Orme was gaining on him. Monk forced himself to run faster. He almost caught up with them just as they reached the edge of the rotted pier jutting twenty feet out into the river. The boat was already waiting for the Fat Man, and Orme's men were beyond sight.

The Fat Man turned with a wave of triumph. "Good night, gentlemen!" he said with glee, his voice rich and soft with laughter. "Thank you for the ivory!" He pushed it into his pocket and swiveled. There was a crack as the last whole piece of timber snapped under his vast weight. For a hideous instant he did not understand what had happened. Then, as it caved in, he screamed and flailed his arms wildly. But there was nothing to grasp, only rotting, crumbling edges. The black water sucked and squelched below, swallowing him with one immense gulp. The moment after there was only the rhythmic slurp again, as if he had never existed. His heavy boots and his immense body weight had dragged him down, and the mud beneath had held him, as if in cement.

Orme and Monk both stopped abruptly.

The Fat Man's boatman saw them and scrabbled for the oars, sending the craft back into the night. In the moon's glow, the water was silver-flecked, and they were easily visible. One of the police boats appeared from around the stakes of the next pier and went after them. A second came for Monk and Orme, and then a third.

"He's got the ivory," Monk said. It made the victory hollow. Farnham would consider it too high a price to pay for the evening's triumph, and he would not let Monk forget it.

"We'll get 'im up," Orme assured him quietly.

"Up? How? We can't go down there. A diver would be lost in minutes. It's mud!"

"Grapples," Orme answered. "Get 'em this tide, we'll find 'im. 'E's got it in 'is pocket. It'll be safe enough." He looked Monk up and down with concern. "You got a nasty cut, sir. Best get it attended to. You know a doctor?"

Now that he thought about it, Monk was aware that his arm hurt with a steady, pounding ache and that his sleeve was soaked with blood. Damn! It was an extremely good coat. Or it had been.

"Yes," he said absently. It would be the sensible thing to do. "But what about the Fat Man? That ooze could pull him down pretty far."

"Don't worry, sir. I'll get a crew with grapples straightaway. I know what that carving's worth." He gave a grin so wide his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "An' it'd be nice to pull the old bastard up an' show 'im off. Better'n just tellin' folk."

"Be careful," Monk warned. "Sodden wet and covered in mud, he'll weigh half a ton!"