Assassin in the Greenwood

skull-faced under a mop of tousled black hair, was rather obese with an unkempt moustache and beard to hide his hare lip.
    'Let us make ourselves comfortable,' Branwood suggested.
    Benches and stools were moved into a horseshoe pattern, everyone self-consciously taking their seats as Sir Peter once again introduced Corbett.
    'Sir Peter,' he began briskly, trying to dispel the tension, 'tell me once again what happened on the night Sir Eustace died.'
    'We all gathered here. The food was rancid as usual. The cook said it was roast pork but it was wet, soggy and tasted of salt.'
    This drew a snigger from his companions.
    'Some of us drank ale, others wine.' Sir Peter stroked his chin, trying to remember. 'There was a dish of vegetables and some marchpane.'
    'And nothing happened at the meal?' asked Corbett.
    'Those who were hungry ate, then as usual we sat about talking.'
    'Sir Eustace included?' 'Yes.'
    'For how long?'
    Corbett studied the faces of the rest of Branwood's household; from their expressions he deduced the sheriff was telling the truth.
    'Oh, about an hour and a half, then we went to bed.'
    'And what happened next?'
    'I was up early the next morning. As I have explained, I had been unwell all night,' Branwood continued. 'I attended mass and came down here to break my fast. I expected Sir Eustace to be here. When he wasn't, I went up to his chamber and asked the two guards if he had risen.'
    They shook their heads as if anticipating Corbett's question.
    'We never hears anything,' one of them replied in a thick country accent. 'We hears nothing so Sir Peter bangs on the door.'
    'And then what?'
    Lecroix pulled himself out of his reverie. 'I woke up,' he muttered. 'You see, sir, I am a heavy sleeper.'
    'More like a heavy drinker!' snapped Maigret.
    'I had drunk deeply,' Lecroix cried, 'but I was tired!'
    Corbett watched him carefully. He noticed the man's flickering eyes, the drool of saliva down his tangled beard. This man is not full in his wits, he thought, the mind of a child in the body of a man.
    'Master Lecroix,' he said softly, 'no one is accusing you. Just tell me what happened.'
    'I was asleep on the trestle bed on the other side of the chamber. I always sleep there. Sir Peter's loud knocking woke me up and made my head even more sore. I went across to Sir Eustace's bed to pull back the heavy drapes. He was just lying there.' Lecroix's lower lip began to tremble and his eyes filled with tears.
    'Continue,' Corbett said quietly.
    'I knew there was something wrong. My master's body was twisted, his face turned to one side and his mouth open. His eyes were staring. They reminded me of a dog I had seen crushed by a cart.' Lecroix put his head in his hands. 'Sir Peter was still knocking and my head was hurting so I went and unlocked the door.'
    'And you went in, Sir Peter?' Corbett asked.
    'We all did,' the sheriff explained. 'I sent one of the guards here down to the hall. Naylor, Roteboeuf, and of course Physician Maigret joined me.'
    'When I went in,' Maigret explained, 'Lecroix was kneeling by the bed weeping.' He patted the servant on the shoulder. 'He was devoted to his master. One of the bed curtains had been pulled aside and it was as Lecroix has described; Sir Eustace lay sprawled as if he had suffered some dreadful seizure. By the appearance of his skin, his eyes and mouth, I immediately concluded he was poisoned.'
    Corbett got to his feet and shook his head in disbelief.
    'Sirs, let me repeat the obvious. Sir Eustace drank and ate only what you did at supper?'
    'Yes,' Sir Peter replied. 'And, remember, Master Clerk, he insisted on Lecroix, Maigret and I testing everything for him.'
    'Did he eat or drink anything else?'
    'No,' replied Maigret. 'When he left the hall I went up with him to his chamber. Lecroix bore his wine cup for him. Sir Eustace was lost in his own thoughts. He was almost beside himself with fear about your visit, Sir Hugh. He believed the King would hold him personally responsible for the robbery and murder of the tax-collectors. Anyway, I wished him good night, took the wine cup from Lecroix and put it in his hands. Even then Vechey asked me to taste it, so I did.'
    Corbett came back and stood over the manservant. 'Lecroix!' he whispered.
    The servant looked up, his face made even uglier with fear.
    'Inside his bed chamber,' Corbett continued, 'your master drank the wine. Anything else?'
    'Just the sweetmeats,' Lecroix murmured. 'He always kept a small tray there, but I ate