘Ralph and you are not the only ones to be burgled,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘If Morden is telling the truth, then items have been stolen from him, too.’ He snapped his fingers suddenly. ‘And I think I may know exactly what those raiders were looking for.’
‘Well?’ asked Michael, when his friend was lost in thought.
‘Of course,’ said Bartholomew, as one assumption led to another and another, and gradually pieces of the puzzle began to fit together.
‘What?’ snapped Michael irritably. ‘I am in no mood for games, Matt. If you know, tell me; if it is some wild guess, then you can keep it to yourself. I am already confused, and I do not want more untenable theories muddying the water.’
‘This is not a guess,’ said Bartholomew excitedly, as parts of the mystery became crystal clear. ‘It was your mention of Father Paul that made me think of the solution. All this trouble has been over Faricius’s essay.’
‘How?’ asked Timothy doubtfully. ‘And why should Paul make you think of it?’
‘The essay defends nominalism,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is our first clue.’
Michael sighed. ‘I fail to see how.’
‘Horneby and Simon Lynne went to Faricius’s hiding place in St John Zachary after Faricius’s murder; the evidence, however, suggests that Faricius had already collected his essay and was returning to the friary with it when he was attacked.’
‘It was not on his body, and his last words were spent asking you to find it,’ agreed Michael, impatiently. ‘And?’
‘Meanwhile, Kyrkeby was struggling to write a lecture defending nominalism, to be presented at the most auspicious event of the University year. He was unwell anyway – I treated him for an irregular heartbeat – and the pressure was beginning to mount. Morden thought Kyrkeby’s first attempts at the lecture were poor. But the day after Faricius’s death, Ringstead said that Kyrkeby’s lecture had improved.’
‘You think Kyrkeby killed Faricius for his essay?’ exploded Michael in disbelief, exchanging a glance with Timothy that was half-amusement and half-annoyance that they had wasted time listening to the physician. ‘Matt, you are out of your wits! I have heard you suggest some peculiar motives for murder in the past, but never one as bizarre as this.’
‘Because it is bizarre does not mean it is inaccurate,’ said Bartholomew defensively. ‘Perhaps racked by remorse, Kyrkeby may have tried to return the essay to the Carmelites by using the tunnel–’
‘Your theory fails here, Matt,’ interrupted Michael. ‘Kyrkeby did not know about the tunnel. How could he have done? Even Prior Lincolne was unaware of it and he is a Carmelite who lives in that friary, not a Dominican who has probably never set foot in it.’
‘Well, there is another possibility,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But you will not like it.’
Michael sighed. ‘I do not like this one. But go ahead. We have heard one insane idea today. Another cannot harm us.’
‘Walcote was also a nominalist, who knew Faricius and admired his work. Walcote may even have known about the essay. He was with us when we interviewed the Dominicans the day after Faricius’s murder, when Ringstead told us about the sudden improvement in Kyrkeby’s lecture. Walcote also knew about Faricius’s stolen scrip. He may have deduced that the essay was in it, and therefore reasoned that the missing essay and Kyrkeby’s sudden improvement were more than coincidence.’
‘Why should he have reasoned that?’ demanded Michael. ‘We did not.’
‘Because at the time we did not know that Faricius’s missing scrip probably contained his essay – we did not know the essay even existed.’
‘Are you suggesting that Walcote killed Kyrkeby for stealing Faricius’s essay?’ asked Timothy, exchanging another uncertain glance with Michael.
‘Walcote killed Kyrkeby for stabbing a man he knew and admired. Horneby told us that Walcote knew about the tunnel, because he had caught him using it and had ordered it to be sealed. What a perfect hiding place for a corpse! Even if the Carmelite students did find Kyrkeby’s body, they would never be able to report it without admitting that they knew secret ways in and out of their friary.’
‘I do not know about this, Matt,’ warned Michael. ‘I can see a lot of holes in your arguments.’
‘Such as what?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Such as the fact that Walcote was not the kind of man to kill, for a start,’ said Michael. ‘I complained to you many times about his gentleness and his annoying habit of looking for the good in people. Such men do not murder others.’
‘That is not true,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We have seen gentler men than Walcote commit all manner of crimes.’
Michael disagreed. ‘Your reasoning has a Dominican Precentor killing a Carmelite student-friar, and my Austin Junior Proctor murdering the Dominican. Such men do not go around slaughtering each other, Matt. And anyway, Faricius, Kyrkeby and Walcote himself were dead long before Arbury was murdered and Nigel was stabbed. How many killers do you imagine there are stalking the streets of Cambridge?’
Bartholomew regarded him sombrely. ‘I have no idea, Brother. But I suggest we should find out before anyone else dies.’
Michael wanted to go straight to the Franciscan Friary, to ask Father Paul whether he had Simon Lynne secreted away, and then question the lad about the mysterious death of Kyrkeby. They were approaching the Barnwell Gate when they became aware of a commotion taking place just outside it. A small crowd had gathered, and was standing around a prostrate body on the ground. Thinking it was probably someone in need of a physician, Bartholomew hurried forward to see if he could help. Sighing irritably at the delay, Michael followed.
Bartholomew pushed through the ring of spectators, then stopped in horror when he saw that the person lying flat on his back in the town’s filth was his nephew.
‘I want a word with him,’ muttered Michael, eyeing Richard dispassionately. ‘I want to know why he conspired against me at St Radegund’s Convent with the leaders of the religious Orders.’
‘Not now, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, unlooping the medicine bag from around his shoulder and kneeling in the mud next to his stricken relative.
‘I can do nothing here,’ said Timothy to Michael. ‘You and Matthew can visit Paul when you have carried Richard home to his mother. Meanwhile, I am worried about the plight of the lepers Matthew told us about. With your leave, I would like to tell Matilde about them, so that she can arrange for supplies to be sent today.’
Michael knew that his Junior Proctor regularly distributed alms to the poor and sick, and that he had a good deal of compassion for the unfortunates who lived in the leper hospital. ‘Go ahead. I do not like to think of them starving either, and Matilde can be relied upon to help,’ he told him.