Monk looked at him steadily. Arbuthnot was distinctly uncomfortable, but Monk had no way of knowing whether it was embarrassment, guilt, or just the general distress of talking about someone he had liked and respected and who was in all probability now dead. And, of course, if the business had to be sold or closed down, he too would lose his livelihood.

“Who?” Monk prompted him.

Arbuthnot gazed at the floor between them.

“Mr. Niven. He's in a similar line of trade himself. At least . . . he .

. . he was.”

“And now?”

Arbuthnot took a deep breath. “I fear he is on hard times.”

“Why did he come here? I understood from your clerk when I was here yesterday that it was largely Mr. Stonefield's superior skill which was responsible for his misfortune.”

Arbuthnot looked up quickly, his long face full of reproach. “If you think Mr. Stonefield did him out of business on purpose, sir, you are quite wrong, quite wrong indeed! It was never his intention at all. It's just that you have to do the best you can if you want to survive yourself. And Mr. Stonefield was quicker in his judgment, and more accurate. Never exactly took chances”-he shook his head-”if you understand me? But he was very diligent in his studies of trends, and well liked in the business.

People trusted him when they might not someone else.” There was a furrow of concern between his brows and he searched Monk's face to be certain he took his meaning exactly.

Was his scrupulous honesty a safeguarding of his position in case Stonefield should return after all, or a protection for Niven for any of a dozen reasons, including some nature of collusion?

“Why did Mr. Niven come?” Monk repeated. “How was he dressed? What was his demeanor?” As Arbuthnot hesitated again, he became impatient. “If you wish me to have any chance whatever of finding Mr. Stonefield, you must tell me the exact truth!”

Arbuthnot caught the hard edge of Monk's voice, and his prevarication dropped like a mask to reveal acute pity and discomfort.

“He came to see if we could put any work his way, sir. I'm afraid things are most difficult for him. He knew Mr. Stonefield would help him if he could, but I'm afraid there was nothing at present. He did give him a letter of commendation for his honesty and diligence, though, in case that might be of use to him.” He swallowed with an effort.

“And his demeanor?” Monk insisted.

“Distressed,” Arbuthnot said quietly. “At the end of his strength, poor man.” His eyes flicked up at Monk's again. “But a complete gentleman, sir.

Never for a moment did he indulge in self-pity or anger against Mr.