"Yes, Mr. Cardman, it looks very like it," Monk replied.

Cardman's face tightened. "And if you can't find the envelope, sir, does that mean you won't be able to prove who did it?"

"Somebody lured him to the stable," Monk told him gravely. "We are certain it was someone else who actually killed him. Whether we can catch the second person I don't know, but it's the first we want most."

"I'm afraid we've long ago disposed of all the rubbish in the study," Cardman said. "There are only Mr. Havilland's papers there now, and of course household bills and receipts. Miss Mary took care of everything like that. No one has been here yet to ... to see to . . ." He trailed off, swamped by the small realities of loss again.

"I'm sure Mr. Argyll will appoint someone," Monk said. Then the moment the words were spoken he realized the appalling urgency of searching the study.

"Which is the study?" Runcorn asked.

Cardman showed them. "Would you like a pot of tea, sir?" he offered. "I'm afraid the room is extremely cold."

They both accepted, speaking together.

Two hours later they knew a great deal about both Havilland's domestic arrangements and how efficiently Mary had continued with them. Everything had been precisely and carefully dealt with. The bills had been checked and paid on time. There were also no unnecessary papers kept, no unanswered letters, no notes made on envelopes or scraps of paper.

"Perhaps it was always going to be a waste of time," Runcorn said wearily. "Damn!" He swore with sudden fury. "I'd stake my life it was Argyll! How the hell do we catch him? Come on, Monk! You're so clever you could tie an eel in knots. How do we get the bastard?"

Monk's mind was racing. "There'd have been a lot of blood on his clothes," he began, thinking aloud.

Runcorn did not see the point. The irritation flickered across his face. "So there would. What does it matter now?"

"Probably too much to clean off. Anyway, who'd want the clothes a man was wearing when he committed suicide?"

"No one- Oh! You mean they're still somewhere! There might be something in the pockets!" Runcorn stood up as if suddenly regaining energy. He walked towards the door, then remembered that there was a bell in the room for summoning servants. Avoiding Monk's eyes, he turned back, reached for it, and pulled.

Cardman answered, and five minutes later they were in James Havilland's dressing room. The clothes he had been wearing at his death were piled neatly on one of the shelves in the tallboy. It was obvious that Mary had never had the stomach to come into the room since that night, and had not permitted the servants to either. Perhaps she would have done so after she had proved that he was not a suicide. Everything seemed to be waiting.