There was a ripple of laughter around the courtroom, tense, a trifle high-pitched as nerves were stretched in both horror and excitement.

Monk smiled wolfishly, with no pleasure. “The deepest sin is too often right under the noses of good people,” he replied. “It remains hidden precisely because good people cannot imagine that those they trust could do such things. Perhaps I am so blinded. On the other hand, perhaps you are?”

Winchester put his hand over his face to hide his expression.

George rose to his feet in the gallery, and was sharply pulled back by Wilbert.

A sigh of horror, stifled laughter, and apprehension swept around the gallery.

A juror had a fit of coughing and could not find his handkerchief. Someone lent him one.

Rathbone had a choice, and he had to make it instantly. He could either attempt to defend himself—and there was no defense; Monk’s shot had been deadly—or he could retreat with dignity. He chose the latter. It had the virtue of grace.

“Indeed,” he said with an inclination of his head. “But considering the comparative history of your bookkeeper and my client, my assumption is more reasonable than yours.”

“My bookkeeper is not in the dock,” Monk pointed out.

“Not yet,” Rathbone agreed, now smiling also.

The judge glanced at Winchester, but Winchester made no objection. He was enjoying the battle.

Rathbone took a deep breath and steadied himself. “The point at issue, Mr. Monk, is whether this note could have fallen into the hands of Mr. Robinson even more easily than into the hands of Mr. Ballinger, who, after all, has never even visited the clinic.”

“That depends upon whether Lady Rathbone left the list at the clinic, or at her home, or her parents’ home,” Monk replied. “Since the accused is her father, and she is your wife, her testimony has to be compromised. Or it is possible that she simply does not remember.”

Now Rathbone really had nowhere to turn, except to abandon that line of question. He started again.

“Mr. Monk, you said in your testimony yesterday that you discounted Mr. Rupert Cardew as a suspect in the murder of Mickey Parfitt. This was in spite of the fact that it appears to be absolutely undeniable that his cravat, which he was seen wearing earlier in the day, was the ligature used to strangle Parfitt. You gave as your reason for this a witness who swore that this highly individual cravat had been stolen from Mr. Cardew late in the afternoon of the same day. I am sure the jury wonders, as I do, how a man can have a cravat stolen from around his neck, and we wait eagerly for Mr. Winchester to call this person, so that we may hear.”