Baldwin leaned back and eyed her searchingly. “Agatha, how quickly did he come back into the tavern after walking out with his friend?”
“It was only a few minutes.”
“Are you quite sure? The killer of Torre would have needed plenty of time. Could you be mistaken? Could he have been out for a while?”
He waited expectantly, and let out a sigh of relief when she slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think I made a mistake. He was only gone for a little bit.”
“So, Agatha, it’s possible that his friend was the man who undressed Torre and put his own clothes on the corpse. Would his clothes have fitted Torre, from what you saw?”
She again paused, holding his gaze, before giving a quick nod. “I suppose so.”
“Good. That being the case, we need to find Elias’ friend. It’s more than probable he was the killer.”
“Ask Elias.”
“We have, ” Simon protested wearily. “He won’t tell us.”
“Make him, then.”
Simon gritted his teeth. “Did you notice Torre argue with him?”
“With Elias’ mate? No, not at all.”
“But you did see Torre argue with others?”
“Oh, yes. He’d had a few ales, and he was in the mood for a fight.”
“Who did he fight with?”
Agatha said cheerily, “Everyone: he had a go at the monk, and David, and some strangers as they were leaving.”
“But not with Elias or his friend?”
“No, not them.”
Baldwin was frowning at the alewife. “Mistress, we know there were others here that night. You mentioned a merchant. Do you know where he lives?”
“He’s over there if you want him.”
Following her pointing finger, Baldwin saw Arthur Pole sitting alone at a table. Before him was a pot of wine, and he was studying a sheet of paper. “Yes, I think we should speak to him now,” Baldwin said.
Arthur glanced up as they stood by him, and hearing who they were, he gestured to the bench opposite. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
The knight thought him pompous. His dress was not overly showy, but the squirrel fur at his collar was a sign of his wealth. “Mr. Pole, we are trying to discover what happened on the night Roger Torre was murdered.”
“I thought you’d arrested someone for that.”
“We have a man in jail, but he is at best an accomplice, not the killer. We would like to know what you saw that night. What time did you arrive here?”
“It was a little before compline. The bell had not yet tolled when we entered.”
“How long did you stay?”
“Only a short time. We had been invited by a Venetian merchant whom we’d met on the journey into town.”
“Antonio da Cammino?”
“Yes,” Arthur confirmed sourly. “His son has formed an affection for my daughter. It is a problem, for both seem willful in this and I don’t know what to do for the best.”
Baldwin nodded. If Pietro was pining for a woman, that would explain his behavior in front of the Abbot. “When did they arrive?”
“They left before we arrived-which I must say was rude, bearing in mind they accepted my invitation.”
“Did they explain why they left?”
“No-but the alewife here told me it was because they were offended by a friar. I think it was likely the same friar who had preached at Antonio on our way in. You know what these mendicants can be like. Antonio was unlucky enough to be the target of this one’s speech, and I suppose seeing him in the tavern again was the last straw. He chose to leave before he could be publicly humiliated.”
“Did you see anyone arguing or fighting in here that night?”
“Nobody, no. It was quite late, and people were already beginning to settle for the night. Everyone was tired from travelling. Anyway, we left a little later ourselves.”
“Before the cook?”
Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know him. The only man I noticed walking out before me was the port-reeve. I don’t think anyone else did before us.”
“The dead man went from the tavern a little while after the compline bell rang. Did you hear it as well?”
Arthur hesitated. “I think I do remember it, yes. Oh, of course! It was when I heard it that I asked the alewife whether she had seen the Venetians. That was when she told me they had gone. So we finished our drinks and left.”
“You may well have left here before the dead man. I assume you know where the body was found, in the alley between the cookshop and the butcher’s. Did you see anything suspicious?”
“No. We only saw a monk on our way back.”
“A monk? Would you recognize him again?”
“No, he had his hood up, covering his face. All I know is, he was coming out of the alley as we emerged from the tavern, and as we passed him, we all gave him a polite greeting.”
Baldwin leaned forward. “Did he look large in body? Was he well-built?”
“Oh no, he was quite slight. Not a large man at all. And now you must excuse me. I have to go and-er-see my groom.”
Simon watched him walk to the door. “His groom?”
“I wonder if the port-reeve can corroborate Pole’s words,” Baldwin said.
“If you want to ask him, he’s just walked in.”
Looking up, Baldwin saw the cheerful figure of the port-reeve at the door. Holcroft glanced around the room, and seeing the bailiff and his friend, he walked over to them. “A good morning, sirs.”
“How are you, port-reeve?” Simon asked.
“Rushed off my feet. I’ve left the fair to get a few minutes’ peace-it’s mayhem up there-but apart from that, I am very well.”
Simon felt his eyebrows rise at the enthusiasm of the man. Holcroft could almost be a different person from the one who had ducked under Lizzie’s pot.
Seeing his expression, the port-reeve explained. “My wife-I told you she has been reserved for some weeks-well, now I know why! I had to tell her about Lizzie before it got back to her from one of her friends, and she was very understanding. She’s only been behaving like this because she’s pregnant again, and it was worrying her. Now she’s herself once more, and I can’t tell you how much better my household is!”
“I am glad to hear it, port-reeve,” Baldwin smiled. “By the way, tell me: those men-they are watchmen, aren’t they?”
Holcroft sat beside Edgar. Following Baldwin’s look, he found himself peering at Long Jack. “Yes,” he said, adding resignedly, “what have they been up to now?”
“They’ve been brought to your attention before?” asked Simon.
“Those buggers are brought to the port-reeve’s attention every year. There’s nothing they could get up to would surprise me.”
“I see,” Baldwin murmured with interest. Then, “David, we are sure Elias wasn’t the murderer. If he had something to do with it, he was not alone. Elias is shielding someone, and we need to find out who and why. Did you recognize the man he was drinking with?”
“I hardly even noticed him. I was talking to Torre.”
Baldwin moved his stool so that he could lean back against the wall, and thrust his hands into his belt. “Torre came close to blows with the Venetians staying with the Abbot-”
“With the son, anyway,” Holcroft corrected.
“Thank you. As you say, with young Pietro. Then he tried to pick a fight with a monk, and finally he argued with you. At the same time, he was angry with the Abbot.”
“You’re not suggesting that the Abbot might have had something to do with his death?” Holcroft asked, appalled.
“Hmm? Oh no, of course not,” Baldwin said. A devil made him add: “But I suppose the possibility should not be ignored.”
Simon tried unsuccessfully to prevent a grin. “But we also have the curious treatment of the body.”
“Ignore that. Once we know who wanted Torre dead, we can look at why the killer mutilated him. The trouble is,” he went on, shaking his head, “there really doesn’t seem to be a serious motive for murdering the man. Not from all we’ve so far discovered. We must be missing something.”