Runcorn did not look at him. "Pawnshop half a mile away. Owner described him close enough. He was wearing a good coat, dark wool, and a scarf. Nothing odd in that, especially on a November night."

"Not very specific. Could have been anyone."

"Could have, except it was the same gun. Had one or two marks and scratches on it. He was certain enough."

"But why would Havilland have killed himself?" Monk persisted.

Runcorn shook his head. "Alan Argyll told me he was becoming an embarrassment to the company. He was reluctant to say so, but he was going to have to dismiss him. Havilland was upsetting the men, causing trouble. Argyll felt very badly about it, but he had no choice. Couldn't let everyone suffer because of one man's obsession. Said he hadn't told his wife, and certainly Mary didn't know, but he had intimated as much to Havilland himself. He begged us not to tell them, especially Mary. It wouldn't alter his suicide, and it would reduce him in their eyes. In fact, it would make suicide seem more rational. Maybe he did tell her after all." There was no relief in his face, no sense of resolution.

"Poor man," Monk said. "If he told her at last and she went off the bridge, taking Toby Argyll with her, he's going to feel a guilt for the rest of his life."

"What else could he do?" Runcorn said reasonably, his face still puckered in distaste.

"If Havilland was murdered, who did Mary think was responsible?"

"Her brother-in-law," Runcorn replied unhesitatingly. "But he wasn't. We checked up-he was out all evening at a function and went home with his wife a little after midnight. She'll swear for him, and so will the servants. Footman waited up; so did the lady's maid. No way he could have been there. Same for his brother, before you ask."

"He lives close by. No servants to swear for him," Monk pointed out.

"He was out of London that night," Runcorn responded. "Wasn't within a hundred miles. Checked on that, too."

"I see." There was nothing left to argue. He stood up with a strange hollowness inside him. "Thank you."

Runcorn rose as well. "Are you giving up?" It sounded like a challenge. There was a note in it close to despair.

"No!" Monk exclaimed. In truth, though, he had no idea where else to look for evidence. Inevitability closed in on him.

"Tell me," Runcorn said, frowning, "if you find anything. And ..."

"Yes, I will," Monk promised. He thanked him, and left before it could grow any more awkward. There was nothing else for them to say to each other, and the brief truce was best unbroken by not trying.