"Mrs. Gardiner? Oh, yeah," she said cheerfully. She came farther out onto the step and swung around, pointing. "Four doors up that way she lives. Or mebbe it’s five, number eight. Just along there, any’ow. Yer can’t miss it."

"Would you know if she is at home now?" he asked without moving.

"Cor luv yer, no I wouldn’t. I in’t seen ’er fer a week ner more. I ’eard as she were gettin’ married again, an’ good for ’er, I says."

"Would that be an elderly gentleman who lives about a mile from here?" Monk assumed an ingenuous air.

"Dunno, I’m sure," the girl replied. "Shouldn’t ’a thought so, though. Comes in a right smart carriage, ’e does. Matched pair like nobody’s business. Step fer step they goes, like they was machines."

"Same color?" Monk asked with interest.

"Color don’t matter," she replied with ill-concealed impatience. "Size an’ pace is wot makes ’em ride well."

"Know something about horses?" he observed.

"Me pa were a coachman," she said. "None better, if I says so as shouldn’t."

He smiled at her quite genuinely. Something in her pride in her father pleased him. It was simple and without self-consciousness. "Seen them about quite often, I suppose? Was that coachman much good?"

"Fair," she replied with careful judgment. "Not near as good as me pa. Too ’eavy-’anded."

"Have you seen him lately? I’d like a word with him." He thought he had better give some reason for all the questions.

"I in’t seen ’im fer a few days now." She shook her head as if it puzzled her. "But ’e’s around ’ere often enough. I seen ’im in the High Street. I recognize them ’orses. Goin’ towards the ’Eath."

"You mean not to Mrs. Gardiner’s house?" he said with surprise. "To a public house, perhaps?"

"In’t none up that way," she replied. " ’E must ’a know’d someone."

"Thank you! Thank you very much." He stepped back. "Good day."

She stood on the path smiling as he walked away, then went back into the house to continue with her far less interesting duties.

He was speaking to a gardener busy pulling weeds when he saw Robb turn the corner of the street and come towards him, frowning, deep in thought. His hands were in his pockets, and from the concentration in his face, Monk surmised he was mulling over something that caused him concern.

It was as well for Monk that he was, otherwise Robb would almost certainly have recognized him, and that was something he did not wish. Robb had to be searching for Miriam just as diligently as he was. Monk must find her first, even if only to give her time to prepare what she would say.

He thanked the gardener, turned on his heel and strode away as fast as he could without drawing undue attention to himself. He went down the first side street he came to.

Robb did not pass him. Damn! He must have stopped to speak to the same gardener. It was the obvious thing to do. Then the man would also tell him of seeing the carriage drive by regularly over the last year or more. And Robb would ask who it was that had just been talking to him, and the gardener would say that he had given him the same information. Even if Robb had not recognized the well-cut jacket and the square set of his shoulders, Robb would know it was Monk. Who else would it be?