willingly, but seeing they were all his cronies from boyhood, that meant little enough. The one new thing, and it marked the exact spot of the attack past question, was the discovery in the passage above the water-gate of the one loop of leather from Master William's pouch, the one which had been sliced clean through and left lying in the thief's haste, and the dim light under the high walls.
"Right under the clothier's cart-yard. The walls are ten feet high, and the passage narrow. Never a place from which the lane can be overlooked. No chance in the world of an eye witness. He chose his place well."
"Ah, but there is one place, then, from which a man might have watched the deed," said Cadfael, enlightened. "The loft above that cart-house and barn has a hatch higher than the wall, and close to it. And Roger Clothier lets Rhodri Fychan sleep up there the old Welshman who begs at Saint Mary's church. By that time of the evening he may have been up in the hay already, and on a fine evening he'd be sitting by the open hatch. And even if he had not come home at that time, who's to be sure of that? It's enough that he could have been there.
He had been right about the sergeant; the man was an incomer, not yet acquainted with the half of what went on in Shrewsbury. He had not known Madog of the Dead-Boat, he did not know Rhodri Fychan. Pure chance had cast this particular affair into the hands of such a man, and perhaps no ill chance, either.
"You have given me a notion," said Cadfael, "that may bring us nearer the truth yet. Not that I'd let the old man run any risk, but no need for that. Listen, there's a baited trap we might try, if you're agreeable. If it succeeds you may have your man. If it fails, we shall have lost nothing. But it's a matter of doing it quietly no public proclamation, leave the baiting to me. Will you give it a trial? It's your credit if we hook our fish, and it costs but a night-watch."
The sergeant stared, already sniffing at the hope of praise and promotion, but cautious still. "What is it you have in mind?"
"Say you had done this thing, there between blind walls, and then suddenly heard that an old man slept above every night of the year, and may have been there when you struck. And say you were told that this old beggar has not yet been questioned but tomorrow he will be..."
"Brother," said the sergeant, "I am with you. I am listening."
There were two things to be done, after that, if the spring was to succeed, and imperil no one but the guilty. No need to worry, as yet, about getting permission to be absent in the night, or, failing that, making his own practised but deprecated way out without permission. Though he had confidence in Abbot Radulfus, who had, before now, shown confidence in him. Justice is a permitted passion, the just respect it. Meantime, Cadfael went up to Saint Mary's churchyard, and sought out the venerable beggar who sat beside the west door, in his privileged and honoured place. Rhodri the Less for his father had been Rhodri, too, and a respected beggar like his son knew the footstep, and turned up a wrinkled and pock-marked face, brown as the soil, smiling.
"Brother Cadfael, well met, and what's the news with you?"
Cadfael sat down beside him, and took his time. "You'll have heard of this bad business that was done right under your bedchamber, yesterday evening. Were you there, last night?"
"Not when this befell," said the old man, scratching his white poll thoughtfully, "and can find no one who was down there at that time, either. Last night I begged late, it was a mild evening. Vespers was over and gone here before I went home."
"No matter," said Cadfael. "Now listen, friend, for I'm borrowing your nest tonight, and you'll be a guest elsewhere, if you'll be my helper..."
"For a Welshman," said the old man comfortably, "whatever he asks. You need only tell me." But when it was told, he shook his head firmly. "There's an inner loft. In the worst of the winter I move
"Right under the clothier's cart-yard. The walls are ten feet high, and the passage narrow. Never a place from which the lane can be overlooked. No chance in the world of an eye witness. He chose his place well."
"Ah, but there is one place, then, from which a man might have watched the deed," said Cadfael, enlightened. "The loft above that cart-house and barn has a hatch higher than the wall, and close to it. And Roger Clothier lets Rhodri Fychan sleep up there the old Welshman who begs at Saint Mary's church. By that time of the evening he may have been up in the hay already, and on a fine evening he'd be sitting by the open hatch. And even if he had not come home at that time, who's to be sure of that? It's enough that he could have been there.
He had been right about the sergeant; the man was an incomer, not yet acquainted with the half of what went on in Shrewsbury. He had not known Madog of the Dead-Boat, he did not know Rhodri Fychan. Pure chance had cast this particular affair into the hands of such a man, and perhaps no ill chance, either.
"You have given me a notion," said Cadfael, "that may bring us nearer the truth yet. Not that I'd let the old man run any risk, but no need for that. Listen, there's a baited trap we might try, if you're agreeable. If it succeeds you may have your man. If it fails, we shall have lost nothing. But it's a matter of doing it quietly no public proclamation, leave the baiting to me. Will you give it a trial? It's your credit if we hook our fish, and it costs but a night-watch."
The sergeant stared, already sniffing at the hope of praise and promotion, but cautious still. "What is it you have in mind?"
"Say you had done this thing, there between blind walls, and then suddenly heard that an old man slept above every night of the year, and may have been there when you struck. And say you were told that this old beggar has not yet been questioned but tomorrow he will be..."
"Brother," said the sergeant, "I am with you. I am listening."
There were two things to be done, after that, if the spring was to succeed, and imperil no one but the guilty. No need to worry, as yet, about getting permission to be absent in the night, or, failing that, making his own practised but deprecated way out without permission. Though he had confidence in Abbot Radulfus, who had, before now, shown confidence in him. Justice is a permitted passion, the just respect it. Meantime, Cadfael went up to Saint Mary's churchyard, and sought out the venerable beggar who sat beside the west door, in his privileged and honoured place. Rhodri the Less for his father had been Rhodri, too, and a respected beggar like his son knew the footstep, and turned up a wrinkled and pock-marked face, brown as the soil, smiling.
"Brother Cadfael, well met, and what's the news with you?"
Cadfael sat down beside him, and took his time. "You'll have heard of this bad business that was done right under your bedchamber, yesterday evening. Were you there, last night?"
"Not when this befell," said the old man, scratching his white poll thoughtfully, "and can find no one who was down there at that time, either. Last night I begged late, it was a mild evening. Vespers was over and gone here before I went home."
"No matter," said Cadfael. "Now listen, friend, for I'm borrowing your nest tonight, and you'll be a guest elsewhere, if you'll be my helper..."
"For a Welshman," said the old man comfortably, "whatever he asks. You need only tell me." But when it was told, he shook his head firmly. "There's an inner loft. In the worst of the winter I move
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