"None."

Robb grunted. "I cannot stop you looking for her also, of course, and perhaps finding her before I do. But if she is involved in this crime, even as a witness, and you assist her, I shall charge you!" His young face was set, his lips tight.

"Of course," Monk agreed. "I would in your place." That was unquestionably true. He had a suspicion from what he had learned of himself and the past that Robb was being gentler with him than he had been with others. He smiled bleakly. "Thank you for your civility. I expect we’ll meet again. Good day."

Monk arrived home at Fitzroy Street a little after seven and found dinner ready and Hester waiting for him. It was extremely satisfying. The house was clean and smelled faintly of lavender and polish. There were fresh flowers on the table, a white cloth with blue cross-stitch patterns on it, and crockery and silverware. Hester served cold game pie with crisp pastry and hot vegetables, then an egg custard with nutmeg grated over the top, and lastly cheese and crusty bread. There were even a few early strawberries to finish. He sat back with a feeling of immense well-being to watch Hester clear away the dishes, and was pleased to see her return some twenty-five minutes later ready to sit down and talk with him for the rest of the evening. He wanted to tell her about Treadwell, and about Robb and his grandfather.

"Did you find the coach yet?" she asked.

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs.

"Yes. And I found Treadwell also." He saw her eyes widen, then the knowledge came into her face that there was far more to what he said. She understood the tragedy before he put it into words. She did not ask him, but waited.

"I went to the local police station to see if they had seen the coach. The sergeant was occupied with a murder case, but he spared me a few minutes ..." He knew she would leap to the conclusion before he told her.

"Treadwell!" She swallowed. "Not Miriam, too?" Her voice was strained with expectation of pain.

"No," he said quickly. "There’s no sign of her at all. I would not have had to mention her, except that I brought Major Stourbridge to identify Treadwell, and Lucius insisted on coming as well. Of course, they had to ask Robb about her."

"Robb is the sergeant?"

"Yes." He described him for her, trying to bring to life in words both the gentleness he had seen in the young man and the determination, and a little of the edge of his nervousness, his need to succeed.

He saw in her face that he had caught her interest. She had understood that there was far more he had not yet told her.

"How was Treadwell killed?" she asked.

"With a blow over the head with something hard and heavy."