Sandeman was quite openly surprised. 'Yes! Yes, I am. Brilliant fellow. Unique. His work is quite new, you know? Nothing like anybody else's. Not in the least vulgar,' he added quickly, in case Monk should misunderstand him. 'He manages to make spaces look larger than they are. Don't know how he does it. Something to do with shades of color and the way lines are directed. Uses curves and arches in an unusual way.' He drew breath to go on, then closed his mouth again. 'Mustn't ask why you want to know.'
Monk knew he was very conscious of his own need for privacy, and if Monk were to betray Melville or Lambert, then Sandeman would assume he would do the same to him. The situation required the most subtle handling. And yet if he were to be of any use to Rathbone he must discover Melville's secret, and do it before Monday morning. He was rash to have accepted the case, but he could never resist a challenge from Oliver Rathbone, however it was placed before him, however disguised. He thought wryly that probably Rathbone knew that when he had come.
He smiled at Sandeman. 'I daresay it will be in the evening newspapers, if it was not in the morning ones,' he acknowledged. 'Unfortunately, those things cannot be kept private, as I believe they should be.'
Sandeman raised his eyebrows. 'Oh? I am sorry to hear that. Poor fellow. Surprised, mind you. Never heard the slightest whisper against him, myself.' His eyes narrowed and he regarded Monk deceptively closely. His mild manner hid a more astute mind than many had supposed, to their cost. Still he refused to ask the nature of the charge.
'Not the slightest?' Monk pressed, knowing he must tread extremely carefully.
'Nothing but praise,' Sandeman affirmed. 'Not everyone likes his work, of course. But then if they did it would mean he was mediocre, safe, and pedestrian. And he is certainly not that. Everyone's friend is no one's, you know?' He regarded Monk quizzically, although he knew he agreed. 'Can't bear a man who trims his sails to meet the prevailing wind all the time and never stands for anything himself. Melville is not one of those.' He frowned, wrinkling his brows together. 'But that is hardly a thing one would sue a man for, or have him charged in law. You did not say whether it was a civil suit or a criminal one.'
'Civil.'
'Not a building less than standard.' Sandeman made it a statement. “I don't believe that. He knows his job superbly. I would be prepared to say he is the best architect of his generation, perhaps of the century.' He stared at Monk as if prepared to defy a challenge.
'Where did he study?' Monk enquired.
Sandeman thought for a moment. 'You know, I have no idea,' he said with evident surprise. “I haven't heard anyone mention it. Is it of importance?'
'Probably not,' Monk answered. 'It is unlikely the difficulty stems so far back. I assume that you have never heard suggestion that he is financially untrustworthy or-'
Sandeman did not allow him to finish. 'He is an architect, Monk. A man of vision, even genius. He is not a banker or a trader. He sells ideas. I think rather than beating around the circumference of this, you had better tell me, in confidence, the nature of this difficulty. If it is the subject of a court case, then it will soon enough become public.'
Monk was more than ready. 'He is being sued for breach of promise.'
Sandeman sat perfectly still. He did not speak, but disbelief was in every line of him.
'I am in the employ of the barrister seeking to defend him,' Monk answered to the question in Sandeman's face.
Sandeman let out his breath slowly. 'I see.' But there was doubt in his voice. He looked at Monk now with a certain carefulness. Something was unexplained. The debt between them was not sufficient to override his other loyalties, and there was a perceptible coolness in the room. 'I doubt I can help you,' he continued. 'As far as I know Melville, he is a man of complete probity, both publicly and privately. I have never heard anything whatever to his discredit.' He met Monk's gaze steadily. 'And I can tell you that without any discomfort of mind, knowing that I owe you a great deal for your assistance to me when I depended upon you.'
Monk smiled with a harsh twist of his lips. 'The case may become ugly. I expect the family of the girl to suggest serious flaws in his character in order to explain his behavior in terms other than some fault in their daughter. If Melville is vulnerable in any way he has not told us, or even is not aware of, we need to know it in advance in order to defend him.'
Sandeman's face eased, and his large body relaxed in his chair, crumpling his suit still further. 'Oh, I see.' He did not apologize for his suspicion, it was too subtle to have been voiced, but it was there in his eyes, the suddenly wanner smile.
'Who is the lady?'
Monk did not hesitate; there was nothing to be lost. 'Miss Zillah Lambert.'
'Indeed?' Sandeman was silent for a moment. 'I still cannot help you. I know a little of Barton Lambert. Not a sophisticated man, but on the other hand he is nobody's dupe either. He made his own fortune by hard work and good judgment-and a certain amount of courage. In my limited experience he has not been one to be socially ambitious, nor to take a slight easily.'
'And his wife?' Monk said with the shadow of a smile.
Sandeman drew in his breath and there was a flicker in his eyes which expressed possibly more than he was willing to say.
'A very pretty woman. Met her several times. Even dined at their home once.' He put his head a trifle to one side, a look of mild surprise on his face. 'I confess I had not expected to find it so extraordinarily beautiful. And it was, believe me, Monk. I have dined with some of the wealthiest families in England, and some of the oldest, but for its scale, nothing outdid Lambert's home. It was full of invention… architectural invention, I mean, not scientific. It was brilliantly innovative. That was Killian Melville.' He began to smile as he spoke, and his eyes took on a faraway shine as he retreated into memory. 'As we went into the hall the floor was red oak, lovely warm color to it, and the walls were in different shades like… like sweet and dry sherry… no, more like brown sugar. But because of the windows it was full of light. It was one of those rare places where instantly one feels both a warmth and a curious sense of peace. There was a width, a space about it. All the lines pleased the eye. Nothing intruded or was cramped.'
Monk did not interrupt, although he found the impression he was gaining more of Killian Melville than of Lambert. He did not want to like Melville, because he believed the case was hopeless. It would be so much more comfortable to believe him a knave, a fool, or both. It would be emotionally expensive to feel a desperate need to save him, to struggle, and fail, and have to watch him ruined. He pushed away the thought.
Sandeman was still recalling the house. He obviously enjoyed it.
'The dining room was marvelous,' he said enthusiastically and leaning forward a little. 'I had seen a lot of magnificent rooms before and was a bit blase. I thought I had seen every possible combination and variation of line and color, but this was different.' He was watching Monk's reaction, wanting to be sure Monk appreciated what he was saying. 'Not so much in obvious construction but in smaller ways, so the overall impression was again one of lightness, simplicity, and it was only on reflection one began to realize what was different. It was largely a matter of perfect proportion, of relation between curve and perpendicular, circle and horizontal, and always of light.'
'You are saying Melville is a true genius,' Monk observed.
'Yes… yes, I suppose I am,' Sandeman agreed. 'But I am also saying that Lambert understood that and appreciated it. I am also saying that Mrs. Lambert was fully sensitive to it too, and that she complemented it perfectly. Everything in her dining room was superb. There was not a lily in the vases with a blemish on it, not a smear or a chip on the crystal, a scratch on the silver, a mark or a loose thread in the linen.' He nodded his head slightly. 'It was all in equally exquisite taste. And she was the perfect hostess. The food, of course, was delicious, and abundant without ever being ostentatious. The slightest vulgarity would have been abhorrent to her.'
'Interesting,' Monk acknowledged. 'But not helpful.'
'I don't know anything helpful.' Sandeman shrugged his heavy shoulders. 'Barton Lambert's reputation is impeccable, both professional and personal. I have never heard anyone make the slightest suggestion that he was less than exactly what he seems, a shrewd but blunt north country businessman who has made a fortune and came to London to enjoy his success, patronize the arts-by the way, that is also painting and music, though principally architecture-and give his wife and daughter the pleasure of London society. You can try, by all means, and see if you can find evidence he patronizes the brothels in the West End or has a mistress tucked away somewhere, or that he gambles at his club, or occasionally drinks a little too much. I doubt you'll find it, but if you do, it won't help.
