Of course, everyone had one. And it was his job, and the Chief’s, to find those too. Unfortunately for them those rooms almost never hid treasure. What they invariably found were mountains of crap.

“If there really is a secret room in the monastery, you need to tell me,” Beauvoir pressed.

“I don’t know of any.”

“But you’ve heard rumors?”

“There’re always rumors. I heard that one the first day I arrived.”

“For a silent order you seem to do a lot of talking.”

Bernard smiled. “We’re not completely silent, you know. We’re allowed to talk at certain times of the day.”

“And one of the things you talk about is secret rooms?”

“If you’re only allowed a few minutes’ conversation a day, what do you think you’d talk about? The weather? Politics?”

“Secrets?”

Frère Bernard smiled. “Sometimes the divine mystery, and sometimes just mysteries. Like hidden rooms. And treasure.”

He gave Beauvoir a knowing look. A sharp look. This monk, thought Beauvoir, might be calm and even gentle. But he was no fool.

“Do you think they exist?”

“A room and some treasure lugged here by Dom Clément and the other monks centuries ago?” Frère Bernard shook his head. “It’s fun to think about. Passes the time on cold winter nights. But no one really believes it exists. Someone would’ve found it ages ago. The abbey’s been renovated, updated, repaired. If there was a secret room we’d have found it.”

“Maybe someone did.” Beauvoir stood. “So, how often are you allowed to leave?”

The monk laughed. “It’s not a prison, you know.”

But even Frère Bernard had to admit, from that angle, Saint-Gilbert sure looked like one.

“We leave whenever we want, though we don’t go far. Walks, mostly. We look for berries and firewood. We fish. In the winter we play hockey on the ice. Frère Antoine organizes that.”

Beauvoir felt again that vertigo. Frère Antoine played hockey. Was probably the captain and the center. The same position Beauvoir played.

“In the summer some of us jog and do tai chi. You’re welcome to join us after Vigils.”

“Is that the early morning service?”

“Five A.M.” He smiled. “Your Chief was there this morning.”

Beauvoir was about to say something sharp, to shut down any ridiculing of Gamache, when he saw that Frère Bernard seemed simply amused. Not mocking.

“Yes, he mentioned it to me,” said Beauvoir.

“We talked later, you know.”

“Oh, really?” But Beauvoir knew perfectly well it was Frère Bernard the Chief had spoken to that morning in the showers and that they’d then collected eggs together. Brother Bernard had told the Chief about the rift in the community. In fact, Chief Inspector Gamache had the impression the monk had sought him out specifically to tell him that.

And only then did it occur to Beauvoir to wonder if the same thing was happening here. Had this monk simply been out collecting blueberries and stumbled upon him? Or was this no accident? Had Frère Bernard seen Beauvoir leave, with the scroll, and followed him?

“Your Chief’s a good listener,” said the monk. “He’d fit in well here.”

“He does look good in a robe,” said Beauvoir.

Frère Bernard laughed. “I was afraid to say it.” The monk looked at Beauvoir, examining the younger man. “I think you’d also enjoy it here.”

Enjoy? thought Beauvoir. Enjoy? Does anyone actually enjoy it here?

He’d presumed they tolerated it, like a hair shirt. It never occurred to him living in Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups actually made them happy.

Frère Bernard picked up his basket of blueberries and they walked a few paces before he spoke again. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

“I was surprised to see someone else arrive. We all were. Including your boss, I think. Who was that man who flew in?”

“His name’s Francoeur. He’s the Chief Superintendent.”

“Of the Sûreté?”

Beauvoir nodded. “The big boss.”

“Your pope,” said Bernard.

“Only if the pope’s a moron with a gun.”

Frère Bernard snorted then fought to wipe the smile from his face.

“You don’t like him?”

“Years of contemplation have sharpened your instincts, Frère Bernard.”