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Morrison added as though Colin was daft. “Why would we notice such a thing as that?”
    Colin cast a glare at the elderly monk and I feared the extent of his flagging patience. “The pitcher from the stand in the abbot’s cell is missing,” Colin began again, sliding his attention back to Brother Silsbury once more. “Was it there that morning?”
    â€œIt was in pieces on the floor,” Brother Silsbury said. “Brother Hollings cleared it away. We saw no reason to put another in its stead.”
    â€œOf course. And did you happen to notice whether there were any other signs of a struggle? Did it look like he had fought with his killer?”
    â€œWe are men of God, not combatants.” Brother Morrison saw fit to speak his mind yet again.
    The rigidity with which Colin was holding his body made me wish that I were sitting beside him rather than across the table. There was little I could do to settle him from where I sat, so I stuck my foot out and hoped it was his shin that I connected with. “Men of God . . .” Colin repeated flatly as his eyes shot to mine, assuring me that he had received my warning. “Just the same . . .” He spoke slowly and I could see he was avoiding looking at Brother Morrison at all. “It has been my experience that a person will fight when they believe their life to be threatened. That the pitcher was smashed would appear to suggest—”
    â€œIt looked to me as though it had been knocked to the floor rather than wielded for defense,” Brother Silsbury cut in with noticeable delicacy. “It lay about the foot of the stand as I should think it would had it simply fallen.”
    â€œCurious,” Colin mumbled, his brow furrowing a notch. “Was there nothing else? Bed linens askew . . . ? The chair overturned. . . ?”
    â€œNothing of the sort,” Brother Morrison grumbled as though the abbot’s having tried to protect himself would have been absurd.
    â€œGod save his soul,” Brother Clayworth added, hastily crossing himself.
    â€œVery well.” Colin pushed himself to his feet and, with great relief, I did the same. “I think we have enough information for one evening. If you will arrange for us to view the body tomorrow morning, Brother Silsbury, you may attend yourselves to his burial in the afternoon.”
    â€œI suppose that will have to be all right,” he responded bleakly.
    â€œIt isn’t decent,” Brother Morrison protested once more, his craggy face as grim as it was angry. “It should not be allowed.” He swung an infuriated glare at Father Demetris.
    The gentle priest responded with a resigned shrug. “I am afraid Bishop Fencourt has asked that we cooperate with Mr. Pendragon and Mr. Pruitt,” he explained, though without the conviction I would have wished for.
    â€œWe shall be expeditious,” Colin promised. “If we can meet you at nine tomorrow I am certain our examination can be completed within the hour.”
    â€œI shall expect you at nine then,” Brother Silsbury agreed.
    â€œYou will need to excuse me tomorrow,” Father Demetris said as he too stood up. “I must get back to Chichester first thing tomorrow, so I shall leave these two gentlemen to your care, brothers. You will look after them for the bishop?” It sounded less a question than a statement.
    â€œOf course we will,” Brother Clayworth answered for the lot of them.
    â€œOne last question before we depart.” Colin hesitated at the refectory door. “Were all of the monks in services that morning? Was your abbot the only one missing?”
    â€œYes . . .” Brother Silsbury began to answer.
    â€œNo,” Brother Wright instantly corrected, his birdlike face almost uncomfortably pinched, and I wondered if this very question was what was giving him such a bleak mien. “I was in my cell. I was taken with a migraine that morning. That is