at the money in the drawer, "He was selling them himself."
"I suppose he was shooting them on the grounds of his sprawling estate?" Marrowbone chuckled, "Have over!"
Henry allowed a silence to fall between them, so thick with disapproval that even the doltish constable could note it.
"I mean, have over, Your Grace," Marrowbone corrected himself, tugging nervously at the collar of his shirt.
It would have to do, Henry thought with a sigh, before quickly assessing all that he knew of Canet; a faux revolutionary who wore Lobby boots. Such a man would have no qualms in stealing from others for his own gain. Others being Henry.
Henry could have cursed his stupidity and all the clues which he had missed; Mr Feathers, the gamekeeper, raising the alarm that the game-stock was low, Mr Hargreaves' tales of hearing late-night shooting on the estate. Henry had been so caught up with investigating Mr Parsims' murder, that he had failed to notice the blindingly obvious; someone was poaching on his land.
"Would it be possible to sell poached game at the market in Stroud?" Henry asked of the constable.
"You could sell your mother if you were so inclined," Mr Marrowbone replied, with a conspiratorial wink.
"I am not seeking to sell poached game, Marrowbone," Henry sighed, "I am asking if it's possible that Canet was involved in some sort of poaching ring. He may have acted as an intermediary for someone; they handled the hunt, he handled the sales."
"There has been some talk of poachers down The Ring," Marrowbone offered, as he none-too-subtly scratched his backside.
"And, as constable, you felt no need to follow such talk up?"
"Wouldn't want to mix myself up with no poachin' ring, Your Grace," the constable looked nervous, "They can be mighty dangerous and, as I have said before, this is only a voluntary position."
"One wonders why you volunteered at all," Henry sighed, thoroughly tired of the man.
"I didn't," Marrowbone replied mournfully, "I fell behind on my rent to Lord Crabb, one month, and he volunteered me for the position in lieu of payment."
That explained the man's complete disinterest in upholding the law, Henry thought. Though as he turned his eyes away from Marrowbone, the scene which greeted him only confirmed what the constable had said. Poaching rings were dangerous; Guillame Canet's dead body attested to that.
"I am struggling to remove the knife," Dr Bates said, looking very much as though he were about to retch, "Once I do, would you like me to arrange to have the body removed?"
"Please," Henry instructed, his mind no longer on the grizzly murder scene or murder weapon, but on poachers instead.
"Come with me," Henry ordered Marrowbone, as he decided on what his next course of action should be. He needed to interrogate the inhabitants of The Ring'O'Bells, to try to learn the name of those they suspected of poaching. For Henry was certain, once he found his poacher, he would find Canet's murderer.
Henry marched from the Frenchman's rooms, with Marrowbone on his heels. Downstairs, the entrance hall of the inn was crowded with guests who had heard of the gruesome scene upstairs. The room buzzed with whispers, which grew to a deafening crescendo at Henry's appearance.
Edward, ever present, was attempting to restore some order to the chaotic scene. Henry hailed him over the heads of the crowd, and the footman rushed his way.
"Did you notice anyone acting suspiciously in the hours before Canet's murder?" Henry questioned, "Or did you see anyone unusual go upstairs?"
"No, Your Grace," the footman shook his head, "Monsieur returned from Stroud in the early afternoon and went straight upstairs to rest. It was only when he did not appear at dinner time, that we realised something was amiss."
"Can't cook dinner without a cook," Marrowbone nodded.
"I sent Delilah up to look for him," Edward continued, "She is the one who discovered him. He might have been lying there for hours; who knows how many people have passed through the door between this afternoon and this evening."
"Probably too many to bother counting," Marrowbone interjected, with a hopeful look to Henry.
"Thank you, Edward," Henry thanked the footman and ignored the work-shy constable's remark, "If you think of anything at all, come find me. Marrowbone and I shall be working late into the night."
Behind him, Henry heard the constable mutter something about there being a difference between working and volunteering, but Henry paid no heed. There was much to be done and Marrowbone would just have to lump it.
Outside, the village square was also crowded; groups