'There!' He smiled at Corbett. 'No real injury, some bruising on his chest and legs. But he'll live to stand trial.'

'They murdered my mother!' Gilbert muttered.

'They say,' Corbett replied quietly, 'that you murdered the girl.'

Selditch got to his feet. 'I'll wait for you outside, Sir Hugh.'

Corbett nodded, sat on the stool and waited for the physician to close the door behind him. 'Gilbert!' he ordered. 'Look at me!'

The young man lifted his podgy, slack face and rubbed his wavering, watery eyes. Could this man, Corbett wondered, clumsy, slightly dim-witted, catch and murder the young fawn-like Marina? He closed his eyes – an idea had occurred to him but it flickered like a weak flame and he lost the thread. Something about Marina being out on the moors? Corbett stared down at his hands. Yes, that was it! Marina was a local girl. She knew the area well. If she was threatened, why not try and return to the Hermitage? Or had she gone to meet, not her father in the village, but someone from the manor? The visitors – the Prioress and Father Augustine – had, obviously, been abroad that night. Selditch had arrived late at table. But anyone could have left the manor – Catchpole had mentioned underground passages. Had someone used one of them to slip out of the manor?

'I didn't murder the girl,' Gilbert mumbled.

Corbett pointed to the scratches on the man's hands and wrists as well as the few on his face.

'Where did you get these?'

'When I was running away, the brambles tore at me.' 'And what about the amber necklace found in your house?'

Gilbert shook his head blankly. He stared unblinkingly at Corbett.

'I wouldn't hurt Marina. Gilbert loves Marina. All Gilbert wanted to do was stroke her soft hair.'

Corbett studied the young man. You are no murderer, he reflected, but you are someone's catspaw.