A shadow of exasperation crossed Sixsmith's expressive face. "Yes, I did. Not well. She took her father's death very hard. I'm afraid she was a bit less ... well-balanced than he was, or her sister, Mrs. Argyll. Very emotional."

Monk found himself resenting Sixsmith, which was unreasonable. He had never known Mary Havilland in life and Sixsmith had. He must remember that her likenesses to Hester were superficial-matters of circumstance, not nature. And yet her face had looked so gentle and so sane. Emotional, certainly, but her passions were those of a strong woman, not the fancies and indulgences of a weak one.

It was difficult for him to speak of her death to this man who saw her so differently. He hesitated, looking for the words he wanted, even, for an instant, forgetting how far ahead the light still lay.

Sixsmith was there before him. "Is that why you are here? You said River Police. She died in the river, didn't she?" He pursed his lips. "I'm deeply sorry about that. And young Toby, too. What a terrible tragedy." He was looking at Monk intently now. "Are you assuming that she killed herself because of her father? You are almost certainly right. She couldn't accept the truth. Fought against it all the way, poor soul." He shrugged slightly. "Maybe I would have if it had been my father. It's hard to face something like that about your own family."

Monk swung to face him, but there was nothing but a crumpled pity in Sixsmith's face.

"Everyone was very sorry for her," Sixsmith went on. "Turned a deaf ear to her questions and accusations, hoped she'd grow out of it, but it doesn't seem to have helped. Perhaps she finally saw the truth, and it was too much for her."

Monk looked into his powerful, sad face and felt the weight of his conviction and pity. "Thank you. I'll come back if there seems anything further." He held out his hand.

Sixsmith grasped it with a sudden smile so warm it entirely changed him. They could have been friends met again after a long separation. "Do come back," he said, letting Monk's hand go. "Any help I can be."

In spite of what Sixsmith had said, Monk still went to check one more time on James Havilland's suicide. Even as he rode in a hansom along the Embankment he was aware that Farnham would have expected him to attend to the urgent crime on the river, which was his job, but he knew Orme would deal with all the regular accidents and the crimes. He realized ruefully that Orme did that much of the time anyway. He was teaching Monk more than he was learning from him.