“And he didn’t go out again?”

“Not ’less it were close on daylight,” the gingerbread seller said firmly. “Crows ’as got eyes like ’awks. Don’t miss nothin’. Can’t afford to!”

He was right. The lookout men for burglars survived on their ability to see, remember and report.

“Thank you,” Monk said sincerely. He was so relieved he gave the man a sovereign, and added another half crown on top, then bought a piece of gingerbread.

At two o’clock he was tired and his feet were sore, but his step was light as he went in through the gate of the Royal Botanic Gardens, noticing briefly the blaze of color of the spring flowers. He had only five minutes to wait. She came to the entrance and stopped still, searching for him. Several other people turned to look at her. He was not surprised; she was most striking with her dramatic face and proud bearing, head high. She wore white muslin sprigged with dark blue, and the lines of the bodice echoed the same vivid color, accentuating the femininity of it. Her hat had roses on the brim, and her parasol was trimmed with blue ribbons. Several gentlemen stared at her, smiling for longer than was really polite, but their admiration robbed it of offense.

She saw Monk, and her face lit with pleasure, almost relief. He knew she must have been here many days, each time hoping to see him. He felt a welling up of satisfaction because at last he could tell her that as far as any investigation could show, Dalgarno was innocent of fraud, and even if there was land fraud by anyone else, it could have no connection with any crash. Her fears were honorable but needless.

She came toward him swiftly, stopping so close to him he could smell the perfume she wore, warm and musky, quite different from the sweet, fresh smell of the flowers around them.

“You have news?” she said with a gasp. “I can see it in your face.”

“Yes.” He smiled back at her.

There was a wildness in her eyes, and he saw her bosom rise and fall in the effort to control her breathing. He put his hand up as if to touch her arm, to reassure her, then realized how little he really knew her. The understanding of her fears, the feeling of identity with her, was on his side only. She would regard his touch as intrusive, which it would be. He let his hand fall again.

“Most importantly, I have been able to ascertain that Mr. Dalgarno did not leave his house at a time or for a duration where he could possibly be involved in Nolan Baltimore’s death.”

She was startled. “How?” she said incredulously. “How could anyone know that?”

“Burglars leave men on watch,” he explained dryly. “They call them crows. There was at least one on that street between midnight and dawn.”