events on the night your father died that we are investigating.'
'There is nothing more to say.' Her voice was quiet, but the hurt and the anger were plain in her face. Her shoulders were stiff, straining the shiny black fabric. 'It is our family's tragedy. For pity's sake, leave us alone! Haven't we suffered enough?'
Monk hated having to continue. He was aware of the same distress in Runcorn, standing near him. But he could not let it go.
'You wrote a letter to your father and had it hand-delivered the night of his death, Mrs. Argyll.' He saw her start and draw in her breath with a little gasp. 'Please don't embarrass us all with a denial. The letter was seen, and your father kept the envelope. I have it.'
She was ashen, and she turned to face him angrily. 'Then what do you want from me?' Her voice was so stifled in her throat that it was barely audible. Her eyes burned hot with hatred of them for the shame they were inflicting on her.
'I want to know what was in the letter, Mrs. Argyll. You arranged for your father to go to the stables-alone- after the middle of the night. He did so, and was killed.'
'He killed himself!' she burst out, her tone rising dangerously. 'For the love of heaven, why can't you leave it alone? He was mad! He had delusions! He was terrified of closed spaces, and at last he couldn't face it anymore. What else do you need to know? Do you hate us so much that you gain some kind of pleasure from seeing us suffer? Do you have to open the wounds again, and again, and again?' She was almost out of control, her voice shrill and loud.
'Sit down, Mrs.-' Monk started.
'I will not sit down!' she snapped back. 'Do not patronize me in my own home, you…' She gasped in a breath again, lost for a word she might dare use.
There was nothing for Monk to do but tell her the truth before she became hysterical and either fainted or left the room and refused to see them again. He had little enough authority to be here. Farnham would not back him up.
'A man was seen leaving the mews just after your father was shot, Mrs. Argyll. He smelled of gunsmoke. He was a stranger in the area and left immediately, traveling in several cabs back to the East End. Do you know who that man was?'
She stared at him incredulously. 'Of course I don't! What are you saying-that he shot my father?'
'I believe so.'
She put her hands up to her mouth and sank rather too quickly into the chair, as if she had lost her power to remain standing. She stared at Monk as if he had risen out of the carpet in a cloud of sulfur.
'I'm sorry,' he said, and meant it more than he had thought he could. 'What did you write in your letter that sent your father out into the stable at midnight, Mrs. Argyll?'
'I… I…'
He waited.
She mastered herself with intense difficulty. The struggle was naked and painful in her face. 'I asked him to meet my husband to allow a proper discussion of the tunnels they were building, without Mary knowing and interrupting. She was very excitable.'
'At midnight?' Monk said with surprise. 'Why not in the offices in the morning?'
'Because Papa was concerned there was going to be an accident, and he would not come into the offices to discuss it anymore,' she said immediately. 'He was going to speak to the authorities. They would have had to close down the works until they had investigated, and of course discovered that it was completely untrue. But they could not afford to take my husband's word for it, when men's lives are at risk. My father was mad, Mr. Monk! He had lost all sense of proportion.'
'So you arranged this meeting?'
'Yes.'
'But your husband didn't go!' Monk pointed out. 'He was at a party until long after midnight. You told the police that you attended it with him. Was that not true?'
'Yes, it was true. I… I thought my father must have refused to meet Alan. He was… stubborn.' Her gaze did not waver from his.
'Is that what Mr. Argyll said?' he asked.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. 'Yes.'
'I see.' He did see. He had never supposed that Alan Argyll intended to shoot Havilland himself. He had paid the assassin with the black hair and the narrow-bridged nose to do that. 'Thank you, Mrs. Argyll.'
'Do you suppose he paid the money himself, or had someone else whom he trusted do it?' Monk asked when they were outside, matching his step to Runcorn's on the icy pavement.
'Toby?'
'Probably, but not necessarily. Who would even know where to find an assassin for money?'
Runcorn thought for a while, walking in silence. 'Whom else would he trust?' he said at last.
'Can you trace the funds?' Monk asked him.
'Unless he's been saving it up penny by penny over the years, certainly I can. Havilland found something and Alan Argyll couldn't wait. He had to have got the money out of the bank, or wherever he kept it, and paid the assassin within a day or two of the actual murder. It's my case, Monk. I've got the men to put on it, and the authority to look at bank accounts or whatever it takes. I'll find out where Argyll was every minute of the week before Havilland was shot. And after. Unless he's a fool, he won't have paid all of it until the deed was done.'
'What do you want me to do?' The words were not easy for Monk to say, but Runcorn's plan made sense. He could deploy his men to search, to question, to force out answers that Monk could not. And Monk needed to return to Wapping and start earning some of the loyalty he was going to need from his own men. Havilland's death was nothing to do with them.
Runcorn smiled. 'Go back to your river,' he replied. 'I'll send you a message.'
After two days the letter came, written in Runcorn's careful, overly neat hand. It was brought by a messenger and given to Monk personally.
Dear Monk,
Traced the money. Came from Alan Argyll's bank, but be gave it to Six-smith for expenses. Argyll can account for all his time, both before and after the event. Clever devil. No second sum paid. Could be lots of reasons for that-but if Sixsmith cheated him, then he's a fool!
I am sure Argyll is the man behind it, but it was Sixsmith who actually handed it over, whatever he believed he was paying for. Followed his movements, found where he did it. I have no choice but to arrest him straightaway. I am not happy. We have the servant, not the master, but I have to charge him. We still have work to do.
Runcorn
Monk thanked the messenger and scribbled a note of acknowledgment back.
Dear Runcorn,
I understand, but we damned well do have work to do! Everything I can do, I will. Count on me.
Monk
He gave it to the messenger. Then when the door was closed, he swore with a pent-up fury that shocked him.
Argyll had cheated them. They had followed the trail, and ended by being forced to arrest a man they knew was innocent, while Argyll watched them and laughed. Damn him!
EIGHT
It was three days before Monk had time to consider the Havilland’s case again. There was a large fire in one of the warehouses in the Pool of London, and the arsonists had attempted to escape by water. It was brought to a successful conclusion, but by the end of the second day Monk and his men were exhausted, filthy, and cold to the bone.
At half past eight, with the wind howling outside and the woodstove smelling of smoke, Monk was sitting in his
