The evening meal was a desultory affair. Gurney was taciturn, still worried about the girl's death and the events in the village. Alice caught her husband's mood and only picked at her food. Monck, smiling strangely to himself, ate in silence. Corbett watched him and wondered again whether his mind was slipping into madness.

They were still at table when Catchpole strode into the hall, damp and muddied, his bad temper apparent.

'God damn them all!' he swore. 'There's no sign of Gilbert or his bloody mother! They have fled!' He brought his hand from beneath his cloak. 'I found this in their house.' He opened his hand to show glistening amber beads.

'That is Marina's necklace,' Selditch said immediately. He smiled self-consciously. 'I knew the girl well. So it seems that the villagers are right. Gilbert is the murderer.'

'I passed through the village,' Catchpole said. 'The hotheads are still drinking in the Inglenook tavern. There will be violence.'

Gurney shook his head. 'Adam, I thank you. But enough is enough. Change, join us for supper. Tomorrow's another day.'

Corbett took the opportunity to excuse himself. He left Ranulf and Maltote drinking and went back to his own chamber to study the notes he had made. He waited until he heard the others leave the hall, then went out into the passage and found a servant to take him to Monck's chamber. He knocked and, deliberately, opened the door without waiting for an answer. Monck was seated at a table, his back to the door. He whirled round and saw Corbett. Hastily he gathered up the manuscripts spread out on the table in front of him and rose, that strange smile still on his face.

'What is it?' he asked. 'What can I do for you now?'

Corbett went into the room, closed the door behind him and sat down on a stool. Monck carefully kept himself between Corbett and the manuscripts on the table.