“Not unless they were told,” Monk answered.

“Where did you find the photographs that you have shown us?”

“With the equipment.”

“I see. And do they depict the inside of the boat you saw?”

“Yes.”

“To your knowledge, Mr. Monk, was Mickey Parfitt alone in this ghastly trade?”

“No,” Monk replied, his mouth tight. “He had at least three men we have been able to question, who worked quite openly for him, but of course there may be many others that we have not found.”

“Really? What brings you to that conclusion, Mr. Monk?” Winchester continued to look innocent.

Rathbone felt himself stiffen in his seat. This was what Winchester had been leading up to, and Monk even more so. Rathbone had to make an intense effort to look unconcerned. Any anxiety, confusion, or surprise they saw could be read as guilt.

The silence of strain in the room was palpable.

“The photographs,” Monk replied to Winchester.

“But you said you thought Parfitt took them himself?” Winchester sounded surprised.

“Probably,” Monk conceded. “But not merely for his own pleasure.”

“He sold them?” Winchester asked with a gesture of distaste. “I suppose there must be a market for such …” He searched for a word acceptable in court that would describe what he felt, and did not find it.

Monk smiled sourly. “Undoubtedly,” he agreed. “But the market that would pay most highly, again and again, is the men who are shown in the pictures.” There was rage in his voice, almost choking him, but looking up at him across the space of the open floor, Rathbone saw a pity in him also, and it took him by surprise.

“Oh.” Winchester bit his lips. “Of course. How dull-witted of me. Blackmail. And have you some reason to suppose that Parfitt did not commit the blackmail himself?”

“Parfitt came from a poor family of manual laborers and petty thieves on the riverside,” Monk answered. “He was uneducated and lived by his wits. According to those who knew him, he had neither good looks nor charm, and was not particularly eloquent. His skills were his cunning and his encyclopedic knowledge of human weakness and depravity. How could he find the victims for such blackmail? It is hardly his social circle, and one cannot advertise the goods he had for sale.”

Winchester looked as if he had been suddenly enlightened. His eyes widened. Then he smiled at his own attempt at playacting. He looked at the jury as if to apologize to them. Several of them smiled back at him.

“Of course,” he said mildly. “There has to be a man of more sophistication, higher social connections, and possibly money to have provided him with this boat, and obviously excellent photographic equipment, in the first place.”

“Yes.”