Well Dead

XXII. The Hole Problem

“I ain’t quite clear about what you’re that upset about, really,” Wenzel said half an hour later after Harun had poured his heart out to the guard. Purely metaphorically speaking of course, he knew too much of anatomy to try and do it the hard way.

“If I get it right,” the little scruffy man continued, “you’ve got rid of all the suspects which I wouldn’t have liked to have committed the murder because they’re my pals and nice chaps all round. And you’re now on to some creep I don’t care tuppence about. A good day’s work, I’d have said.”

“But it is impossible for this man to have committed the murder,” Harun growled.

“So what?” came the guard’s cheerful response. “You were wrong before, weren’t you? Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’re again. And even if not, you could still try and nail it on him anyway.”

“I am not in the habit of applying carpenterial instruments on anybody, certainly not simply because it suits your fancy.”

“You can’t deny that it’s at least interesting to have a bit of a change. A week or two ago, you had four people, each of whom could have done the murder but none of whom had a reason. Now you’ve got one who couldn’t have done it but with plenty of reason to do it, if what you tell me of his activities is true. He had a reason – so that ought to help you in your reasoning, eh?”

“Spare me your simplistic word games, Wenzel.”

“Then how about some more difficult ones? You start.”

“Isn’t there any way he could have gotten out of the castle?”

“Nay.”

“Not through the embrasures?”

Wenzel looked at the rectangular opening in the wall beside him. It was about three inches wide. He turned his eyes on Harun. The look in them was enough.

“The gates?”

“Nay, Harun, on my oath.”

“Please, Wenzel. Adapt a somewhat more imaginative attitude. You possess a considerably more detailed knowledge of castles than I do. Is there not any other way?”

“Well…”

“Yes?!”

“If he could have somehow gotten through the locked doors on the roof…”

“Yes?”

“…then he could have tied a rope ladder to one of the crenels, could have climbed down past the guards on the outer wall, chatted to them for five minutes, asked them not to mention he had been there, gone down the rest of the way, murdered Lukas, climbed up again on the ladder the guards had been nice enough to leave hanging and gone to bed with the good feeling of a job well done.”

“Wenzel?”

“Aye, Harun?”

“I have often asked myself during the past weeks why anybody should murder. Why anybody should be tempted to end the life of a fellow human being by brute force.”

“And?”

“Now I know.”

They heard footsteps behind them. Slow, firm and yet humble footsteps.

“Sir Christian!” Harun hissed. “Quick! He must not find me! I am supposed to be with him in the Scriptorium.”

“Then why don’t you go?”

“I cannot! Where…?”

Wenzel shoved his friend into a small niche behind the portcullis, which was there to provide shelter for a guard on a rainy day. A moment later, the lord of Sevenport poked his head out of the door of the keep.