Cranston nodded, straightened, and went to sit in a chair over near the chess table. Sir Richard came back into the room.

‘You have found nothing new, Brother?’

Athelstan shook his head.

‘I speak for Sir John. Sir Thomas’s body may be released for burial whenever you wish.’ He looked round the chamber. ‘There are no other entrances here?’

‘None whatsoever,’ Sir Richard replied. ‘Sir Thomas chose this chamber because of its security.’ He pointed to the chests. ‘They hold gold, indentures and parchments.’

‘And have you been through these?’

‘Of course.’

‘Have you found anything which may explain Brampton’s strange conduct in trying to rifle his master’s records?’

Sir Richard shook his head.

‘Nothing. Some loans to rather powerful nobles and bishops who should have known better, but nothing else.’

Athelstan took one look round the bed chamber, noting the exquisite beauty of the carved four poster bed, with its writhing snakes and other symbols. A luxurious chamber but not opulent. He tapped gently on the floor with his sandalled foot. It sounded thick and heavy. No trap doors.

‘Did Sir Thomas have a . . .’

‘A secret place?’ Sir Richard completed his sentence. ‘I doubt it. Moreover, Master Buckingham and I have been through the accounts. Everything is in order. My brother was a tidy man.’

‘Sir Richard, we are finished here. I would like to view Brampton’s corpse.’

‘Brother Athelstan,’ the merchant smirked and nodded towards where Cranston sat, a contented smile on his face, fast asleep, ‘your companion, good Sir John, appears good for nothing! Perhaps tomorrow?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Athelstan replied. ‘But first I must see where Brampton killed himself.’

‘I will take care of it, Sir Richard,’ Buckingham murmured.

Sir Richard nodded and the clerk left the room, returning within seconds with a candle in its metal hood. He led Athelstan out of the bed chamber, back along the passageway and up to the second floor. Behind them the Nightingale sang as if mocking Athelstan’s departure. At the bottom of the second gallery was a narrow, winding, wooden staircase.

‘It leads to the garrets,’ Buckingham said, sensing the friar’s thoughts.