'Yes, times change,' an exasperated Croft agreed. 'It's no longer necessary, but it's a fine tradition. And a fine philosophy of neighbor helping neighbor. I believe in that.'
'No one says you don't, Matt,' said Peter, stepping forward. 'And I can't think you have to justify yourself or your actions, especially from years ago.'
'He does, Mr Morrow,' Gamache broke in just as Beauvoir handed him a note. 'Jane Neal was probably killed by a hunter trespassing on Mr Hadley's property. Anyone with a history of this needs to explain.' Gamache glanced at the note. In block letters Beauvoir had printed, 'Philippe Croft threw manure. Son?' Gamache folded the note and put it in his pocket.
'Do you still hunt where you choose, Mr Croft?'
'No, sir, I don't.'
'Why not?'
'Because I respected Miss Neal, and because I finally heard what people have been telling me for years and years. And I agreed. In fact I don't hunt at all anymore, anywhere.'
'Do you own a bow-hunting set?'
'Yes sir, I do.'
Gamache looked around the room, 'I'd like everyone here who owns a bow hunting set, even if you haven't used it in years, to give your name and address to Inspector Beauvoir here.'
'Just hunting?' Peter asked.
'Why? What do you have in mind?'
'The bows and arrows for recreational archery are called recurve and are different to the hunters' equipment. Those are compound.'
'But they would bring the same results, if used against a person?'
'I think so.' Peter turned to Ben who thought for an instant.
'Yes,' said Ben. 'Though the arrows are different. You'd have to be amazingly lucky, or unlucky, I guess, to kill with a target-shooting arrow.'
'Why?'
'Well, a target-shooting arrow has a very small head, not unlike the tip of a bullet. But a hunter's arrow, well, that's different. I've never shot one, but Matt, you have.'
'A hunter's arrow has four, sometimes five razors at the end, tapering into a tip.'
Beauvoir had set up the easel with paper near the altar. Gamache went to it and quickly drew a big black circle, with four lines radiating from it, a duplicate of the one Beauvoir had drawn at lunch the day before.
'Would it produce a wound like that?'
Matthew Croft walked forward a bit, appearing to drag the gathering with him as everyone swayed forward in their seats.
'Exactly like that.'
Gamache and Beauvoir locked eyes. They had at least part of their answer.
'So,' said Gamache almost to himself, 'this would have to have been done by a hunting arrow.'
Matthew Croft wasn't sure if Gamache was speaking to him, but he answered anyway, 'Yes, sir. No question.'
'What's a hunting arrow like?'
'It's made of metal, very light and hollow, with wings at the back.'
'And the bow?'
'A hunter's bow is called a compound and it's made from alloys.'
'Alloy?' Gamache asked. 'That's metal of some sort. I thought they were wood.'
'They used to be,' agreed Matthew.
'Some still are,' someone called from the crowd to general laughter.
'They're mocking me, Inspector,' admitted Ben. 'When I set up the archery club it was with old bows and arrows. The traditional recurve sort--'
'Robin Hood,' someone called, again to some chuckles.
'And his merry men,' Gabri chimed in, pleased with his contribution. More quiet chuckles, but Gabri didn't hear them, he was concentrating on getting Olivier's vice-like grip off his leg.
'It's true,' continued Ben. 'When Peter and I started the club we had a fascination with Robin Hood, and cowboys and Indians. We used to dress up.' Beside him, Peter groaned and Clara snorted at the long-forgotten memory of these two friends stalking the forests, in green tights and ski toques doubling as medieval caps. They were in their mid-twenties at the time. Clara also knew that sometimes, when they thought no one was watching, Peter and Ben still did it.
'So we only used wooden recurve bows and wooden arrows,' said Ben.
'What do you use now, Mr Hadley?'
'The same bows and arrows. Saw no reason to change. We only use it for target shooting out behind the
