“We’ve all dealt with it at one time or another,” Dalgarno replied. “As you say, it is a subject which can cause a great deal of concern.”

Monk frowned. “All?”

“The late Mr. Nolan Baltimore was also concerned with land,” Dalgarno explained.

“Indeed.” Monk was about to continue when the door opened and a man he instantly assumed to be Jarvis Baltimore stood in the entrance, his face a little flushed, his expression impatient. “Michael, I . . .” He saw Monk and stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a client.” He held out his hand. “Jarvis Baltimore,” he introduced himself.

Monk took Baltimore’s hand and felt a grip a little too powerful, as of someone determined to exert his authority.

“Mr. Monk represents a client interested in a large purchase of rolling stock,” Dalgarno explained.

Baltimore fixed his expression into one of ease and interest, although his body still carried a barely suppressed tension. “I’m sure we can help you, Mr. Monk. If you give us your client’s requirements, we will quote for you on all goods.”

“And services?” Monk raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Dalgarno said you also have some skill in negotiating the purchase of land and right-of-way.”

Baltimore smiled. “Certainly. At a fee, of course!” He glanced quickly at Dalgarno, then back at Monk. “Now I’m afraid we must both leave the discussion for today. My family has very recently been bereaved, and Dalgarno is a close friend—one of us, almost. My mother and sister are expecting us both this evening. . . .”

Monk looked to Dalgarno and saw the quick response in his face, the immediacy of his answer. Was that ambition, affection, pity? He had no way of telling.

“I’m sure you understand,” Baltimore went on.

“Of course,” Monk agreed. “Again, please accept my condolences. This was only a preliminary discussion. I will report back to my principals, and they will instruct me further. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Baltimore, Mr. Dalgarno.”

He excused himself and took his leave, turning over impressions in his mind as he made his way home.

“What was Dalgarno like?” Hester asked him an hour later over a supper of grilled fish with mashed potato and onions. “Do you think he is involved in any kind of fraud?”

He hesitated before he replied, surprised by how decisive his answer was. She was watching him with interest, her fork poised in the air.

“I don’t know whether there is any fraud or not,” he replied steadily. “But if there is, I would find it hard to believe he was duped. He seemed knowledgeable, intelligent, and far too ambitious to leave anything to chance—or to anyone else’s judgment. I would think him the last man to trust his welfare to another.”