“I want you to take a note to Ebenezer Goode, straightaway,” Rathbone ordered. “It is vital we meet with him before court sits again tomorrow. I expect he will be at his home, but if he is not, it is worth pursuing him to wherever he is. Get your coat, and I'll have the note ready. Take a hansom.”

The butler did not move a muscle; his face remained as impassive as if Rathbone had merely asked him to bring another bottle of port.

“Yes sir. Would that be the address in Westbourne Place, sir?”

“Yes.” Rathbone stood up. “And make all haste.”

It was over an hour and a half later when Ebenezer Goode strode in, his coattails flapping behind him, a broadbrimmed hat jammed on his head and a look of glittering expectation in his eyes.

“Well?” he said as soon as he was in the door. He swept a bow to Hester, then ignored her, staring at Rathbone and Monk. “What is it that possibly matters now, that it cannot wait until tomorrow morning and allow me a decent dinner? Have you found a body?”

“Yes, and no.” Rathbone indicated an easy chair. They had retired to the withdrawing room and were relaxed in front of a brisk fire. “Do you know Miss Hester Latterly? She, of course, knows you.”

“Miss Latterly. How do you do.” Goode bowed perfunctorily. “What the devil do you mean, Rathbone? Have you found Angus Stonefield's body, or not?”

“No, we have not. But Caleb's death may not be nearly as simple as we had supposed.”

Goode froze, still halfway to the chair.

“How? In what way? Is Ravensbrook more severely injured than they said?”

Goode sank into the chair.

“No,” Hester answered him. “A few very minor cuts on his upper arms and shoulders. They will stay for a while, but none of them is serious.” Goode looked at her sharply.

“Miss Latterly is a nurse,” Monk said rather quickly. “She was in the Crimea, and has tended more wounded men than you have had cases. She was close to the court, fortunately, and came to Lord Ravensbrook's assistance.”

“I see.” A flash of interest lit Goode's expression. “Do I take it from your tone of voice, and your curious choice of words, Miss Latterly, that there is something more to your opinion than you have said?”

“It is simply this, Mr. Goode,” Monk explained. “We can think of no explanation which fits all the facts, therefore we feel that there must be some profoundly significant fact which we do not know.”

Goode's eyebrows shot up. “And you think I do?” he said incredulously. “I have no idea at all why Caleb should attack Lord Ravensbrook. He may well have hated him, because he so obviously preferred Angus, and perhaps always had done, but that is all rather obvious. By the way, what facts does that not fit?” He looked again at Hester.