“Found it?” He dared not even make it plain he meant the reference to Drusilla, in case it was not. He might have meant merely something concerning his present investigation. It was hard for Monk to remember there were other matters, other crimes, other people's lives.

“Well, I think it is,” Evan qualified it very slightly, moving smartly away from the curb as a brougham clattered by. “The name Buckingham is there.”

He touched Monk on the arm and turned to walk against the wind along Great Coram Street towards the square with its bare trees outlined against the sky. “The reason it took me so long to find,” he went on, “was that it wasn't a capital case at all, only an embezzlement, and not of very much.”

Monk said nothing. His footsteps rang on the cold stone. It made no sense, at least not so far.

“A Reginald Sallis embezzled some funds from the church,” Evan continued the tale. “A matter of about twenty pounds or so, but it was reported to the police and investigated. It was unpleasant, because the money was from an orphans' fund, and suspicion fell on a lot of people before the case was proved.”

“But it was proved?” Monk said urgently. “We didn't get the wrong man?”

“Oh no,” Evan assured him, keeping pace. “It was definitely the right man.

Good family, but a bit of a rake. Apparently very handsome, or at least had a fine way with women.”

“What makes you say that?” Monk asked quickly. They had turned into the square and were walking across the grass towards Landsdowne Place and the Foundling Hospital, which lay ahead of them. They must skirt around it to Guildford Street.

“The evidence of his involvement was rather carefully concealed by two young ladies, both of them apparently in love with him,” Evan replied. “Or more accurately, one of them felt very deeply, the other, her sister, was merely flirting.”

“This doesn't explain anything!” Monk said desperately, brushing past a Hussar in uniform. “A romantic rivalry between sisters, a petty embezzlement for which a young rake got . . . what? A year? Five years?”

“Two years,” Evan answered, his face suddenly tight and his eyes full of pity. “But he died of gaol fever in Coldbath Fields. He wasn't a particularly pleasant young man, he robbed the charitable funds of the church, but he didn't deserve to die alone in prison for it.”