as his questions were not so obvious as to make his purpose known.
“Most.” The man smiled, showing a broken front tooth. “But yer new ’ere. Least I never seen yer afore.”
“Not this stretch,” Monk prevaricated. “What’s your name?”
“Gould.”
“How late do you work?”
Gould shrugged. “Bad night, go ’ome early. Got a good job, stay late. Why? Yer wanter come back across late?”
“I might do. If I’m lucky I ought not to be long.” He must phrase his questions so as not to arouse suspicion; he could not afford word to spread that he was inquisitive. He had already made one enemy in the scuffle-hunter, and the last thing he wanted was to be tipped overboard into the icy water. Too many bodies were fished out of the Thames, and only God knew how many more were never found.
“Isn’t it dangerous to be on the river at night?” he asked.
Gould grunted. “Can be.” He nodded towards a pleasure boat, lights gleaming on the water, the sound of laughter drifting across towards them. “Not for the likes o’ them, but down in the little boats like us, yeah, it can be. Mind yer own business and yer’ll be all right.”
Monk heard the warning, but he could not afford to obey it. “You mean river pirates use little boats?” he asked.
Gould tapped the side of his nose. “Never ’eard of ’em. In’t no pirates on the Thames. Odd thieves, an’ the like, but they don’t kill no one.”
“Sometimes they do,” Monk argued. They were about halfway across, and Gould was weaving in and out of the vessels at anchor with considerable skill. The boat moved almost silently, the dip and rise of the oars indistinguishable from the sounds of water all around them. The mist was drifting and most of the light was smothered by a clinging, choking gray mass that caught in the throat. The hulls of the ships loomed up as only a greater density in the murk, one moment clearly seen, the next no more than shadows. Foghorns echoed and re- echoed till it was hard to tell which direction they came from.
What had it been like on the night of the robbery? Had the thieves cleverly used the weather to their advantage? Or stupidly even chosen the wrong ship?
“Could you find a particular ship in this?” Monk asked, moving his head to indicate the mist swirling closer around them.
“ ’Course I could!” Gould said cheerfully. “Know the boats on the river like me own ’and, I do.” He nodded to one side. “That’s the
“Yes . . . of course.” Monk’s mind was racing, picturing the thieves creeping through the wreaths of vapor, finding the
“W’ere yer wanna go?” Gould asked.
Monk could see little that was distinguishable in the dark blur of the shoreline. What he needed was a good pawnbroker who asked no questions and who would decline to remember him afterwards, but if he had ever had any knowledge of the south side of the river, he had forgotten it now. He might as well make use of Gould’s help.
“Pawnbroker,” he replied. “One that has some good stuff but is not too particular.”
Gould chortled with hilarity. “Will yer want one on the souf side, eh? I could tell yer a few good ones on the norf. In’t none better’n ol’ Pa Weston. Give yer a fair price, an’ never ask no questions as ’ow yer got it, wotever it is. Tell ’im yer Aunt Annie left it yer, an’ ’e’ll look at yer as solemn as an owl an’ swear as ’e believes yer.”
Monk made a mental note that Gould had almost certainly tried that a few times himself. Perhaps he was a heavy-horseman on the side, with all the specially built pockets in his clothes, or simply a scuffle-hunter, like the man who had stabbed him. Monk was glad he did not have Callandra’s watch with him now.
“Rather the south side,” he answered. “Better for me at the moment.”
“I unnerstand,” Gould assured him. “In’t everything as is easy ter place.” He made a rueful gesture, a kind of shrug, and as he leaned forward a ship’s riding lights caught for a moment on his face, and Monk saw his expression of frustration, and a wry, desperate kind of self-mockery. Monk wondered what trinket Gould was trying to pawn. Presumably the description of it was already known to the police.
They were only a few yards from the shore now, and Monk saw the steep bank rise ahead of them and heard the water slapping on the steps. A moment later they were alongside, and with an expert turn of the oar, Gould bumped the boat gently against the stone so Monk could get out.
“Wot yer done ter yer arm, then?” he asked curiously, watching Monk wince as he fished in his pocket for money to pay his fare.
Monk raised his eyes to meet Gould’s. “Knife fight,” he said candidly, then he passed the money over, plus an extra sixpence. “Same for the way back, if you’re here in a couple of hours.”
Gould grinned. “Don’ slit nobody’s throat,” he said cheerfully.
Monk stepped out onto the stairs and began to climb upward, keeping his balance on the wet stone with difficulty. Once on the embankment, he walked to the nearest street lamp and looked around. He could not afford the time to explore; he needed to ask, and within a matter of minutes he found someone. Everybody was familiar with the need to pawn things now and then, and an enquiry for a pawnbroker was nothing to raise interest.
He was back at the stairs an hour and three-quarters later, and within ten minutes he saw Gould’s boat emerge from the mist and the now-total darkness of the river. He did not realize how relieved he was until he was seated in
