The constable set the stable hands and the lockkeeper to scouring the brush and the canal for the knife. He and the doctor decided to wrap Middleton's body and have him taken to the parish church to be held for the coroner's examination. The constable declared his next task was to report to the magistrate and asked me, hesitantly, to break the news to Rutledge.

Rutledge had already heard by the time I returned. He glared at me in utter fury, a vein pulsing in his forehead, when I arrived in the front hall of the Head Master's house.

The prefect, Sutcliff, stood behind Rutledge, his face a mixture of consternation and interest. Fletcher and the mathematics tutor next to him did not bother to hide their curiosity.

"Tell the constable to arrest that gypsy," Rutledge barked. "Bloody thieves will murder us in our beds. Should not even be allowed to walk about. Middleton did a bad day's work hiring him, and he's paid for it. What are you standing there for, man? Go and have done."

I noted a fleeting movement on the stairs high above, heard a faint gasp. I looked up without seeming to and saw who I thought I'd see, Rutledge's daughter, Belinda. She was twenty years old and kept house for her father, rarely leaving their chambers.

"There is no evidence that Sebastian killed him," I pointed out. "We have only a corpse with his throat cut, and not even the knife that did it."

"I do not recall asking your opinion, Lacey. Either you go, or I send someone else."

Rutledge turned on his heel and marched away, growling at a group of boys who had come to see what the fuss was about.