He stepped in and looked around. The table was now clear of its ghastly remains, the floor had been swept clear of its litter. It looked tidier, neater than it had the previous day. What had he seen here that afterwards had jolted, pricked against his memory? Something which had been out of place? He leaned against the wall desperately trying to clear his mind but the memory proved elusive. He sighed, looked round once more and went back to rejoin Sir John.

The coroner was fretting, hopping from foot to foot, standing close to the wall of the house, well away from the crowds which now thronged the entire thoroughfare of Cheapside. He pulled Athelstan closer.

‘They are lying, aren’t they, Brother? There’s something wrong, but what?’

‘I don’t know, Sir John, but there may be many logical explanations. Something may be wrong but they may not realise it. Something may be wrong but only one or two may know the truth. Or, finally, something may be wrong but known to someone outside the household.’

‘Such as who?’

Athelstan looked round and lowered his voice. ‘My Lord of Gaunt or even Chief Justice Fortescue. After all, he did lie; the Chief Justice said he left the house about curfew but Sir Richard claims it was much later.’

Sir John rubbed the side of his face.

‘Yes, Chief Justice Fortescue. We don’t even have a good reason for his being there. Why should he be visiting a London merchant?’ The coroner grinned evilly, biting his lower lip with his strong, white teeth. ‘I look forward to putting that very question to our Lord Chief Justice, but now for refreshment. Oh!’ Cranston grinned and tapped his wallet. ‘I’ve taken the small phial of poison Brampton’s supposed to have used.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’ve an idea, but not now. What I need now is a drink!’

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Athelstan cringed. He had hoped Sir John’s appetite had been curbed but he seemed both insatiable and unable to learn from previous experience. The friar followed him dolefully across the street as Sir John scampered direct as an arrow for the Holy Lamb of God. Cranston took to its dry, dark warmth as a duck to water. He waddled amongst the customers, using his not inconsiderable bulk to force a way through pedlars, tinkers, labourers and farmers fresh from the countryside, spending the profits of their produce on large stoups of ale.