The Leper's Return by Michael Jecks Page A

his bruised skull—“and down I went. Next thing I know, I’m in here, lying on my palliasse.”
    “Was there anyone in the room in front of you when you entered? Obviously someone was behind you, but did you see anyone near the window?”
    “I ran straight for the hall. As you can see, I had to turn into the screens passage from here, facing the door to the garden, and turn right into the hall itself.”
    “So what did you see?” Baldwin asked impatiently.
    “Sir, as I ran through the passage, I had a clear view of the yard beyond. John of Irelaunde was out there.”
    “You saw someone out there?” Tanner scoffed, returning with more candles and setting them on barrels. “From how far? Across a darkened courtyard, and at night too? Your brains are addled, man!”
    “I know what I saw.”
    Baldwin studied his obstinate face. “I wonder. How can you be so sure it was him?”
    “I know John well enough. He hurt his ankle recently, and this man was limping a bit, but for another, there was light in the yard. The master was nervous about the men from Coffyn’s place, like I said, and had a torch burning so no one could get at the horses or equipment without being seen.”
    “You are seriously suggesting that a weak little fool like John could kill your master?” Baldwin asked, and picked up his cup once more.
    Putthe could see that he wasn’t convinced. The knight settled back in his chair, peering at him over the top of his drink with a magisterial air. He looked like a benign cleric giving absolution for a minor sin. Shaking his head, Putthe knew he would have to provide the last clue. “Sir, you don’t understand: John of Irelaunde was known to my master.”
    “Speak plainly—I am no mindreader.”
    “My master found John crossing the garden—his garden. He thought John was using it as a covered shortcut through to somewhere else.”
    Now Putthe could see he had the knight’s attention. Baldwin slowly set the cup down again and leaned forward with both elbows on his knees. “Why should he pass through here to another garden?”
    “There are rumors about the man’s liking for women—especially those who are young and bored,” Putthe said, looking away.
    “You mean Martha Coffyn?”
    The servant nodded. “That’s what I think. That’s what my master told me.”
    “I too have heard this,” Baldwin murmured, and shook his head. “Why should he come in here and beat you, your mistress and your master? The fact of his adultery is no reason to murder. But you may not be aware of the other thing—did you notice the sideboard tonight?”
    Putthe threw him a glance of blank incomprehension. “The sideboard? What do I care about that?”
    “Putthe, the sideboard looks empty to me,” Baldwin explained. “Could you tell me what should be displayed, so that I can verify what is left there.”
    The bottler grimaced in concentration. He recalled: “On the top shelf there was a pair of silver plates and a drinking horn; on the next was a row of six pewter plates and a silver salt-cellar, shaped like a swan; on the next was another row of six plates, but there were two large flagons as well…and on the last shelf was a row of eight smaller plates.”
    “And you are quite sure of that?”
    “Of course I am!”
    “Much of it has gone, Putthe.”
    “What?” The injured man started up from his recumbent position, winced, grabbed at his forehead and slowly eased himself back. “That just proves it, then! It was that miserable Irish bastard. He knocked us out to steal all the stuff, and now he’s got clean away!”
    “Before we assume anything like that, do you know of anyone else who might have wanted to kill your master?”
    “No,” said Putthe with conviction. “My master was a quiet man. He only ever helped other people. You speak to anyone, they’ll all tell you about Master Godfrey of London.”
    “Yet you say John did hate your master enough to kill him.”
    “And you are certain it was