asked.
‘Oh yes, but the door’s like that at the front, hard as oak. We would have needed a siege machine from the Tower to break them both down.’
Cranston could stand it no longer but helped himself to a quick mouthful of claret from his wineskin. He offered it to Athelstan who just shook his head.
‘So, we break in. Master Philip climbs on Master James’s shoulders. He uses a knife and prises open the shutters. Behind them is one of those small gate windows. He breaks the glass and lifts the handle.’
‘You are sure of that?’ Athelstan interrupted.
‘Of course I am,’ Flaxwith replied. ‘You could see it yourself, the wood’s all broken, the bars scored. Indeed, it looks as if it hasn’t been opened for years. In gets Master Stablegate. He unbolts the front door, turns the lock and we enter the house.’
‘How was it?’ Cranston asked.
‘Dark as night. Smelly and musty. No candles, no torchlight.’ Flaxwith’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘Quiet as a tomb, Sir John, it was.’
‘Go on!’ Cranston barked.
‘Well, all the rooms were empty. Just like this one.’
Athelstan broke from his reverie and stared round. He thought of the verse from the Gospels:
What does it profit a man to gain the whole world if he suffers the loss of his immortal soul?
Drayton, though one of the city’s principal moneylenders, must have also been a miser. The chamber was shabby, with only a few sticks of furniture, whilst the rushes on the floor looked as if they hadn’t been changed for years. The walls were greasy, the whitewash blotchy and peeling. Athelstan was sure he’d heard the squeak of rats along the passageway.
‘Am I going too fast?’ Flaxwith asked.
Cranston just smiled.
‘We reached the strongroom,’ the bailiff gabbled on. ‘We knocked and we knocked, fair to raise the dead. There was no sound.’
‘You checked the upstairs chambers?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Oh yes, nothing, so we knew Master Drayton must be in his counting house. Now you’ve seen the door, Sir John, heavy oak, steel hinges, embossed with steel bolts on the outside. By now I was afeared. I went out to the street. I paid a penny to four dung-collectors to come in. We found a chopping block in the garden and used that to smash the door down.’
‘That would be impossible,’ Athelstan asked, ‘if you say the door was as heavy as it was?’
‘You are right, Father,’ Flaxwith replied. ‘But one of the dung-collectors had served as a soldier, knocking down doors in France. He told us to concentrate on the hinges, so we did. Fair smashed them loose and the door gave way. Inside we found Drayton on the floor. We haven’t moved the corpse, a crossbow bolt deep in his chest and the silver’s gone.’
‘How much silver?’
‘According to the ledger, at least five thousand good pounds sterling.’
Cranston whistled through his teeth. ‘Good Lord, what else have you learnt?’
‘Well, the two clerks, Stablegate and Flinstead, left the house, as they always did, just before Vespers last night. Once they had gone, Master Drayton locked and bolted the doors: that was well known, Sir John, he let no one in and no one ever came out.’
Athelstan rose and played with the wooden cross hanging on a cord round his neck.
‘So, Master Flaxwith.’ He smiled at the bailiff. ‘According to you, here is a man who bolted and locked himself in his treasure house but he never went out and would allow no one in. In the morning the doors and windows are still bolted and shuttered. Downstairs the strongroom is still locked and secure but, inside, our moneylender is dead and his silver gone.’
‘In a word, yes.’
‘And there are no secret entrances, passageways or postern gates?’
‘None whatsoever, Father. You’ve seen the house, it’s built of stone, one of the few houses round here that are: that’s why Drayton bought it.’
‘And the strongroom?’
‘See for yourself, Father,’ Flaxwith retorted. ‘It’s a
‘Oh yes, but the door’s like that at the front, hard as oak. We would have needed a siege machine from the Tower to break them both down.’
Cranston could stand it no longer but helped himself to a quick mouthful of claret from his wineskin. He offered it to Athelstan who just shook his head.
‘So, we break in. Master Philip climbs on Master James’s shoulders. He uses a knife and prises open the shutters. Behind them is one of those small gate windows. He breaks the glass and lifts the handle.’
‘You are sure of that?’ Athelstan interrupted.
‘Of course I am,’ Flaxwith replied. ‘You could see it yourself, the wood’s all broken, the bars scored. Indeed, it looks as if it hasn’t been opened for years. In gets Master Stablegate. He unbolts the front door, turns the lock and we enter the house.’
‘How was it?’ Cranston asked.
‘Dark as night. Smelly and musty. No candles, no torchlight.’ Flaxwith’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘Quiet as a tomb, Sir John, it was.’
‘Go on!’ Cranston barked.
‘Well, all the rooms were empty. Just like this one.’
Athelstan broke from his reverie and stared round. He thought of the verse from the Gospels:
What does it profit a man to gain the whole world if he suffers the loss of his immortal soul?
Drayton, though one of the city’s principal moneylenders, must have also been a miser. The chamber was shabby, with only a few sticks of furniture, whilst the rushes on the floor looked as if they hadn’t been changed for years. The walls were greasy, the whitewash blotchy and peeling. Athelstan was sure he’d heard the squeak of rats along the passageway.
‘Am I going too fast?’ Flaxwith asked.
Cranston just smiled.
‘We reached the strongroom,’ the bailiff gabbled on. ‘We knocked and we knocked, fair to raise the dead. There was no sound.’
‘You checked the upstairs chambers?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Oh yes, nothing, so we knew Master Drayton must be in his counting house. Now you’ve seen the door, Sir John, heavy oak, steel hinges, embossed with steel bolts on the outside. By now I was afeared. I went out to the street. I paid a penny to four dung-collectors to come in. We found a chopping block in the garden and used that to smash the door down.’
‘That would be impossible,’ Athelstan asked, ‘if you say the door was as heavy as it was?’
‘You are right, Father,’ Flaxwith replied. ‘But one of the dung-collectors had served as a soldier, knocking down doors in France. He told us to concentrate on the hinges, so we did. Fair smashed them loose and the door gave way. Inside we found Drayton on the floor. We haven’t moved the corpse, a crossbow bolt deep in his chest and the silver’s gone.’
‘How much silver?’
‘According to the ledger, at least five thousand good pounds sterling.’
Cranston whistled through his teeth. ‘Good Lord, what else have you learnt?’
‘Well, the two clerks, Stablegate and Flinstead, left the house, as they always did, just before Vespers last night. Once they had gone, Master Drayton locked and bolted the doors: that was well known, Sir John, he let no one in and no one ever came out.’
Athelstan rose and played with the wooden cross hanging on a cord round his neck.
‘So, Master Flaxwith.’ He smiled at the bailiff. ‘According to you, here is a man who bolted and locked himself in his treasure house but he never went out and would allow no one in. In the morning the doors and windows are still bolted and shuttered. Downstairs the strongroom is still locked and secure but, inside, our moneylender is dead and his silver gone.’
‘In a word, yes.’
‘And there are no secret entrances, passageways or postern gates?’
‘None whatsoever, Father. You’ve seen the house, it’s built of stone, one of the few houses round here that are: that’s why Drayton bought it.’
‘And the strongroom?’
‘See for yourself, Father,’ Flaxwith retorted. ‘It’s a
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