Runcorn gave him a sideways look. "Might be," he agreed dryly. "I'm betting it was an assassin, hired by one of the Argyll brothers to get rid of Havilland. But we've got to rule out everything else, so tomorrow we'd best ask all around. I can put my men on that. I suppose you've got river things to attend to?"

Monk smiled. The sudden appreciation of his position was an oblique way of thanking him for not showing off in front of Melisande Ewart. "Yes. Spate of robberies, actually. Thank you."

Runcorn stared at him for a moment, as if to make sure there was no mockery in his eyes. Then he nodded and began walking again.

Monk was late to Wapping station again in the morning. He had not meant to be, but he had fallen asleep again after Hester had wakened him, and even her noisy riddling of the ashes from the stove had not wakened him. It was nearly ten o'clock when he climbed the steps from the ferry. They were slicked over with ice and dangerously slippery. He reached the top and saw Orme coming out of the station door. Had he been waiting for him? Why? Another warning that Farnham was after him? He felt cold inside.

Orme came towards him quickly, his coat collar up, wind tugging at his hair.

"Mornin', sir," he said quietly. "Like to walk that way a bit?" He inclined his head to indicate the stretch southwards.

"Good morning, Orme. What is it?" Monk took the hint and turned to keep in step.

"Did a good bit of lookin' around yesterday, Mr. Monk. Asked a few questions, collected a favor or two," Orme answered in a low voice. He led Monk away from the station and, within a few moments, out of sight of it. "It's right enough there's been a lot more thievin' in the last month or two-neat like, all tidy. Passenger standin' talkin', then a piece goes, watch or bracelet or whatever it is. Like as not it isn't noticed fer a little while, then o' course it's too late. Could be anywhere. There's always someone beside you as couldn't 'ave done it, an' they always say as they saw nothin'."

"Several people working together," Monk judged. "One to distract, one to take it, a passer, another to block the way with offers of help, and maybe a fifth to take it and disappear."

"Yer right. An' from what I 'eard, I'm pretty certain at least one of 'em was a kid, ten or eleven, each time."

"Not the same child?"

"No, just that sort of age. People take 'em for beggars, mudlarks, just strays 'anging around for a bit of food, likely, or to keep warm. Better in a boat than on the dockside in the wind."