Monk would like to have asked him to wait and thus give himself time to consider all the consequences, but there was no time. Robb would be looking already. The Crown would prosecute as soon as it had sufficient evidence, whether it was the whole story or not. There was nothing on which to mount any defense.

"Are you quite sure?" he tried one more time, useless as he knew it.

"Yes," Lucius replied instantly. "I have twenty guineas here, and will give you more as you need it. Anything at all, just ask me." He held out a soft leather pouch of coins, thrusting it at Monk.

Monk did not immediately take the money. "The first thing will be your practical help. If Treadwell’s death was not caused by Miriam, then it is either a chance attack, which I cannot believe, or it is to do with his own life and character. I will begin by learning all I can about that. It will also keep me from following Sergeant Robb’s footsteps and perhaps appearing to him to be obstructing his path. Additionally, if I do learn anything, I have a better chance of keeping the option of either telling him or not, as seems to our best advantage."

"Yes ... yes," Lucius agreed, obviously relieved to have some course of action at last. "What can I do?" He gave a tiny shrug. "I tried to think of what manner of man Treadwell was, and could answer nothing. I saw him almost every day. He’s dead, killed by God knows whom, and I can’t give an intelligent answer."

"I didn’t expect you to tell me from your observation," Monk assured him. "I would like to speak to the other servants, then discover what I can of Treadwell’s life outside Bayswater. I would rather learn that before the police, if I can."

"Of course," Lucius agreed. "Thank you, Mr. Monk. I shall be forever in your debt. If there is anything—"

Monk stopped him. "Please don’t thank me until I have earned it. I may find nothing further, or worse still, what I find may be something you would have been happier not to know."

"I have to know," Lucius said simply. "Until tomorrow morning, Mr. Monk."

"Good day, Mr. Stourbridge," Monk replied, walking towards the door to open it for him.

Monk was in the house in Cleveland Square by ten o’clock the next morning, and with Lucius’s help he questioned the servants, both indoor and outdoor, about James Treadwell. They were reluctant to speak of him at all, let alone to speak ill, but he read in their faces, and in the awkwardness of their phrases, that Treadwell had not been greatly liked-but he had been respected because he did his job well.

A picture emerged of a man who gave little of himself, whose sense of humor was more founded in cruelty than goodwill, but who was sufficiently sensible of the hierarchy within the household not to overstep his place or wound too many feelings. He knew how to charm, and was occasionally generous when he won at gambling, which was not infrequently.