Death of a Scholar by Susanna Gregory Page A

picked, and there are none.’
    Bartholomew stopped prowling to stare at him. ‘I hope you are not suggesting that a member of College is responsible.’
    ‘It is an unpleasant notion, I know,’ replied the Gilbertine. ‘But the reality is that the culprit knew exactly how to get in.’
    ‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘No one here would do such a thing.’
    Michael asked a few more questions, then nodded to say that William and Thelnetham could go. They bickered as they went, their haranguing voices echoing as they climbed the stairs.
    ‘Actually, Thelnetham makes a good point,’ said Michael when it was quiet again. ‘No stranger would be aware of the fact that Langelee keeps the cellar key in his room.’
    ‘Thieves can be cunning and determined,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘One might have been planning this invasion for weeks, gathering information and watching what we do. Moreover, our porter is effective when he is at the gate, but what happens when he does his rounds?’
    ‘True,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘And I am much happier with the notion of the culprit being a stranger than a viper from within. However, we must remember that a lot of new students have enrolled this term, and we do not know them yet.’
    ‘Their seniors will keep them in order,’ said Bartholomew firmly.
    Michael nodded, but did not look convinced. ‘I know you are busy, but I shall need your help with this. No, do not argue! How will you physick your paupers if you have no stipend to spend on medicine? Your best hope is to help me catch the culprit before he squanders it all. Then you might still be paid.’
    Bartholomew gave his reluctant assent, wondering whether Lawrence would agree to treat more of the town’s needy until the situation was resolved. And the lectures he had to prepare for the coming term and his daily visits to Edith? He supposed he would just have to forgo more sleep.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Michael. ‘We shall start by speaking to our colleagues, to see if they have remembered anything new now that they have had time to reflect.’
    Clippesby, Suttone and Hemmysby were in the conclave. The Dominican still held the hen, a feisty bird who chased any cat or dog that dared trespass in her domain, and who ruled the other fowl with a beak of iron. She was gentle with Clippesby, though, and her eyes were closed as she dozed on his lap.
    ‘I noticed nothing odd.’ Hemmysby ran a hand through his bushy hair. ‘I forgot we owned the thing, to tell you the truth. I do not manage a hutch, so I never think about them.’
    ‘I saw Thelnetham go down to the cellar last Tuesday,’ supplied Suttone. His plump face was troubled. ‘I hope
he
did not take it, aiming to have William blamed. I would not put it past him. I wish they would end this silly feud. Such rancour is hardly seemly for men in holy orders.’
    ‘Are you
sure
none of you saw anything unusual?’ pressed Michael desperately. ‘Clippesby? What about your animal friends?’
    The Dominican had a habit of sitting quietly to commune with nature, which meant he often saw things not intended for his eyes. His observations had helped with enquiries in the past, although the intelligence he provided invariably required careful decoding.
    ‘No,’ he replied, uncharacteristically terse. ‘Or I would have said the first time you asked.’
    Although Michael and Bartholomew spent the rest of the day asking questions of Fellows, students and servants, they learned nothing useful. Everyone was shocked by the news, especially when they heard that the Stanton Cup had gone, too, and Bartholomew did not relish the prospect of eventually confessing that the College’s entire fortune had disappeared into the bargain.
    At sunset, he went to visit Edith. She lived in a pleasant manor in the nearby village of Trumpington, but since her bereavement, she had preferred to stay at the handsome, stone-built house on Milne Street, from which the family cloth business was run.