“Much better,” Gordimer said with a smile. He fished into his pocket and brought out a length of cloth. It was filthy and blood-spotted, but very recognizably knotted at regular lengths.

Monk reached for it.

Gordimer moved it just beyond his grasp.

“What is it?” Monk said curiously. “Looks like a rag.”

Gordimer nodded. “A very expensive silk rag, to be precise. From close and expert examination, I believe that when it is unknotted and carefully washed, even ironed, it will prove to be a gentleman’s cravat. From the little I have learned, it is made of heavy silk, embroidered with gold leopards—three of them, one above the other, very like those on the queen’s arms in the flag.”

Monk’s stomach lurched. “You’re not—”

“No,” Gordimer agreed drily. “I’m not. I said ‘like.’ There is nothing royal about this. Any gentleman of means—and, I would add, good taste—might acquire such a cravat.”

“Expensive?”

“Very.”

“It was what killed him?”

“I dug it out of his neck, man! What more do you want?”

“Can you take a photograph of it and have it attested to?” Monk asked. “Then we can undo it and wash it and see it more clearly. If we can find out who owned it, we shall be a great deal further forward.”

“Probably,” Gordimer agreed. “Very probably.”

“Thank you,” Monk said sincerely.

“My pleasure,” Gordimer replied. “At least I think so. Not totally sure, nasty little swine like Parfitt.”

Monk smiled at him, and said nothing.

———

BUT FINDING THE OWNER of the cravat was easier to say than to do. Monk had not expected any help from Tosh, Crumble, or ’Orrie Jones, nor did he receive it. The best places to try after that were where customers of that wealth and fashion might be picked up for the boat, such as Cremorne Gardens. But there was no point in visiting during the day; the people he was looking for were those of the night.

He began just before dusk. The cravat itself was safely locked away as evidence—he could not risk being robbed of it. He had with him a very accurate drawing of it as it would have been had the valet just presented it to its owner to put on. It was even colored, very carefully, with paint, the little gold leopards standing out.

He went in to Cremorne Gardens through the great arched wrought-iron gates with the name in huge letters over the top. There were little knots of people standing around, arms waving expressively, and there was lots of laughter and the sound of music in the air.

He walked past them to begin with, looking for the more discreet business, not the idlers but the people who were familiar with the place and had come for a specific purpose. Those were the ones who might have the information he was looking for.