“He must be very badly hurt.” Hester tried to gather her wits. Whatever had happened, someone was severely injured.
“I can’t do anything more for Imogen,” she said, climbing to her feet. She turned to Charles. “Take her home, keep her as warm as you can, and when she comes to, try to get her to take a little beef tea. Call the doctor, of course. Don’t put her into sheets, put her straight into blankets, and sit with her.” She watched to make sure he had understood, then she faced Monk. “We must find Pendreigh, if he is still alive. I may be able to help.”
“We’ve no idea where he is!”
“We’ll begin at his home. That’s where most people go when they’re badly hurt.” She started towards the roadway again.
“No!” Monk said instinctively.
She ignored him. “And we must take a constable or someone with us! Apart from anything else, you haven’t any authority. And. .” She gulped, the ice-cold vapor hurting her chest. “We have to know what happened, for Imogen’s sake. We have to protect her!” It was hideous, and still totally inexplicable. Why had she attacked Pendreigh? There had to be a reason, something that would excuse her in law.
“I’ll get Runcorn,” he answered. “But you’re going home.”
“No, I’m not! It’s my duty to help the injured, just as it’s yours to answer the law. Don’t stand here wasting time. We need a cab, and we need Runcorn!”
Charles had already bent and picked up Imogen very carefully. Now he straightened his back and his legs to carry her across to the waiting cab. The cabbie suddenly galvanized into life and scrambled after them, waving the light, leaving Hester and Monk alone in the darkness.
“Don’t argue!” Hester said.
Monk swore, then bit it back and started to run towards the near end of the bridge, where he could see a cab looming up from New Bridge Street. He shouted at the driver, and saw the man turn in surprise and disapproval, silhouetted in his high-collared coat and stovepipe hat.
“It’s an emergency!” Monk said breathlessly as he reached the cab, half lifted Hester in, then scrambled in behind her. “Take me to Superintendent Runcorn’s house in Lamb’s Conduit Street, and go as quickly as you can.”
After only the slightest indecision the driver obeyed, and Monk sat beside Hester shivering, praying that Runcorn was at home. If he had to direct the cab to go looking for him, he had no idea where else to search but the police station, and even that was time wasted. Pendreigh must be badly wounded-from the amount of blood on Imogen, perhaps even fatally.
“What on earth had they been doing on the bridge? Why did she go with him?” Monk said in the darkness as they sat together and the cab moved forward.
Hester did not bother to answer. Nothing made sense, except that they had fought, wildly, desperately, leaving Imogen senseless on the footpath and Pendreigh bleeding so terribly he surely could not get far.
The fog was thinning away from the river, and the cab picked up speed.
“He must have attacked her,” Monk said in the fitful light as they moved from lamp to lamp. “But why? In what way could she possibly have threatened him? And don’t say to blame him for Elissa. He’s not that big a fool. Elissa was gambling from her own need. It had nothing to do with anyone else at all!”
“Imogen was in Swinton Street on the night of the murders,” Hester replied. “We know she saw Allardyce. . ”
“Pendreigh?” he said in astonishment. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The cab pulled up abruptly, and after telling Hester to wait, Monk leaped out and ran across the rapidly icing pavement and pushed open the outer door. He went up the stairs two at a time to reach Runcorn’s apartments. He lifted his fist and banged so hard the door itself rattled against the frame.
“Runcorn!” he shouted. “Runcorn!”
The door opened and Runcorn stared at him. “What is it?” he said almost calmly.
Monk swallowed. “Pendreigh took Imogen Latterly out of the courthouse and through the fog to Blackfriars’ Bridge. They quarreled about something.” He all but pushed Runcorn inside, looking around for his coat to hand it to him. “We found her senseless and covered with blood, but no injury on her. Her umbrella point was used to stab someone, and Pendreigh’s nowhere to be seen. We’ve got to find him. Come on!”
Runcorn opened a cupboard and took his hat and coat out, then made for the door still carrying them in his hand.
Monk ran down the stairs again on Runcorn’s heels, and across the pavement into the hansom, calling out Pendreigh’s address in Ebury Street as he went. Runcorn showed a moment’s amazement that Hester was in the cab, but there was no point in arguing about it now.
Once again the cab started forward and picked up speed. The fog was drifting in patches and the hiss of tires on the wet roads was muffled as they swung through the alternating light of each lamp and into the spaces between.
It was several moments before Runcorn spoke, and when he did it was with intense feeling.
“What are you not telling me, Monk? Why was she there? What did she know about Fuller Pendreigh and his daughter that we don’t? Or at any rate, that I don’t?”
“I’m working it out!” Monk said tartly, looking sideways at Runcorn’s face in the glare of lamplight. He saw no hostility, only puzzlement. “She was the woman in Swinton Street that night,” he began his reply. “At the gambling house.” He heard Runcorn’s quick intake of breath. “She must have seen Pendreigh there, too. That’s about the only thing that would make him take her down to the river and, we presume, attack her. She must have been at least half prepared for it, and she went for him with the spike of her umbrella. In spite of his clothes, she must have given him a fearful blow, from the blood all over her. Don’t know how she managed it.”
Runcorn muttered a blasphemy under his breath, or perhaps it was not. He might even have been praying.
The hansom careered its way through the streamers of fog and sudden glittering lights. The wind was rising.
“Will she be all right?” Runcorn said at last.
“I don’t know,” Monk admitted.
Runcorn drew in his breath to say something, then could not make up his mind.
Monk could feel the warmth of his body beside him. In the intermittent light he could see Runcorn’s indecision, his waiting to offer some kind of pity, and all the memories flooding back of envy and distrust, all the petty unkindnesses of the past.
The cab stopped at Ebury Street and they both got out, Monk turning to help Hester. Runcorn paid the cabbie and then went up the front steps. He pulled the doorbell hard, and then again. They stood impatiently for what seemed an age until the butler came.
“Yes sir, madam?” he enquired with just a hint of disapproval for the lateness of the hour.
“Superintendent Runcorn, of the police,” Runcorn said icily. “And Mr. William Monk, and Mrs. Monk.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Pendreigh is not receiving at this hour, sir. If you come to-”
“I’m not asking, I’m telling you,” Runcorn snapped. “Now be so good as to step aside, rather than oblige me to arrest you for obstructing the police in their duty. Do I make myself plain?”
The butler quailed. “Yes sir, if. .” But he was elbowed aside as Runcorn walked in with Monk on his heels.
“Where is Mr. Pendreigh?” Runcorn asked. “Upstairs?”
“Mr. Pendreigh is not well, sir. He was attacked by robbers in the street. If you-”
“Yes or no?” Runcorn snapped.
“Yes sir, but. . Mr. Pendreigh is ill, sir. . I beg you. .”
“Come on!” Runcorn ordered, ignoring the butler and gesturing to Monk as he began to climb the stairs, again two at a time. They met a startled maid at the head of the flight, carrying a pile of towels. “Mr. Pendreigh’s room?” Runcorn asked. “Is he in there? Answer me, girl, or I’ll arrest you.”
She yelped and dropped the towels. “Yes. . sir!”
“Well, where is it?”
“There, sir. Second door. . sir!” She put her hands up to her face as if to stop herself from screaming.
