Assassin in the Greenwood

some as well.'
    'Did he drink any water?'
    'No.' Maigret spoke up defensively. 'There's only a bowl of washing water. Both I and Roteboeuf here tested this and examined the napkin on which he dried himself. There was nothing untoward. You can see for yourself, Sir Hugh, they are still there, as are the sweetmeats and what is left of the wine. I insisted that the room be sealed so nothing could be tampered with.'
    'Maigret speaks the truth,' Roteboeuf added. 'I ate some of the sweetmeats. I even examined the water in the bowl.'
    Corbett stared at the mildewed wall and momentarily closed his eyes. Something was wrong here, he thought. How could a man be poisoned in a locked room and yet no one trace the source of the poison which killed him? He sighed heavily.
    'Look.' He held up his hands. 'Sir Eustace died of poisoning. How it was administered and who administered it are a mystery. However, surely he would have suffered spasms, cried out in pain and woken Lecroix?'
    'Not necessarily,' Maigret answered quickly. 'God knows what killed Sir Eustace Vechey but there are poisons, Sir Hugh – white arsenic, henbane, foxglove – which can kill as quickly as an arrow to the heart. Remember, Sir Eustace was not a fit man. He was overweight and his heart was growing weak. He may have taken only a few seconds to die.'
    Ranulf, leaning against the wall, now unfolded his arms and stepped forward.
    'Is it possible,' he asked, 'that Lecroix or anyone else could have changed the wine or water?'
    'No,' Maigret explained. 'I saw to that. In Sir Eustace's chamber the windows are mere arrow slits. I examined them carefully. Nothing had been thrown out, and even if it had, how could it have been replaced? There was no more water or a jug of wine in the room.'
    'So,' Corbett concluded, 'we have Sir Eustace who dines and wines but only what you eat and drink and even then it is first tasted by others. He goes up to his room with half a cup of wine which was apparently untainted. The same applies to a tray of sweetmeats he kept there and the water with which he washed his hands.' He glanced at Lecroix. 'Your master did wash before he retired?'
    The man nodded.
    'So, Sir Eustace retired to his bed, locked in a chamber with the key on the inside?' He stared at Branwood who was watching him carefully.
    'Yes,' Branwood replied. 'Lecroix opened the door. I heard the key turn.'
    'And you, sirs,' Corbett pointed to the soldiers, 'never left your post and no one visited Sir Eustace that night?'
    Both men shook their heads.
    'On the same evening,' Corbett continued, 'you, Sir Peter, returned to the hall for a cup of wine you had left. Now, if our good physician is to be believed, that too had been poisoned. A mere sip of it turned your bowels to water.' Corbett looked at the friar who had been sitting on a stool, hands on his knees, half-dozing. 'Father, I beg your pardon, Where were you when Sir Eustace's corpse was discovered?'
    '1 had gone back to the chapel to clear up after saying mass. Sir Peter sent a servant for me. I went up and did the only thing I could. I anointed the body and blessed it.'
    'You have seen many corpses. Father?'
    The friar's merry eyes met Corbett's.
    Aye, Sir Hugh, more than you have. I served as King's chaplain with the armies on the Scottish march.'
    'And when you saw the corpse and anointed it, would you say that Sir Eustace had been dead for hours or had died shortly before Sir Peter knocked on the door?'
    The friar narrowed his eyes.
    'The corpse was growing stiff,' he replied haltingly. 'Still supple though there was a tightness to the limbs. Sir Eustace retired an hour before midnight. I anointed his poor remains somewhere between eight and nine in the morning.' He stared up at Corbett. 'To give you an honest answer, Sir Hugh, I believe Sir Eustace may well have been dead by midnight.' The friar laughed sourly. 'The witching hour when more souls go to God than at any other time.'
    Corbett scratched his brow, genuinely perplexed as well as tired and weary after his journey. He rubbed his eyes. Nothing, he thought to himself, there is nothing here, not even a loose thread.
    'So,' he breathed, 'we do not know how Sir Eustace died or who killed him?'
    'Oh, yes we do,' Sir Peter spoke up. 'The wolfshead Robin Hood!'
    'How could he?' Corbett retorted. 'Enter a castle at the dead of night and administer a deadly potion to a man already on his guard against him? Why do you say that?'
    Sir Peter dug into his wallet and