"Very perceptive of you. You judged the matter of great seriousness right from the outset?"

"Death is always serious," Robb answered.

"Of course. But murder has a gravity that accident does not. It is a dark and dreadful thing, a violation of our deepest moral order. Accident is tragic, but it is mischance. Murder is evil!"

Robb’s face was pink. "With respect, sir, I thought you said you and I were not here to judge, just to establish the facts. If you don’t mind, sir, I’d prefer to stick to that."

There was a murmur around the court.

Rathbone allowed himself to smile; indeed, he could not help it.

Tobias controlled his temper with grace, but it cost him an effort. Rathbone could see it in the angle of his shoulders and the pull of the cloth in his expensive coat.

"I stand corrected," he conceded. "By all means, let us have the bare facts. Will you describe this dead man that you found. Was he young or old? In good health or ill? Let us see him through your eyes, Sergeant Robb. Let us feel as you did when you stood on the pavement and stared down at this man, so lately alive and full of hopes and dreams, and so violently torn from them." He spread his arms wide in invitation. "Take us with you."

Robb stared at him glumly. Never once did he lift his glance towards the two women sitting white-faced and motionless in the dock. Nor did he look beyond Tobias and Rathbone to search the audience for other faces familiar to him: Monk or Hester.

"He was fairly ordinary. It was difficult to tell his height lying down. He had straight hair, strong hands, callused as if he’d held reins often enough."

"Any signs of a fight?" Tobias cut in. "Any bruises or cuts as if he had tried to defend himself?"

"I saw none. Just the grazes on his hands—from crawling."

"I shall naturally ask the surgeon also, but thank you for your observation. Exactly where was this poor man, Sergeant?"

"On the pathway between number five and number six on Green Man Hill, near Hampstead Heath."

"And which way was he facing?"

"Towards number five."

"And is that where he was killed?"

"I don’t think so. He looked to have crawled some distance. His trouser knees were all torn and muddy, and his elbows in places."

"How far? Can you tell?"

"No. At least two or three hundred yards, maybe more."

"I see. What did you do then, Sergeant?"

Step by step, Tobias drew from Robb the account of finding the carriage and the horses, and presuming they were connected with the dead man. Then he led him through Monk’s arrival, seeking someone answering the dead man’s description.

"How very interesting!" Tobias said with triumph. "Presumably, you took this Mr. Monk to look at your corpse?"

"Yes sir."

"And did he identify him?"

"No sir. He couldn’t say. But he fetched two gentlemen from Bayswater who said he was James Treadwell, who had been their coachman."