"We got to do wots right, an' trust it'll be seen as right," Orme said stubbornly. "I can't find out 'oo killed 'er. I 'aven't got the skill fer that. Never done it with people o' that class. Give me a river fight, dockers, thieves, lightermen, sailors even, an' I can sort it out. But not ladies like that. You done that fer years, Mr. Monk. You know murders wot are quiet. I know a punch in the face; you know a knife in the back. We'll get it all, between us."

"What about a hand in the pocket, a slit in the purse, and your money gone?" Monk asked.

Orme's mouth tightened. "I'll take care o' that. An' o' people with big mouths an' small minds. I know a lot o' people 'oo've got secrets. You can't help gettin' enemies in this job, but if yer careful, an' keep yer promises, you get friends as well."

"I don't know where the enemies are yet," Monk admitted.

Orme smiled mirthlessly. "Not yet you don't-but I do. There's a few I can use, an' I will. Believe me, sir, 'em boat thieves'll wish they 'adn't started. You find 'oo killed that poor girl. I'll be be'ind you, an' I'll watch yer back against Mr. Farnham."

"Thank you," Monk said with utmost sincerity.

SEVEN

SEVEN

Later in the afternoon Monk and Runcorn were in Charles Street again. They were about to begin the task of knocking on the doors of those who had been to the theater the night before, and might possibly have returned at about that same hour the night when James Havilland had died. The day's rain had turned the snow to slush, but now it was freezing again and the pavements were slippery underfoot. The pall over the city from so many domestic fires and factory chimneys blocked out the stars. The streetlamps glowed yellowish white with a halo of mist around each one, and the cold of the night caught in the throat. The noise of hooves was sharp and loud and carriage wheels crunched on the frozen slush.

Monk and Runcorn walked as swiftly as it was safe to do without losing one's footing. They kept their heads down out of the wind, their hats low, coat collars turned up.

Runcorn glanced at Monk as if about to speak, then seemed to change his mind. Monk smiled, partly to himself. He knew that Runcorn was thinking-just as he was himself--that they were almost certainly wasting their time. But having come this far, they might just as well try every house whose front door, servants' entrance, or mews might possibly have allowed one of the occupants to see someone come or go to Havilland's mews that night.

Monk had earlier checked with the library of past newspapers exactly which theaters had been open and the hours when the curtains had come down.