She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

They had only just finished breakfast when Runcorn arrived. He looked tense and angry. At first he refused Hester’s offer of tea, then almost straightaway changed his mind and sat down heavily at the table while she went to brew a fresh pot.

“The man’s a swine!” he said savagely. He had not even removed his coat, as if he were too knotted up to relax sufficiently. “I’ll see him hang for this if it’s the last thing I do!” He glared at Monk. “He’s a liar of the worst sort. He says he never had any intention of marrying Katrina Harcus. Can you believe that?”

“No,” Monk said coldly. “But I can believe that when he found he had a chance to marry Baltimore’s only daughter he seized it with both hands, and suddenly found Katrina something of an embarrassment.”

Runcorn stiffened. “You knew!” he accused him. “You lied. For God’s sake, Monk, what were you thinking of? Trying to protect her feelings or her dignity? She’s dead! And a pound to a penny Dalgarno killed her! It—”

“I only found out last night after I got home!” Monk cut across him, his voice sharp with anger at Runcorn for prejudging him, at Dalgarno for being greedy, dishonest and cruel, and at Katrina for loving so passionately a man unworthy of her, or of anyone.

Runcorn was regarding him with disbelief.

“Hester told me,” Monk snapped at him. Then, seeing Runcorn’s continued doubt, he went on. “She knew something was wrong. I told her Katrina Harcus was dead and that it looked as if Dalgarno had killed her. When she heard his name she said that she had been to see Livia Baltimore—”

“Why?” Runcorn interrupted.

“Because Livia Baltimore’s father was murdered in Leather Lane, everyone assumes by a prostitute,” Monk replied curtly. “You knew that. Hester has set up a house in Coldbath Square where injured women can get some medical help.” He felt a certain satisfaction at seeing the amazement, and then the admiration, in Runcorn’s face. He remembered the deep and powerful change of heart he had seen in him over the women driven to prostitution when they had investigated the death of the artist’s model together. It was the moment when Monk had been obliged, intensely against his will, to see a goodness in Runcorn that he could not ignore, or disdain. He had liked him for it, genuinely.

“So she went to see Miss Baltimore . . .” Runcorn prompted.

Hester came back with a fresh pot of tea and without speaking poured for Runcorn and passed the cup to him. He nodded his appreciation, but his eyes were on Monk.

“Yes,” Monk answered the question. “Dalgarno was there, and their feelings for each other were quite open.”

They both glanced at Hester and she nodded.