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*
     
    THE
INVESTIGATOR
     
    Fortunately
for De Christo, he had been away from the Mount when the murder had taken
place—he had taken two day’s leave to visit Bayeux, to see some old friends. He
had returned to the monastery on the Monday morning that the body had been
found.
    Truth
be told, this was both fortunate and  unfortunate.
    Fortunate,
because he was not a suspect.
    Unfortunate,
because the Abbott asked him—as an impartial outsider, as a former army
commander, and now as the Royal Architect—to find the killer.
    De
Christo didn’t much like the idea of peering behind the curtain of life at Mont
St Michel—every monastery had its secrets—but he also knew that the King, his
friend, would demand an explanation of the killing.
     ‘I
will need complete freedom of action,’ De Christo said to the Abbott.
     ‘You
shall have whatever you ask, Master Builder.’
     ‘Then
let us view the scene of the crime.’
     Moments
later, De Christo was standing in the cavernous cathedral, beneath its soaring
ceiling.
     He
saw the Crown Prince still hung high, hands spread wide, head limply bowed.
     Then
he examined every corner of the cathedral—but found nothing of note.
     But
then, high up near the ceiling at the side of the cathedral, he saw a small
balcony. Its rear door was ajar.
     After
a few minutes’ climbing, De Christo stood on that very same balcony, gazing out
over the entire cathedral. It was a splendid view.
     His
feet crunched on something.
     He
looked down: and saw several tiny pebble-like stones, each orange in colour.
They looked like the crushed pebbles used in some of the paths in the
monastery’s gardens.
     ‘Hmmm,’
he said.
     He
returned to the Abbott down in the nave. ‘Has anyone left the Mount this
morning?’
     ‘No,’
the Abbott said. ‘The gate records show that not a soul has left the island. It
was the first thing I checked.’
     ‘Which
means our killer is still among us,’ De Christo said.
     ‘Still
on the island. Lord Abbott: seal off the Mount. From now on, no-one enters.
No-one leaves.’
     
    * * *
     
    THE
ISLAND MONASTERY
     
    How
the Dauphin and his entourage came to be at Mont St Michel was a matter of
history. After 116 years of bloody warfare with the English—a war which would
later become known as The 100 Years War—all of France was celebrating.
    And
Mont St Michel—the spectacular monastery-cathedral perched high on its own
island out in the centre of the Gulf of San Malo, so high that it was visible
for twenty miles in every direction—was to be the focal point of the post-war
celebrations.
    Three
times during the hostilities, the island monastery had held out against English
sieges, once against the vicious Henry V himself.
    But
those sieges had left their scars and at the conclusion of the war, the
monastery was in need of substantial repair. And so at great expense, the King
had sent his Royal Architect, Robert De Christo to repair the monastery’s
battered fortifications and rebuild its fire-scarred cathedral.
    And
now the King was coming to inspect his works. As an envoy, he sent the Dauphin
and his two brothers, the Princes Louis and Phillip (and their respective
hangers-on) to the island monastery a week ahead of him.
    But
as De Christo was to discover, the Dauphin and his travelling retinue had been
very naughty boys during their time at Mont St Michel.
     
    * * *
     
    THE
CARETAKER
     
    De
Christo set up his investigation office in the refectory. It comprised a desk
and two chairs—one for him and one for each witness he interrogated.
    The
first witness he called was old Brother Michael, the ancient caretaker of the
cathedral, the monk who had watched De Christo at work for the past three
months.
    ‘The
world is a better place for that filthy rogues’s passing,’
    Brother
Michael spat through his toothless mouth. ‘Dauphin or not, he shall tremble
before the Lord when he is judged!’
    Ah-ha.  De
Christo thought. This could be a