He appeared to consider the likelihood of this for a moment, then folded his arms as if to underline his distrust of me.
‘Where did you get the key?’
‘It was the set Doctor Mercer had with him. When the coroner arrived, I came here to see how I might help.’
‘Hm.’ Slythurst stepped forward and made a perfunctory assessment of the papers scattered across the desk. ‘I am here, by the way, to make an inventory of personal effects to be returned to the family,’ he added, not looking at me.
It was clear that he was lying, particularly since, as an official of the college, he was not obliged to explain his business to me. I rose and faced him, taking care not to let the book slip out from under my shirt; he turned, arms still folded, and we squared up to each other, each knowing the other had an unspoken intent but not quite daring to make an outright challenge. I wondered briefly if we might both be searching for the same thing, before remembering that I did not know what I was searching for, only whatever might help to explain Mercer’s presence in the garden. But were Slythurst and whoever had turned over the room before I arrived looking for the same item? I studied his pale, almost hairless face with distaste as he glared back at me with equal contempt. Could he have been the original ransacker of the room, disturbed in his first attempt and now returned to pick up where he left off? I doubted it; I had seen his expression when he first opened the door and the chaos had shocked him as much as it had me, I was sure. So more than one person believed that something they wanted was hidden in the dead man’s room.
‘What is that?’ Slythurst eventually broke the silence by pointing to the chest at my feet.
‘I believe it is Doctor Mercer’s strongbox.’
‘And what were you doing with it?’ His words were as pointed as if he had etched them on glass.
‘It was inside the wardrobe. I thought it might contain items of clothing, so I lifted it out to take a look.’
Once again he gave me a look from under his eyelids such as you might give a market-place urchin who tries to steal your bread.
‘You are covered in gore, Doctor Bruno,’ he remarked, his eyes flicking back to the desk.
‘Yes, I tried to help a man who was bleeding to death,’ I replied quietly.
‘You simply cannot be helpful enough, can you?’ He strode across to the doorway of the small bedchamber and glanced past me. ‘Have you been up the staircase?’ he asked, gesturing brusquely to the small inner door.
‘That door is locked,’ I said.
‘Locked?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Curious.’
He crossed to the door and tried it himself, as if to prove that he would not accept my word on anything. There was another uncomfortable silence; I knew he was waiting for me to leave and I was reluctant to abandon the room in case whatever he and the other searcher wanted was still there to be found. But I could not plausibly prolong my presence there, so I gave a terse bow.
‘Well, I will leave you to your sad task, Master Slythurst.’
He only nodded, but as I reached the door, he called,
‘Doctor Bruno – have you not forgotten something?’
I thought for a moment he meant the keys, and was expecting me to hand them over to him. I looked at him, uncomprehending, as a smile of satisfaction cut across his face.
‘The clothes? To dress the body?’
‘Of course.’ Hastily I ran back to the wardrobe and gathered an armful of garments without stopping to look at them, aware that my pitiful lie had now collapsed entirely.
‘I’m sure the rector will be most grateful for your assistance,’ Slythurst said pleasantly, holding the door open for me as I struggled out with the unwanted clothes. As I passed, he hissed, ‘I shall be watching you, Bruno.’
I offered him my most charming smile in return as I passed through. Moments later I heard the sound of a key turning smoothly in the lock.
Returning to the courtyard I caught sight of Gabriel Norris, now more soberly dressed in a suit of black and a plain gown, which made his good looks stand out all the more. He stood at the entrance to the west range stairway on the other side of the tower and appeared to be regaling a group of fellow students with tales of his heroism; one hand was held out flat at chest height, a vastly exaggerated account of the dog’s size, and I could not help smiling to myself at the bravado of the young. He spotted me and broke off mid-sentence, looking with some suspicion at the bundle of Mercer’s clothes in my arms and then at the entrance from which I had just emerged.
‘What, has the looting begun already, Doctor Bruno?’ he called, a little too jovially.
‘I am assisting the rector,’ I repeated, since it seemed this defence could not be contradicted.
‘Ah.’ He nodded and, leaving his friends, sauntered over to me. At close quarters I noticed that he seemed older than the boys who now stood waiting for him; I would have guessed his age at twenty-five or more. ‘That was a bit of excitement we had this morning, was it not?’
‘I’m not sure that’s the word I would use.’
‘No – no, of course.’ He assumed a solemn expression. ‘I meant only – Oxford life is usually so uneventful, and now we have a royal visitation and a tragedy all at once, we hardly know which to talk about first.’
‘You were very level-headed this morning,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I would have had such a steady arm in the heat of the moment. It is lucky you are a good shot.’
Norris inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment.
‘My father taught me to hunt as a boy,’ he said. ‘I only wish I could have been quick enough to save Doctor Mercer.’ He rubbed the back of his hand across his brow; I suspected that, under all his swaggering, the experience had shaken him profoundly.
‘Did you know him well?’ I asked.
‘He has been my tutor since Doctor Allen was deprived last year.’ A strange expression crossed his face, as if he were struggling to master some emotion. ‘We were close, I suppose. I respected him, in any case.’
‘That was a hunting dog that killed him, was it not?’ I said.
‘Irish wolfhound. Very efficient hunters – always go straight in to break the neck, you know,’ he said in a brisker tone, pleased to display his knowledge. Then he frowned. ‘But it is usually a gentle dog, too – people keep them as pets. They’re not so unpredictable in temperament as, say, a mastiff – they rarely attack unless they have been trained to do so.’
‘It was starving, though – did you not see the scrawny state of it?’
He nodded slowly.
‘Must have been a stray – I suppose if it was desperate for meat it would savage the first living creature it found.’
‘Is it not unusual that a stray wolfhound should be roaming the streets of Oxford at night?’ I asked.
He looked at me curiously, as if he found my questions odd, but shrugged.
‘There is hunting in the royal forest of Shotover, to the east of the city – you can hire dogs from the keeper there for a day’s hunt. Some of the commoners go from time to time when we have permission. Perhaps one of their dogs got loose and wandered into the city.’ He sounded as if he had lost interest in the subject, and looked around to check that his group of admirers was still waiting. ‘Well, Doctor Bruno – I must collect my books and get along to lectures. I hope this morning’s adventure will not mar your stay in Oxford too badly.’ He bowed briefly and made to enter the staircase.
‘You