Certainly he told me he would say it was an accident, that the hatred was mutual and he had no more destroyed Angus than Angus had wished to destroy him.” He crossed his legs and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, making a steeple of his fingers. “You must understand he spoke elliptically and in paradoxes, and half the time he just laughed. If I thought it would have helped him, I would have pleaded the man mad.” He regarded them each in turn, his face full of pity and question. “But who wants to spend his life in Bedlam? I think I'd rather be hanged. He was at times eminently sane. He was certainly highly intelligent and obviously well educated. When he chose to, he spoke beautifully. At other times he sounded like any other ruffian from the Isle of Dogs.”

“So you don't really know what he would say?” Rathbone concluded.

“Would you? I only know what I intended to ask him.”

“What was that?” Rathbone and Monk said together.

“About his quarrel with Angus, of course, and what led up to it,” Goode replied.

“About Angus!” Monk clapped his hands on his knee. He twisted around to look at Hester. “Then we must find out what it was he was going to say, what their quarrel really was, if we want to know if it was worth killing him for. Do we?”

“I do,” Goode said instantly. “Guilty or innocent, he was my client. If he was murdered, for whatever reason, I not only want to know, I want to prove it.”

“To whom?” Rathbone asked. “The court isn't going to sit while we search for Angus Stonefield's youth.”

“It's an unnatural death,” Goode pointed out. “There'll be a coroner's inquest.”

“A formality,” Rathbone answered. “Ravensbrook will give his account. The gaolers will confirm it. The doctor will confirm the cause of death and it will be pronounced an unfortunate accident. Everyone will say `What a shame,' and think `What a relief.' The matter will be closed, and they will proceed to the next case.”

“It will take us days, perhaps weeks, to find the answer to whatever Caleb was going to say which mattered so much,” Monk said angrily. “Can't you delay it?”

“A while, perhaps.” Rathbone looked across at Goode. “What do you think?”

“We can try.” Goode's voice lifted a little. “Yes, dammit, we can certainly try!” He swung around. “Miss Latterly?”

“Yes?”

“Are you with us? Will you be as obstructive as possible as a witness to the events, as vague and as contradictory as you may? Give them cause to think, to question, to wonder and to doubt.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “But who will help Monk to trace Angus's life? He cannot do it all alone.”

“We'll all do it, until the inquest begins,” Goode said simply. “By then, surely we will have some idea of what it is we are seeking, and from whom.”