'I suppose I must have been, though I carsen't tell the time, and I don't have no watch. But I see'd the gentleman arrive what was killed. Something terrible, that is, when even the gentry's not safe.'
'You saw Major Grey arrive?'
'Yes sir. What a gentleman he looked, all happy and jaunty, like.'
'Was he alone?'
'Yes sir, he was.'
'Did he go straight in? After paying the cabby, of course.'
'Yes sir, he did.'
'What time did you leave Mecklenburg Square?'
'Don't rightly know, not for sure. But I heard the church clock at St. Mark's strike the quarter just afore I got there.'
'Home?'
'Yes sir.'
'And how far is your home from Mecklenburg Square?'
'About a mile, I reckon.'
'Where do you live?'
'Off the Pentonville Road, sir.'
'Half an hour's walk?'
'Bless you, no sir, more like quarter. A sight too wet to be hanging around, it was. Besides, girls as hang around that time of an evening gets themselves misunderstood, or worse.'
'Quite. So you left Mecklenburg Square about seven o'clock.'
'Reckon so.'
'Did you see anyone else go into Number Six, after Mr. Grey?'
'Yes sir, one other gentleman in a black coat with a big fur collar.'
There was a note in brackets after the last statement to say it had been established that this person was a resident of the apartments, and no suspicion attached to him.
The name of Mary Ann Brown was written in the same hand at the bottom, and a rough cross placed beside it.
Monk put it down. It was a statement of only negative value; it made it highly unlikely that Joscelin Grey had been followed home by his murderer. But then the crime had happened in July, when it was light till nine in the evening. A man with murder, or even robbery, on his mind would not wish to be seen so close to his victim.
By the window Evan stood still, watching him, ignoring the clatter in the street beyond, a drayman shouting as he backed his horse, a coster calling his wares and the hiss and rattle of carriage wheels.
Monk picked up the next statement, in the name of Alfred Cressent, a boy of eleven who swept a crossing at the corner of Mecklenburg Square and Doughty Street, keeping it clear of horse droppings principally, and any other litter that might be let fall.
His contribution was much the same, except that he had not left Doughty Street until roughly half an hour after the ribbon girl.
The cabby claimed to have picked Grey up at a regimental club a little before six o'clock, and driven him straight to Mecklenburg Square. His fare had done no more than pass the time of day with him, some trivial comment about the weather, which had been extraordinarily unpleasant, and wished him a good night upon leaving. He could recall nothing more, and to the best of his knowledge they had not been followed or especially remarked by anyone. He had seen no unusual or suspicious characters in the neighborhood of Guilford Street or Mecklenburg Square, either on the way there or on his departure, only the usual peddlers, street sweepers, flower sellers and a few gentlemen of unobtrusive appearance who might have been clerks returning home after a long day's work, or pickpockets awaiting a victim, or any of a hundred other things. This statement also was of no real help.
Monk put it on top of the other two, then looked up and found Evan's gaze still on him, shyness tinged with a faint, self-deprecating humor. Instinctively he liked Evan-or could it be just loneliness, because he had no friend, no human companionship deeper than the courtesies of office or the impersonal kindness of Mrs. Worley fulfilling her 'Christian duty.' Had he had friends before, or wanted them? If so, where were they? Why had no one welcomed him back? Not even a letter. The answer was unpleasant, and obvious: he had not earned such a thing. He was clever, ambitious-a rather superior ratcatcher. Not appealing. But he must not let Evan see his weakness. He must appear professional, in command.
'Are they all like this?' he asked.
'Pretty much,' Evan replied, standing more upright now that he was spoken to. 'Nobody saw or heard anything that has led us even to a time or a description. For that matter, not even a definitive motive.'
Monk was surprised; it brought his mind back to the business. He must not let it wander. It would be hard enough to appear efficient without woolgathering.
'Not robbery?' he asked.
Evan shook his head and shrugged very slightly. Without effort he had the elegance Monk strove for, and Run- corn missed absolutely.
'Not unless he was frightened off,' he answered. 'There was money in Grey's wallet, and several small, easily portable ornaments of value around the room. One fact that might be worth something, though: he had no watch on. Gentlemen of his sort usually have rather good watches, engraved, that sort of thing. And he did have a watch chain.'
Monk sat on the edge of the table.
'Could he have pawned it?' he asked. 'Did anyone see him with a watch?' It was an intelligent question, and it came to him instinctively. Even well-to-do men sometimes ran short of ready money, or dressed and dined beyond their means and were temporarily embarrassed. How had he known to ask that? Perhaps his skill was so deep it was not dependent on memory?
Evan flushed faintly and his hazel eyes looked suddenly awkward.
'I'm afraid we didn't find out, sir. I mean, the people we asked didn't seem to recall clearly; some said they remembered something about a watch, others that they didn't. We couldn't get a description of one. We wondered if he might have pawned it too; but we didn't find a ticket, and we tried the local pawnshops.'
'Nothing?'
Evan shook his head. 'Nothing at all, sir.'
'So we wouldn't know it, even if it turned up?' Monk said disappointedly, jerking his hand at the door. 'Some miserable devil could walk in here sporting it, and we should be none the wiser. Still, I daresay if the killer took it, he will have thrown it into the river when the hue and cry went up anyway. If he didn't he's too daft to be out on his own.' He twisted around to look at the pile of papers again and riffled through them untidily. 'What else is there?'
The next was the account of the neighbor opposite, one Albert SCarsdale, very bare and prickly. Obviously he had resented the inconsideration, the appalling bad taste of Grey in getting himself murdered in Mecklenburg Square, and felt the less he said about it himself the sooner it would be forgotten, and the sooner he might dissociate himself from the whole sordid affair.
He admitted he thought he had heard someone in the hallway between his apartment and that of Grey at about eight o'clock, and possibly again at about quarter to ten. He could not possibly say whether it was two separate visitors or one arriving and then later leaving; in fact he was not sure beyond doubt that it had not been a stray animal, a cat, or the porter making a round-from his choice of words he regarded the two as roughly equal. It might even have been an errand boy who had lost his way, or any of a dozen other things. He had been occupied with his own interests, and had seen and heard nothing of remark. The statement was signed and affirmed as being true with an ornate and ill-natured signature.
Monk looked across at Evan, still waiting by the window.
'Mr. Scarsdale sounds like an officious and unhelpful little beggar,' he observed dryly.
'Very, sir,' Evan agreed, his eyes shining but no smile touching his lips. 'I imagine it's the scandal in the buildings; attracts notice from the wrong kind of people, and very bad for the social reputation.'
'Something less than a gentleman.' Monk made an immediate and cruel judgment.
Evan pretended not to understand him, although it was a patent lie.
'Less than a gentleman, sir?' His face puckered.
