“There was one thing that was unusual, though,” said the constable. “And that was?” asked Kagran. “He stank of beer.” “So? You found him outside the pub, didn’t you?” “He wasn’t a drinker.” “Had anyone seen him drinking?” “No.” “How much drink was there in him?” “No idea - we haven’t had the doctor to him yet.” The constable paused. “Do you think, my Lord, you could persuade your cat to stop staring at me?” “She means no harm. She is interested in people,” Kagran said, stroking Jasmine. “Let us return to your problem. Whoever killed the man you found may have poured beer over him to make it look as if he was drunk.” “As good a theory as any.” “And why,” asked Kagran, “should any of this interest me? I rarely go near the village nowadays.” “The bootmarks, my lord.” “Bootmarks?” “All round the body - in the mud; an odd pattern to both the heel and the sole of each boot. That pattern in fact, my lord,” he said, pointing to the sole of Kagran’s boot. “I see,” said Kagran, “so I am a suspect, am I? Tell me, constable, from the prints you observed - how worn were these soles and heels?” “Quite well worn, my lord, much more than the pair you happen to have on at the moment.” “Which are, as it happens, my only pair. You are surprised? I rarely have more than two pairs in the castle. When a pair begin to wear out I hand them to a maid to give away. Who she gives them to, I don’t know - you may ask her yourself, if you wish. But that of course does not let me off your list of suspects. So you might perhaps consider that if I wanted to kill anyone, I might find some other means of doing so than the one you have so graphically described - and at long range. The local people look upon me as some kind of wizard, don’t they? Can you imagine any wizard bothering to murder someone with his own hands when he could strike that person down from a distance? And in any case, what sort of threat could he possibly have posed that would cause a wizard to feel so insecure that he had to kill?” Kagran sat back, watching the constable closely. Wizard! snorted the constable to himself. Either he’s having me on or he’s as batty as they say he is. Silly moon-struck village girls may come up here looking for love-potions, but that doesn’t make you any kind of wizard! O, I know who killed him, thought Kagran, but I’m not going to tell you - I’ll just let you get on with it in your own way. After all, if I did your job for you, what would you have left to do? Every man needs an occupation, if only just to keep him out of mischief. And every human needs an occupation that makes him – or her – feel wanted and valued by the community. Which means, he sighed, that there have to be criminals for the constable to catch.