'Three weeks ago. A peasant found Willoughby wandering witless in the forest and brought him in.'

Corbett nodded and looked away. He had seen Willoughby in London. He would never forget that meeting. The once proud exchequer clerk was reduced to a shambling wreck. Dirty, dishevelled and ill-clad, Willoughby simply stared at his mutilated hand and recounted time and again how his companions had died. The King's anger had boiled over at the sight and Corbett had been forced to witness Edward in one of his black rages. He kicked furniture over, pounded on walls till his fists were bloodied, scattered papers from his table and dragged hangings from their hooks. Even the royal greyhounds had the sense to cower and hide. Corbett had effaced himself until the royal rage abated.

'Am I the King?' Edward roared. 'To be made a mockery of in my own kingdom? You will go north, Corbett, you understand? You will go to bloody Nottingham and see Robin Hood hang!'

So Corbett had come to Nottingham. He bore the King's message of angry disapproval to the sheriff Sir Eustace Vechey but, on his arrival at the castle, discovered Vechey had been poisoned in his own chamber.

'Tell me again,' Corbett said, breaking free from his reverie, 'how Sir Eustace died.'

'Sir Eustace,' Branwood began slowly, 'was in the blackest pit of depression. On Wednesday evening he dined here in the hall. He hardly spoke. He ate sparingly though he drank well. At last he got to his feet, said he was retiring early and, followed by Lecroix his manservant, took a goblet of wine up to his chamber. Vechey slept in a great four-poster bed, Lecroix on a pallet in a corner of the same chamber.'

'Was there any food in the room?'

Branwood made a face. 'A little. A plate of sweetmeats, and of course the cup of wine. However, when Vechey's corpse was discovered, Physician Maigret tasted both the sweetmeats and what was left of the wine. Both were found to be harmless.'