“I don't understand you, Mr. Monk.” She blinked.

He saw nothing but confusion in her.

“Did they eat together, take a pint of ale, for example?” he elaborated.

“Did they meet inside or outside, on the river or ashore? In company with others, or alone?”

“Yes, I see.” Understanding was quick in her face, then distress. “You want to know where to look for . . . a body. . . .”

Titus Niven winced and his sensitive mouth was pulled crooked with distaste. He shot Monk a look of pleading, but he did not interrupt, though the effort obviously cost him.

“Or a witness,” Monk amended.

“I am afraid he didn't, or I should have told you.” She shook her head. “He never discussed his meetings with Caleb. It always upset him. But once or twice his clothes were damp and smelled of salt and fish.” She took a breath. “And other things I cannot identify for you, but most unpleasant.”

“I see. Thank you.” He had wondered if she would gently lead him to where Angus was. If she knew, then sooner or later she would. She needed his death proved. Standing in this gracious room, knowing it to be slowly de- nuded of its treasures, seeing the tiny heap of coals glowing in the hearth, her pale face smudged with weariness and anxiety, he found it almost impossible to believe she harbored any deceit at all. But he had been wrong before. And the fact that he liked Niven meant nothing either.

He must pursue it. “Then I shall take my leave. Good day, ma'am. Mr.

Niven.”

He followed his hunch diligently for the rest of that day, and half of the next, and learned nothing at all. According to even the most critical of neighborhood gossip, Genevieve was as worthy as her husband, a virtuous woman in every outward regard, even to the point of being a trifle tedious.

If she had any failings they were a carefulness with money, an extreme regard for it, and a rather unreliable sense of humor. She had been known to laugh more often than was entirely suitable, and on quite inappropriate occasions.

Titus Niven was a friend of the family, at least as much of Angus's as hers. And no, no one knew any occasion when he had called at the house when Angus was not also present.

If there had been any secret relationship then it was hidden superbly well.

Titus Niven had cause to be envious of Angus Stonefield, both professionally and personally, perhaps even to hate him, but there was no evidence that indeed he did so.