“Hester is right. There is something crucial that we don't know, perhaps haven't even come close to.” He turned to Rathbone. “What was going to happen next, if Caleb had lived?”

“The defense would have begun tomorrow,” Rathbone replied slowly, his concentration suddenly sharpening, his wineglass ignored. “Perhaps we need to speak with Ebenezer Goode? I thought I knew what he was going to do, but perhaps I don't.”

Monk stared at him. “What could he do? Plead insanity? The best argument he has is that it was an accident, that Caleb didn't mean to kill him, and then when he had, he panicked. Either that, or try to convince them there is not enough evidence to prove Angus is dead at all. And I don't think he will win with that.”

“Then maybe that's it.” Rathbone clenched his fists on the white tablecloth. “He was going to bring out some evidence to show Angus was not the just and honorable man we suppose. That would be worth killing him for.

To protect Angus's name, and Genevieve's. Perhaps to prevent Caleb from telling some appalling truth about him? That would be a reason.”

“Do you think Lord Ravensbrook would kill Caleb to protect Genevieve?” Monk looked skeptical. “I gathered from their behavior towards each other that their relationship was cool, at best.”

“Then to protect himself?” Rathbone argued urgently, leaning farther forward. “Or protect Angus, or his memory of him. After all, he was the nearest to a son he had. One can love a son in a strange, passionate and possessive way, as if he were part of oneself. I've seen some very complex emotions between parent and child.”

“And Caleb?” Monk asked, his lips drawn back in a hard smile.

“God knows.” Rathbone sighed. “Perhaps it was to spare him the verdict and the hanging. I wouldn't wish hanging on anyone. It's an appalling way to die. It's not the actual drop, and the rope around the throat, jerking tight and breaking the neck as the trap opens, it's the deliberate hourby-hour, minute-by-minute dragging it out to the appointed hour. It's a refinement of cruelty which degrades everyone involved.”

“Then perhaps we should ask Mr. Goode?” Hester concluded. “If we want to know? But do we?”

“Yes,” Monk said without hesitation. “I want to know, even if I don't want to do anything about it.”

Rathbone's eyes widened. “Could you do that . . . know, and do nothing?”

Monk opened his mouth to reply, then changed his mind. He shrugged, and drank the rest of his port, looking at neither Rathbone nor Hester.

Rathbone rang the bell and the butler appeared within seconds.