'And you don't know what was in it?' 'No, Master, I don't. Will I hang?'

Corbett got to his feet and patted the prisoner on the shoulder.

'Don't worry, Gilbert, you won't hang. Someone will, but you won't. However, it's best if you stay here for your own protection.'

Corbett hammered on the door. Catchpole and Selditch were waiting for him. They went back along the passage, up the steps and back into the hall. Corbett tried to draw Selditch into conversation about the history of the house but the physician became strangely evasive. He shrugged, fluttered ink-stained fingers and refused to meet Corbett's eye. Corbett strode impatiently away to look for Gurney. He found him in his writing chamber. Gurney looked up as he strode in.

'I want the baker brought here,' Corbett said without preamble. 'Fourbour?'

Corbett drummed his fingers on the desk. 'Yes, and Robert the reeve also. I want to question them.' 'Why?'

'Because, Sir Simon, none of these mysteries will be solved until honest answers are given to honest questions!'

Chapter 6

By noon Fourbour and the reeve were at Mortlake Manor. Corbett saw the baker first. Brushing aside the man's protests at being taken from his work, Corbett waved him to a stool in the corner of the great hall arid sat opposite. He studied the man's silver hair and pasty skin, which made it look as though the baker had been tinted by the flour he used. Fourbour was small and thin, with darting eyes and a flickering tongue. A muscle high in his cheek twitched nervously.

'I want to talk to you about the death of your wife,' Corbett said brusquely.

Fourbour's nervousness increased.

'Her name was Amelia?'

'Yes,' Fourbour whispered.

'And how long had you been married?'

'Six years. She was ten years my junior.' The man's eyes filled with tears. 'She was very pretty, Sir Hugh.' His eyes flitted round the empty hall. 'But she was never at home in Hunstanton.'