She was incapable of speech, but she nodded her head, her eyes filled with tears. She struggled against them, and failed.

Without a word, Niven put his arms around her, and she turned and buried her head in his shoulder.

There was nothing for Monk to say or do. He repacked the jacket, closed the bag and left without saying anything further, not troubling the maid to open or close the door for him.

This time the police did not argue. The sergeant regarded the jacket and trousers with a kind of vicious satisfaction, a slow smile spreading across his thin features.

“Got ' im,” he said quietly. He regarded the bloodstain on the jacket with a shake of his head. “Poor sod!” He pushed them to one side of the desk and turned his head. “Robinson!” he shouted. “Robinson! Come 'ere! We're goin' to get a party together an' go after Caleb Stone. I want 'alf a dozen men wot knows the river, quick on their feet an' ready for a fight. Got that?”

From somewhere out of sight there was an answer in the affirmative. The sergeant looked back at Monk.

“I'm obliged,” he said with a nod. “We'll get 'im this time. Can't say as we'll make it stick, but we'll scare the 'ell out of 'im.”

“I'm coming with you,” Monk stated.

The sergeant sucked in his breath, then changed his mind. Perhaps an extra man would be useful, especially one with such a marked interest in success.

And also, perhaps Monk deserved it.

“Right y'are then,” he agreed. “We'll be off in”-he consulted his pocket watch, a handsome silver piece of considerable size-”fifteen minutes.”

Half an hour later Monk was walking down Wharf Road beside a Constable Benyon, a lean young man with an eager face and a long, straight nose. The wind, smelling of smoke, damp and sewage, blew in their faces. They had be- gun on the east side of the Isle of Dogs, where the Greenwich Reach moves towards the Blackwall Reach, with instructions to follow the river downstream on the north shore. Two others were taking Limehouse, two more Greenwich and the south shore. The sergeant himself was coordinating their efforts from a hansom, moving from east to west. A further constable was detailed to cross the river and meet the team from Greenwich at the Crown and Sceptre Tavern at two o'clock, unless they were hot on the trail, in which case a message would be left.

“Reckon 'e'll be downriver, meself,” Benyon said thoughtfully. “More like Blackwall, or the East India Docks. Else 'e'll be on t'other side. I'd a' taken ter the marshes, if I'd a bin 'im.”

“He doesn't think we can touch him,” Monk replied, hunching his shoulders against the chill coming up off the water. “Told me himself we'd never find the body.”

“Mebbe we won't need one,” Benyon said, willing himself to believe it.