The House of the Red Slayer

the keys and unlocked the door.’ The lieutenant gestured towards the bed. ‘We found Sir Ralph as you did.’
    ‘And the shutters were open?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How long has the moat been frozen solid?’ Athelstan queried.
    ‘About three days.’ Colebrooke rubbed his hands together vigorously. ‘Surely, Sir John, we need not stay here?’ he pleaded. ‘There are warmer places to ask such questions.’
    Cranston stood and stretched.
    ‘In a little while,’ he murmured. ‘How long had Sir Ralph been constable?’
    ‘Oh, about four years.’
    ‘Did you like him?’
    ‘No, I did not. He was a martinet, a stickler for discipline — except where his daughter or her lover were concerned.’
    Cranston nodded and went back to look at the corpse. ‘I suppose,’ he muttered, ‘there’s no sign of any murder weapon? Perhaps, Athelstan, you could check again?’
    The friar groaned, but with Colebrooke’s help carried out a quick survey of the room, raking back the rushes with their feet, sifting amongst the cold ash in the fireplace.
    ‘Nothing,’ Colebrooke declared. ‘It would be hard to hide a pin here.‘
    Athelstan went across and pulled the sword from Sir Ralph’s sword belt. ‘There are no blood stains here,’ he commented. ‘Not a jot, not a speck. Sir John, we should go.’
    Outside, they stopped to examine a stain on the passage floor but it was only oil. They were halfway down the stairs when Athelstan suddenly pulled the lieutenant back. ‘The two guards?’ he whispered. ‘They are the same sentries as last night?’
    ‘Yes. Professional mercenaries who served Sir Ralph when he was in the household of His Grace the Regent.‘ ‘They would be loyal?’
    Colebrooke made a face. ‘I should think so. They took a personal oath. More importantly, Sir Ralph had doubled their wages. They had nothing to gain from his death and a great deal to lose.’
    ‘Do you have anything to gain?’ Cranston asked thickly. Colebrooke’s hand fell to his dagger hilt. ‘Sir John, I resent that though I confess I did not like Whitton, notwithstanding His Grace the Regent did.’
    ‘Did you want Whitton’s post?’
    ‘Of course. I believe I am the better man.’
    ‘But the Regent disagreed?’
    ‘John of Gaunt kept his own private counsel,’ Colebrooke sourly observed. ‘Though I hope he will now appoint me as Whitton’s successor.’
    ‘Why?’ Athelstan asked sofdy.
    Colebrooke looked surprised. ‘I am loyal, and if trouble comes, I shall hold the Tower to my dying breath!‘
    Cranston grinned and tapped him gently on the chest. ‘Now, my good lieutenant, you have it We think the same on this. Sir Ralph’s death may be linked to the conspiracies which flourish like weeds in the villages and hamlets around London.’
    Colebrooke nodded.‘ Whitton was a hard taskmaster,’ he replied, ‘and the Great Community’s paid assassin would have found such a task fairly easy to accomplish.’
    Athelstan too smiled and patted Colebrooke on the shoulder. ‘You may be right, Master Colebrooke, but there is only one thing wrong with such a theory.‘
    The lieutenant gazed dumbly back.
    ‘Can’t you see?’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Someone in the Tower must have told such an assassin where, when and how Sir Ralph could be found!‘
    A now crestfallen lieutenant led them down the stairs. The two burly, thick-set guards still squatted with hands outstretched towards the fiery red brazier. They hardly moved as Colebrooke approached and Athelstan sensed their disdain for a junior officer suddenly thrust into authority.
    ‘You were on guard last night?’
    The soldiers nodded.
    ‘You saw nothing untoward?’
    Again the nods, accompanied by supercilious smiles as if they found Athelstan slightly amusing and rather boring.
    ‘Stand up!’ Cranston roared. ‘Stand up. You whorebegotten sons of bitches! By the sod, I’ve had better men tied to trees and whipped till their backs were red!‘
    The two soldiers jumped up at the steely menace in Cranston’s voice.
    ‘That’s better,’ the coroner purred. ‘Now, my buckos, answer my clerk’s questions properly and all will be well.’ He grasped one by the shoulder. ‘Otherwise, I may put it about that in the dead of night you killed your master.’
    ‘That’s not true!’ the fellow grated. ‘We were loyal to Sir Ralph. We saw nothing, knew nothing, until the popinjay the guard shrugged ‘-the constable’s prospective son-in-law, comes