Monk spent a restless night and was up early the next morning to resume his search for Angus Stonefield, although he realized grimly that he had already assumed Genevieve was right in her fears, and what he was truly seeking was proof of his death. But whatever he found, it was unlikely to bring her any happiness. If Angus had absconded with money. or another woman, that would not only rob her of the future but, in a sense, of the past as well, of all that was good and she had believed to be true. The hansom set him down on the Waterloo Road.

The rain had stopped and it was a brisk, chilly day with fast scudding clouds. A cutting east wind came up from the river with a smell of salt from the incoming tide, and the soot and smoke of countless chimneys. He stepped smartly out of the way of a carriage and leaped for the footpath.

He pulled his coat collar a little higher and strode out towards Angus Stonefield's place of business. The domestic servants yesterday evening had told him nothing of use. No one had noticed any behavior out of the very ordinary routine of rising at seven and taking breakfast with his wife while his children ate in the nursery. After reading the newspaper, and any post that may have been delivered, he left in sufficient time to arrive at his office by half past eight. He did not keep a carriage but traveled by hansom cab.

The day of his disappearance he had followed exactly that pattern. The morning's post had contained a couple of small household bills, an invitation, and a polite letter from an acquaintance. No one had called at the house other than the usual tradesmen and a woman friend of Genevieve's who came for afternoon tea.

Monk arrived at Stonefield's offices too early, and was obliged to wait a quarter of an hour before Mr. Arbuthnot appeared walking along the pavement from the north, carrying an umbrella in his hand and looking hurried and unhappy. He was a small man with thick gray hair and a gray, immaculately trimmed mustache.

Monk introduced himself.

“Ali!” Arbuthnot said anxiously. “Yes. I suppose it was inevitable.” He took out a key from the pocket of his coat and inserted it into the outer door. He turned it with some effort.

“You believe so?” Monk said with some surprise. “You foresaw such a thing?”

Arbuthnot pushed the door open.

“Well, something has to be done,” he said sadly. “We can't go on like this.

Do come in. Allow me to close this wretched door.”

“It needs oiling,” Monk observed, realizing Arbuthnot was referring to his own inquiries as inevitable, not his employer's disappearance.