“And his demeanor?” Monk insisted.
“Distressed,” Arbuthnot said quietly. “At the end of his strength, poor man.” His eyes flicked up at Monk's again. “But a complete gentleman, sir.
Never for a moment did he indulge in self-pity or anger against Mr.
Stonefield. The simple truth is he made an error of judgment in trade which Mr. Stonefield avoided, and at a juncture in the ebb and flow of business when it cost him very dear. He understood that, I believe, and took it like a man.”
Monk was inclined to believe him, but he would still see Titus Niven for himself.
“Was he the only visitor?” he asked.
Arbuthnot colored painfully and took several moments to compose his answer.
His hands were clenched together in front of him, and he looked anywhere but at Monk's eyes.
“No, sir. There was also a lady… at least, a female person. I don't know how to describe her…”
“Honestly!” Monk said tersely.
Arbuthnot drew in his breath, then let it out again.
Monk waited.
Arbuthnot took him very literally, as if it were an escape from expressing a more personal judgment.
“Ordinary sort of height, a trifle thin maybe, but that's a matter of opinion I suppose. Quite well built, really, considering where she came from-”
“Where did she come from?” Monk interrupted. The man was rambling. “Oh, Limehouse way, I should think, from her speech.” Unconsciously Arbuthnot was widening his nostrils and tightening his lips, as though he smelled something distasteful. But then if he were correct and she had come from the slums of the East End dockside, he may well have. The damp overcrowded rooms, the open middens, and the sewage from the river made any alternative impossible.
“Handsome,” Arbuthnot said sadly. “At least nature gave her that, even if she did her best to hide it with paint and garish clothes. Very immodest.”
“A prostitute?” Monk said bluntly.
Arbuthnot winced. “I have no idea. She said nothing to indicate so.”
“What did she say? For heaven's sake, man, don't make me draw answers from you like teeth! Who was she and what did she want? Not to buy or sell corn futures!”
“Of course not!” Arbuthnot blushed furiously. “She asked for Mr.
Stonefield, and when I informed him of her presence, he saw her immediately.” He took another deep breath. “She had been here before.
Twice, that I am aware of. She gave her name as Selina, just that, no surname.”
“Thank you. What did Mr. Stonefield say about her? Did he explain her presence?”
Arbuthnot's eyes widened. “No, sir. It was not our business to inquire into who she was.”
“And he felt no wish to tell you?” Monk let his surprise show. “Who did you suppose her to be? Don't say you did not think of it.”
“Well, yes,” Arbuthnot admitted. “Naturally we did won- der who she was. I assumed it was something to do with his brother, since as you observe, it could not be business.”
The first flush of fire settled down now that the kindling was burned, and Arbuthnot put more coal on.
“What was Mr. Stonefield's manner after she left?” Monk pursued.
“Disturbed. He was somewhat agitated,” Arbuthnot answered unhappily. “He withdrew what money there was in the safe-five pounds, twelve shillings and sixpence. He signed a receipt for it, and then he left.”
“How long after Selina was this?”
“As near as I can remember, about ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Did he say where he was going, or when he expected to return?” lie watched Arbuthnot closely.
“No, sir.” Arbuthnot shook his head slowly, his eyes sad and anxious. “He said some urgent matter needed his attention, and I should see Mr. Hurley in his stead. Mr. Hurley was a broker who was expected that afternoon. I assumed he thought he might be out all day, but I fully expected him the following morning. He gave no instructions for the next day, and there were most important matters to attend to. He would not have forgotten.” Suddenly his face filled with grief and an agonizing fear and bewilderment, and Monk realized with a jolt how Arbuthnot's own world had been damaged by Stonefield's disappearance. One day everything had been safe and assured, predictable, if a little pedestrian. The next it was overturned, filled with mystery. Even his livelihood and perhaps his home were jeopardized.
There was uncertainty in every direction. It was he who would have to tell Genevieve that they could no longer continue, and then he would have to dismiss all the rest of the staff and try to wind up the company and salvage what was left, pay the debts and leave a name of honor behind, if little else.
Monk searched his mind for something comforting or helpful to say, and found nothing.
“What time did he leave, as closely as you can recall?” he asked. The question was dry and literal, reflecting nothing of what he felt.
“About half past ten,” Arbuthnot said bleakly, his mild eyes reflecting a dislike Monk understood only too easily.
“Do you know how?”
Arbuthnot stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you know how?” Monk repeated. “If I am to trace him, it would be helpful to know if he went on foot or took a hansom, what he was wearing, if he turned left or right upon leaving…
“I see, yes, I see.” Arbuthnot looked relieved. “Of course. I beg your pardon. I misunderstood you. He was wearing an overcoat and carrying an umbrella. It was a most inclement day. He always wore a hat, naturally, a black high hat. He took a hansom, down towards the Waterloo Bridge.” He searched Monk's face. “Do you think you have some chance of finding him?”
A lie sprang to Monk's mind. It would have been easier. He would have liked to leave him with hope, but habit was too strong.
“Not a great deal. But I may learn what became of him, which will be of practical use to Mrs. Stonefield, though of little comfort. I am sorry.”
A succession of emotions played across Arbuthnot's face-pain, resignation, pity, ending in a kind of grudging respect.
“Thank you for your candor, sir. If there is anything else I can do to be of assistance, you have but to inform me.” He rose to his feet. “Now there is a great deal I must attend to.” He gulped and coughed. “Just in case Mr.
Stonefield should return, things must be kept going…”
Monk nodded and said nothing. He stood up and put on his coat. Arbuthnot showed him out through the office, now filled with clerks busy with letters, ledgers, and messages. The room was brightly lit, every lamp burning, neat heads bent over quills, ink and paper. There was no sound but the scratching of nibs and the gentle hissing of the gas. No one looked up as he passed, but he knew there would be whispers and the exchanging of glances the moment he was gone.
Monk assumed Stonefield had gone to the East End in answer to some message either directly from Caleb or at least concerning him. There was no other explanation suggested. It did cross his mind as he went down the steps into the windy street, fastening his coat again, that the woman, Selina, might have some relationship with Stonefield which had nothing to do with Caleb.
Some eminently respectable men with faultless domestic lives still had a taste for the rougher charms of street women, and kept a second estab- lishment quite separate from, and unknown to, the first. He discounted it because he did not believe Stonefield would have been rash enough to allow such a woman, if she existed, to know of his business address. It would be absurdly dangerous and completely unnecessary. Such arrangements survived only if total secrecy were observed.
He walked briskly down as far as the bridge. Perhaps it was unprofessional, but he believed Genevieve that Angus Stonefield had gone to see his brother and that this time the quarrel between them had ended in violence which had either injured Angus so seriously he had been unable to return home, or even to send a message, or else he was dead, and the best Monk could do would be to find proof of it adequate to entitle his widow to his estate.
