Free Monk's Hood by Ellis Peters

old, a mere child!”
    “The
shop of Martin Bellecote, you said.”
    “I
know it,” said one of the men-at-arms.
    “Good!
Show the way, and we’ll see what this lad has to say for himself.” And they
turned confidently to the door and the highway.
    Brother
Cadfael saw fit to toss one disturbing ripple, at least, into the pool of their
complacency. “There is the matter of a container for this oil. Whoever
purloined it, whether from my store or from the infirmary, must have brought a
vial to put it in. Meurig, did you see any sign of such about Edwin this
morning? You came from the shop with him. In a pocket, or a pouch of cloth,
even a small vial would hang in a noticeable way.”
    “Never
a sign of anything such,” said Meurig stoutly.
    “And
further, even well stoppered and tied down, such an oil is very penetrating,
and can leave both a stain and an odour where even a drop seeps through or is
left on the lip.Pay attention to the clothing of any man you
think suspect in this matter.”
    “Are
you teaching me my business, brother?” enquired the sergeant with a tolerant
grin.
    “I
am mentioning certain peculiarities about my business, which may be of help to
you and keep you from error,” said Cadfael placidly.
    “By
your leave,” said the sergeant over his shoulder, from the doorway, “I think
we’ll first lay hands on the culprit. I doubt if we shall need your learned
advice, once we have him.” And he was off along the short path to the roadway
where the horses were tethered, and his two men after him.
    The
sergeant and his men came to Martin Bellecote’s shop on the Wyle late in the
afternoon. The carpenter, a big, comely fellow in his late thirties, looked up
cheerfully enough from his work, and enquired their business without wonder or
alarm. He had done work for Prestcote’s garrison once or twice, and the
appearance of one of the sheriff’s officers in his workshop held no menace for
him. A brown-haired, handsome wife looked out curiously from the house-door
beyond, and three children erupted one by one from that quarter to examine the
customers fearlessly and frankly. A grave girl of about eleven, very housewifely
and prim, a small, square boy of eight or so, and an elfin miss no more than
four, with a wooden doll under her arm. All of them gazed and listened. The
door to the house remained open. and the sergeant had a loud, peremptory voice.
    “You
have an apprentice here by the name of Edwin. My business is with him.”
    “I
have,” agreed Martin loudly, rising and dusting the resin of polish from his
hands. “Edwin Gurney, my wife’s young brother. He’s not yet home. He went down
to see his mother in the Foregate. He should have been back before this, but I
daresay she’s wanted to keep him longer. What’s your will with him?” He was
still quite serene; he knew of nothing amiss.
    “He
left his mother’s house above two hours since,” saidthe
sergeant flatly. “We are come from there. No offence, friend, if you say he’s
not here, but it’s my duty to search for him. You’ll give us leave to go
through your house and yard?”
    Martin’s
placidity had vanished in an instant, his brows drew into a heavy frown. His
wife’s beech-brown head appeared again in the doorway beyond, her fair,
contented face suddenly alert and chill, dark eyes intent. The children stared
unwaveringly. The little one, voice of natural justice in opposition to law,
stated firmly: “Bad man!” and nobody hushed her.
    “When
I say he is not here,” said Martin levelly, “you may be assured it is true. But
you may also assure yourselves. House, workshop and yard have nothing to hide.
Now what are you hiding? This boy is my brother, through my wife, and my
apprentice by his own will, and dear to me either way. Now, why are you seeking
him?”
    “In
the house in the Foregate where he visited this morning,” said the sergeant
deliberately,