"Not as I’d say ’good,’ " the ostler qualified. " ’Fair,’ more like it." He looked at Monk through narrowed eyes, waiting for him to explain himself.

Monk made a grimace of disgust. "Not what he told me. That’s why I thought I’d check."

"Don’t make no matter now." The ostler spat out the straw, "Dead, poor swine. Not that I’d much time fer ’im. Saucy bastard, ’e were. Always full o’ lip. But I wouldn’t wish that on ’im. Yer not from ’round ’ere, or yer’d o’ know’d ’e were dead. Murdered, ’e were. On Mrs. Anderson’s footpath, practically, an’ ’er a good woman, an’ all. Looked after my Annie, she did, summink wonderful." He shook his head. "Nuffink weren’t too much trouble for ’er."

Monk seized the chance. "A very fine woman," he agreed. "Took in Mrs. Gardiner, too, I believe, when she was just a child."

The ostler selected himself another straw and put it in his mouth. "Oh, yeah. Found her wandering around out of ’er wits, they did. Babblin’ like a lunatic an’ scarce knew ’er own name, poor thing. It were Cleo Anderson wot took ’er in an’ cleaned ’er up and raised ’er like she was ’er own. Shame that no-good braggart got ’isself killed on her doorstep. That kind o’ trouble nobody needs."

"Can’t prevent accidents," Monk said sententiously, but his mind was wondering what could have happened to the young Miriam to cause her such agony of mind. He could imagine it only too vividly, remembering his own fear after the accident, the horrors that lay within himself. Had she experienced something like that? Did she also not know who she was? Was that what terrified her and drove her away from Lucius Stourbridge, who loved her so much?

The ostler spat out his straw. "Weren’t no haccident!" He said derisively. "Like I told yer, ’e were murdered! ’It over the ’ead, ’e were."

"He left his horses here quite often," Monk observed, recalling himself to the present.

"I told you that, too, didn’t I? ’Course, ’e did. Best place fer miles, this is. In’t nuthin’ abaht ’orses I don’t know as is worth knowin’." He waited for Monk to challenge him.

Monk smiled and glanced at the nearest animal. "I can see that," he said appreciatively. "It shows. And your judgment of Treadwell is probably much what I’d concluded myself. An arrogant piece of work."

The ostler looked satisfied. He nodded. "That’s wot I told that policeman wot come ’round ’ere askin’. Treadwell weren’t much good, I told ’im. Yer can learn a lot abaht a man by the way ’e ’andles an ’orse, if yer know wot ter look fer. You know, yer a bit pleased wif yerself, an’ all!"

Monk smiled ruefully. He knew it was true.

The ostler grinned back, pleased there was no offense.

Monk thanked him and left, digesting the information he had gained, not only about Treadwell’s being here but about Miriam’s strange early life and the coincidence of Treadwell’s being murdered on the doorstep of the woman who had found Miriam and had taken her in years before. And, of course, Robb had had the same idea. Monk must be extremely careful he did not inadvertently lead him right to Miriam.