superior to a policeman. Even these desperate circumstances did not alter that.
'I think it would be better at the moment if that were a confidential matter,' Monk replied coolly. 'It is indicative of who hid them there, but not conclusive.'
'I see.' Phillips felt the rebuff; it was there in his pale face and rigid manner. He was in charge of the servants, used to command, and he resented a mere policeman intruding upon his field of responsibility. Everything beyond the green baize door was his preserve. 'And what is it you wish of me? I shall be pleased to assist, of course.' It was a formality; he had no choice, but he would keep up the charade.
'I'm obliged,'' Monk said, hiding his flash of humor. Phillips would not appreciate being laughed at. 'I would like to see the menservants one at a time-beginning with Harold, and then Rhodes the valet, then Percival.'
'Of course. You may use Mrs. Willis's sitting room if you wish to.'
'Thank you, that would be convenient.'
He had nothing to say to either Harold or Rhodes, but to keep up appearances he asked them about their whereabouts during the day and if their rooms were locked. Their answers told him nothing he did not already know.
When Percival came he already knew something was deeply wrong. He had far more intelligence than either of the other two, and perhaps something in Phillips's manner forewarned him, as did the knowledge that something had been found in the servants' rooms. He knew the family members were increasingly frightened. He saw them every day, heard the sharpened tempers, saw the suspicion in their eyes, the altered relationships, the crumbling belief. Indeed he had tried to turn Monk towards Myles Kellard himself. He must know they would be doing the same thing, feeding every scrap of information they could to turn the police to the servants' hall. He came in with the air of fear about him, his body tense, his eyes wide, a small nerve ticking in the side of his face.
Evan moved silently to stand between him and the door.
'Yes sir?'' Percival said without waiting for Monk to speak, although his eyes flickered as he became aware of Evan's change of position-and its meaning.
Monk had been holding the silk and the knife behind him. Now he brought them forward and held them up, the knife in his left hand, the peignoir hanging, the spattered blood dark and ugly. He watched Percival's face minutely, every shade of expression. He saw surprise, a shadow of puzzlement as if it were confusing to him, but no blanching of new fear. In fact there was even a quick lift of hope, as if a moment of sun had shone through clouds. It was not the reaction he had expected from a guilty man. At that instant he believed Percival did not know where they had been found.
'Have you seen these before?' he said. The answer would be of little value to him, but he had to begin somewhere.
Percival was very pale, but more composed than when he came in. He thought he knew what the threat was now, and it disturbed him less than the unknown.
'Maybe. The knife looks like several in the kitchen. The silk could be any of those I've passed in the laundry. But I certainly haven't seen them like that. Is that what killed Mrs. Haslett?'
'It certainly looks like it, doesn't it?'
'Yes sir.'
'Don't you want to know where we found them?' Monk glanced past him to Evan and saw the doubt in his face also, an exact reflection of what he was feeling himself. If Percival knew they had found these things in his room, he was a superb actor and a man of self-control worthy of anyone's admiration-and an incredible fool not to have found some way of disposing of them before now.
Percival lifted his shoulders a fraction but said nothing.
'Behind the bottom drawer in the dresser in your bedroom.'
This time Percival was horrified. There was no mistaking the sudden rush of blood from his skin, the dilation of his eyes and the sweat standing out on his lip and brow.
He drew breath to speak, and his voice failed him.
In that moment Monk had a sudden sick conviction that Percival had not killed Octavia Haslett. He was arrogant, selfish, and had probably misused her, and perhaps Rose, and he had money that would take some explaining, but he was not guilty of murder. Monk looked at Evan again and saw the same thoughts, even to the shock of unhappiness, mirrored in his eyes.
Monk looked back at Percival.
'I assume you cannot tell me how they got there?'
Percival swallowed convulsively. 'No-no I can't.'
'I thought not.'
'I can't!' Percival's voice rose an octave to a squeak, cracking with fear. 'Before God, I didn't kill her! IVe never seen them before-not like that!' The muscles of his body were so knotted he was shaking. 'Look-I exaggerated. I said she admired me-I was bragging. I never had an affair with her.'' He started to move agitatedly.”She was never interested in anyone but Captain Haslett. Look-I was polite to her, no more than that. And I never went to her room except to carry trays or flowers or messages, which is my job.' His hands moved convulsively. 'I don't know who killed her-but it wasn't me! Anyone could have put these things in my room- why would I keep them there?' His words were falling over each other. 'I'm not a fool. Why wouldn't I clean the knife and put it back in its place in the kitchen-and burn the silk? Why wouldn't I?' He swallowed hard and turned to Evan. 'I wouldn't leave them there for you to find.'
“No, I don't think you would,'' Monk agreed.”Unless you were so sure of yourself you thought we wouldn't search? YouVe tried to direct us to Rose, and to Mr. Kellard, or even Mrs. Kellaid. Perhaps you thought you had succeeded-and you were keeping them to implicate someone else?'
Percival licked his dry lips. 'Then why didn't I do that? I can go in and out of bedrooms easily enough; IVe only got to
get something from the laundry to carry and no one would question me. I wouldn't leave them in my own room, I'd have hidden them in someone else's-Mr. Kellard's-for you to find!'
'You didn't know we were going to search today,' Monk pointed out, pushing the argument to the end, although he had no belief in it. 'Perhaps you planned to do that-but we were too quick?'
'YouVe been here for weeks,' Percival protested. 'I'd have done it before now-and said something to you to make you search. It'd have been easy enough to say I'd seen something, or to get Mrs. Boden to check her knives to find one gone. Come on-don't you think I could do that?'
'Yes,' Monk agreed. 'I do.'
Percival swallowed and choked. 'Well?' he said when he regained his voice.
'You can go for now.'
Percival stared wide-eyed for a long moment, then turned on his heel and went out, almost bumping into Evan and leaving the door open.
Monk looked at Evan.
'I don't think he did it,'' Evan said very quietly.”It doesn't make sense.'
'No-neither do I,' Monk agreed.
'Mightn't he run?' Evan asked anxiously.
Monk shook his head. 'We'd know within an hour-and it'd send half the police in London after him. He knows that.'
'Then who did it?' Evan asked. 'Kellard?'
'Or did Rose believe that Percival really was having an affair, and she did it in jealousy?' Monk thought aloud.
'Or somebody we haven't even thought of?' Evan added with a downward little smile, devoid of humor. 'I wonder what Miss Latterly thinks?'
Monk was prevented from answering by Harold putting his head around die door, his face pale, his blue eyes wide and anxious.
'Mr. Phillips says are you all right, sir?'
“Yes, thank you. Please tell Mr. Phillips we haven't reached any conclusion so far, and will you ask Miss Latterly to come here.'
'The nurse, sir? Are you unwell, sir? Or are you going to…'He trailed off, his imagination ahead of propriety.
