enough seeing Master Radbeche's, but someone came at me in the dark, and then I saw some of my own.'
'So, what happened?' asked Bartholomew, cradling the student's head so that he could sip some water. 'Did you see who attacked you?'
John shook his head, his face suddenly fearful. 'But I think it was Father Andrew. I think he killed Master Radbeche!'
'Startat the beginning,' said Bartholomew, not wan ting his jumble of facts to become more confused by John's wild speculations. 'Tell me exactly what happened.'
'I went out at sunset with Father Andrew to buy bread, although Master Radbeche had gone away for the night, i and I was surprised that Father Andrew would leave the | others unsupervised. Anyway, Father Andrew met Father William from Michaelhouse, and they started to argue, so he told me to buy the bread on my own.'
If Radbeche was supposed to be away, thought Bartholomew, what was he doing lying dead in the kitchen?^ John sipped some more water before resuming. 'It was] the first time I had been allowed out alone for so longl and so I determined to make the most of it. I met some П friends and it was dark by the time I returned. There was› a crowd of people outside the hostel, throwing stones and j insults up at the windows and two people were stealing I the door. I knew the others must have gone out, because | they would never have allowed the hostel to come under attack like that without retaliating had they been in. I hid in the shadows of the runnel opposite, and watched.'
He paused again. 'After a while, Father Andrew, approached. He addressed the people confidently as though he had done so many times before. The leaders of the mob just led them away, like children. I was about to run into the hostel after Father Andrew, when I thought; about what he had done: he had given the rioters orders and they had obeyed without question. His voice was different. I am not sure 'He no longer sounded Scottish?' asked Bartholomew.
'Yes!' exclaimed John. 'That was what was different!!
His voice was his own, but he sounded like a someonej from here. I always thought his accent was not from Stirling.'
'Then what?' asked Bartholomew gently, helping the student to sit up.
John took a shuddering breath. 'After talking to the mob, Father Andrew went inside David's, but left again moments later. I came in and found… Master Radbeche. dead with… As I stood looking at him I felt a pain in my chest and I looked down and saw…' He shuddered and Bartholomew was afraid he might faint again. He eased the student back against the wall and gave him more water.
After a few moments, John began to speak again. 'I fainted and when I came round Alistair Ruthven was with me. He had been with me all night — he could not get out because of the rioters, although I tried to persuade him to leave in case Father Andrew came back. He had escaped by hiding upstairs.'
'But you did not see Father Andrew kill Radbeche,' said Bartholomew, 'or who attacked you.'
'No, but Father Andrew went into the hostel and then came out again. It must have been him!'
Bartholomew shook his head. 'That cannot be possible.
You said Father Andrew came from elsewhere when he addressed the mob, and you had noticed that the hostel seemed abandoned. Radbeche must already have been dead when Father Andrew entered.'
'Then why did he not cry for help when he found Master Radbeche dead?' asked John, regarding Bartholomew with his dark, solemn eyes.
'I did not say that he is not involved, only that he probably did not kill Radbeche while you watched from outside,' said Bartholomew. He sat back and thought.
Andrew had met Father William at sunset. William could well have confronted him about the fact that he knew Andrew was not whom he claimed to be, and so Andrew must have realised that he had to complete whatever business he was involved in quickly. Meanwhile, the Scottish stuotents had probably escaped the hostels as soon as Andrew had left them unchaperoned, taking! quick advantage of their sudden chance of freedom, and Radbeche had arrived back to find the hostel deserted.
So, either Andrew had killed Radbeche, left and come back again to be seen by John, or another person had done the slaying.
'Perhaps it was Norbert.' Bartholomew spoke aloud without intending to.
'Norbert?' said John, looking at him in confusion. 'You', think Norbert might have killed him?' 1 'Do you know Norbert?' asked Bartholomew in astonJ ishment.
'Well, yes,' said John. 'Not well, of course, him being a! servant and newly arrived. But I know him. I cannot say I like him, though — he is surly and rude. And he smells.'
'What does he look like?' asked Bartholomew, won! dering whether he would be able to recognise Norbert from a description twenty-five years after their last meeting.
'He is always dirty,' said John, 'and he wears a piece? of cloth swathed around his head. We always say he looks like a Saracen, especially because his face is nearly always black with dirt. He usually wears lots of clothes, even in the heat, bundled round him in the way that beggars do in winter. Father Andrew brought him here about a weekj ago to work in the kitchens. He told us he was a mute and that we should leave him be.'
'How old?' said Bartholomew, feeling excitement ris, ing.
'Perhaps sixteen or seventeen,' came the disappointing? answer. 'It was hard to tell with all that dirt. Master Radbeche said if he were to stay, he had to wash, but Father Andrew begged for him to be left alone.'
'I bet he did,' said Bartholomew, a sudden flash of inspiration coming to him. 'Tell me, John, did you ever see James Kenzie's lover, Dominica?'
'No,' said John, his face clouding. 'But he talked about her: fair hair, blue-green eyes.'
'And what were Norbert's eyes like?' asked Bartholomew.
John looked at him with a slack mouth. 'Blue-green,' he said. 'Startling — the only nice thing about him. But surely you cannot believe…' He was silent for a moment, plucking at the edges of his bandage. 'There is probably something you should know.'
'What?' asked Bartholomew warily, sensing he was about to be told something of which he would not approve.
John shot him a guilty glance. 'I did not consider it important before, and anyway, Father Andrew ordered me not to tell.'
'Tell what?' said Bartholomew, spirits sinking.
'A couple of weeks ago, Father Andrew told me that if I were to borrow Jamie's ring, which he said was one of a pair of lovers' rings, he would pray over it that the relationship between Jamie and Dominica would finish.
I liked Jamie, and agreed with Father Andrew that he would be better not seeing Dominica any more.'
'And he said that praying over the ring would cause this relationship to end?' asked Bartholomew, surprised. 'How peculiar! It is almost as bad as consulting the stars!'
John looked at him oddly before continuing. 'I borrowed Jamie's ring when he took it off to clean out some drains. Father Andrew kept it for several days and poor Jamie nearly went mad searching for it. When he eventually returned it, I lied and told Jamie I had found it between the floorboards because Father Andrew hadj made me promise not to tell him what we had donei He said it was for Jamie's own good that he should not know.'
Bartholomew groaned. 'I wish you had told us this a week ago, John,' he said. 'It would have helped us more than you can possibly imagine.'
John's face crumpled with remorse. 'I am sorry! I did-not see how it could be important, and I had promised Father Andrew that I would not tell. It is only now, when Father Andrew seems to have been pretending; to be something he is not, that I feel free to break my promise.'
'When I last visited David's, Father Andrew said that he did not know Jamie had a lover, and that he certainly did not know it was Dominica.'
'Then he was not telling you the truth. He knew all about Dominica, although I do not know who told him — it was not me.'
'Why did you not tell me that Father Andrew was lying at the time?'
'I did not hear him make any such claim to you. I was! cleaning the yard on Monday and only heard the last? part of your conversation, while the first time you came* I was with my sick brother upstairs. Believe me, I would have exposed him as a liar had I heard him say he knew; nothing about Jamie's romance!'
'Did you tell anyone else about this peculiar plan to? pray over the ring?' — f 'No. Father Andrew ordered me not to. I did not even,! tell Robert, my brother. He would not have approved! of my stealing from Jamie anyway,
