“I doubt there will be anything,” she said sadly. “Poor Mr. Arbuthnot is as confused as I. Of course, he does not know what I do of Caleb.” Her mouth tightened, and she turned half away towards the very small fire glimmering in the hearth. “It is something I prefer not to make public, unless I am left no alternative whatever. One does not like to air one's family tragedies for all to know. Poor Angus tried to keep it as discreet as he could, and I don't believe his friends or colleagues were aware.” She lifted one shoulder very slightly in a gesture of despair. “It is most embarrassing that one's relatives are… criminal.” She looked back at him as if it had been a kind of relief to her to speak the truth aloud.

Perhaps she saw a shred of incredulity in his eyes.

“I do not blame you for finding it hard to believe, Mr. Monk, that two brothers could be so different. I found it hard myself. I used to fear Angus had conceived some jealousy or fancy which made him see his brother in such a light. But a little investigation will show you that far from painting Caleb black, Angus was, if anything, too kind in his judgment.”

He did not doubt her sincerity, but he still held his reservations as to what Caleb Stonefield might really be like.. probably no more than a rake or a gambler, someone Angus did not wish to bring to his charming and comfortable home, perhaps least of all leave in the company of his wife. If Caleb were a womanizer, he could never resist trying to awaken in this woman the fires which might so easily lie nascent beneath her proper exterior. Monk himself could feel the temptation. There was a richness in her mouth, a daring in her eyes, and strength in the angle at which she carried her head.

“Why do you believe your brother-in-law might have harmed your husband, Mrs. Stonefield?” he said aloud. “After all the long years of relationship between them, and your husband's loyalty, why should he now hate so deeply as to commit violence against him? What has changed?”

“Nothing that I know,” she said unhappily, staring now at the fire. There was no doubt in her voice, no lessening of the emotion.

“Did your husband threaten him in any way, financially or professionally?”

Monk went on. “Is it likely that he became aware of some misdemeanor, or even crime, that Caleb may have been involved with? And if he did, would he have reported it?”

Her eyes flickered up quickly, meeting his with sudden light. “I don't know, Mr. Monk. You must think me very vague, and most uncharitable to a man I don't even know. Of course what you suggest is possible. Caleb lives in a way which would make it likely he is involved in many crimes. But it is not that which causes my fear.”

Had she said anything else he would have known she lied. He had seen the spark of realization in her eyes, and the doubt.

“What is it?” he said with a gentleness unusual to him.

“I wish I could tell you more precisely,” she answered with a tiny, self-deprecating smile. Then she looked up at him and her expression was startlingly intense. “My husband was not a cowardly man, Mr.

Monk, neither morally nor physically, but he lived in dread of his brother.

For all that he pitied him, and tried all the years I have known him to bridge the gulf between them, he was deeply afraid.”

Monk waited for her to continue.

She looked into the distances within her own mind. “I have seen the change come over his face when he spoke of Caleb, how his eyes darkened and his mouth showed lines of pain.” She took a deep breath and he could see that she was shaking very slightly, as if mastering a deep shock within herself.

“I am not exaggerating, Mr. Monk. Please believe me, Caleb is both evil and dangerous. My worst fear is that his hatred has finally driven him mad and he has killed Angus. Of course, I hope he is alive… and yet I am terrified it is already too late. My heart tells me one thing, and my mind another.” At last she looked at him, her eyes wide and direct. “I need to know. Please leave no effort untried for as long as I have any means with which to recompense you. For my children's sake, as well as my own, I have to know what has happened to Angus.” She stopped. She would not repeat herself or beg for pity beyond his labor that she could hire. She stood very straight in the room he still merely observed only as a kind of elegance behind her. He was unaware even of the ash settling in the fire.

Not only for her, but for the man whose wife and home this was, he had no hesitation in accepting the task wholeheartedly.

“I will do everything in my power, Mrs. Stonefield, I promise you,” he answered. “May I continue by speaking to some of your servants who may have noticed letters or callers?”

She looked puzzled, and a flicker of disillusion shadowed her eyes. “How will that help?”

“It may not,” he conceded. “But without some kind of indication that some of the more obvious answers are untrue, I cannot request the help I shall need from the River Police to conduct a search of the docks or of the quarter where you say Caleb lives. If he has indeed killed his brother, it will not be easy to prove.”

“Oh…” She let out her breath in a jerky little sigh. “Of course.” She was very pale. “I had not thought of that. I'm sorry, Mr. Monk. I shall not interfere again. Whom would you like to see first?”

He spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening questioning the staff from the butler and the cook through to the between-maid and the bootboy, and learned nothing to contradict his first impression that Angus Stonefield was a diligent and prosperous man of excellent taste and very ordinary habits, with a wife to whom he was devoted, and five children ranging in age from three to thirteen years.

The butler had heard of the brother, Caleb, but had never seen him. He knew only that Mr. Stonefield would go quite regularly to the East End to meet with him, that he seemed nervous and unhappy prior to going and sad on his return. On almost every occasion he had sustained both personal injury and severe damage to his clothes, sometimes beyond repair. Mr. Stonefield had refused to call a doctor, insisting that the matter not be reported, and Mrs. Stonefield had cared for him herself. None of it helped to explain where Angus Stonefield was now or what had happened to him. Even his effects, and the few letters in the top drawer of his tallboy, were precise, each in its place, and exactly what Monk would have expected. “Did you learn anything?” Genevieve asked when he returned to the withdrawing room to take his leave.

He would have disliked disappointing her, but there was no hope in her face.

“No,” he confessed. “It was simply an avenue I dared not leave unexplored.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting together in front of her dress, the only betrayal of the emotion within her.

“I received a letter today from Angus's guardian, Lord Ravensbrook, offering to assist us until we can… until… You might care to see if he can… help… with information, I mean.” She looked up at him.

“I have written his address for you. I am sure he will receive you whenever you care to call.”

“You are going to accept his offer?” he said urgently.

The moment he asked he saw her face shadow, and knew he had been intrusive.

It was not his concern. She had promised to pay him, and he wondered now if she assumed that concern for money was the reason he had asked.

“No,” She said, before he could apologize and find some excuse to moderate his discourtesy. “I would very much prefer not to be”-she hesitated-”indebted to him, if it can be avoided. He is a good man, of course!” She went on quickly. “He raised Angus and Caleb when their own parents died. They are only distant relatives. He had no real obligation, but he gave them every opportunity, as if they were his own. His first wife died very young. He has married again now. I am sure he would give you any assistance he can.”