Monk followed him through the glass-paned doors and into his own more comfortably furnished room. With a murmur of apology Arbuthnot bent and put a match to the fire, already carefully laid in the hearth, then let out a sigh of satisfaction as the flames took hold. He lit the lamps also, then took off his coat and invited Monk to do the same.

“What can I tell you that may be of service?” he said, knitting his brows together unhappily. “I have no idea what has happened, or I should already have told the authorities, and we should not now be in this terrible position.”

Monk sat in the rather uncomfortable upright chair opposite him. “I presume you have checked the accounts, Mr. Arbuthnot, and any monies which may be kept here?' -ffis is really very unpleasant, sir,” Arbuthnot said in a tight, quiet voice. “But yes, I felt obliged to do that, even though I was quite certain I should find them in perfect order.”

“And did you?” Monk pressed.

“Indeed, sir, to the farthing. Everything is accounted for and as it should be.” He did not hesitate, nor did his eyes waver. Perhaps it was his perfect steadiness which made Monk believe there was something else to add, some qualification.

“What time did Mr. Stonefield arrive that morning?” he asked. “Perhaps you would tell me everything you recall of that day, in the order it happened.”

“Yes… er, of course.” Arbuthnot shivered a little and turned aside to pick up the poker from the hearth and prod at the fire. He continued with his back to Monk. “He arrived at quarter to nine, as usual. The first delivery of post was already here. He took it into his office and read it-“

“Do you know what was in it?” Monk interrupted.

Arbuthnot finished his administrations to the fire and laid the poker back on its rest. “Orders, delivery notices, advice of shipments, an application for a position as clerk.” He sighed. “A very promising young man, but if Mr. Stonefield does not return, I doubt we should be able to keep those we have, much less employ additional staff.”

“And that was all? Are you quite sure?” Monk avoided the subject of Stonefield's return and the dismissing of staff. There was nothing helpful he could say.

“Yes, I am,” Arbuthnot said firmly. “I asked young Barton about it, and he remembered precisely. You can ask him yourself if you wish, but there was nothing in the post to occasion Mr. Stonefield's departure, of that I am quite certain.”

“Visitors?” Monk asked, watching Arbuthnot's face.

“Ali…” He hesitated. “Yes.”

Monk looked at him steadily. Arbuthnot was distinctly uncomfortable, but Monk had no way of knowing whether it was embarrassment, guilt, or just the general distress of talking about someone he had liked and respected and who was in all probability now dead. And, of course, if the business had to be sold or closed down, he too would lose his livelihood.

“Who?” Monk prompted him.

Arbuthnot gazed at the floor between them.

“Mr. Niven. He's in a similar line of trade himself. At least… he.

.. he was.”

“And now?”

Arbuthnot took a deep breath. “I fear he is on hard times.”

“Why did he come here? I understood from your clerk when I was here yesterday that it was largely Mr. Stonefield's superior skill which was responsible for his misfortune.”

Arbuthnot looked up quickly, his long face full of reproach. “If you think Mr. Stonefield did him out of business on purpose, sir, you are quite wrong, quite wrong indeed! It was never his intention at all. It's just that you have to do the best you can if you want to survive yourself. And Mr. Stonefield was quicker in his judgment, and more accurate. Never exactly took chances”-he shook his head-”if you understand me? But he was very diligent in his studies of trends, and well liked in the business.

People trusted him when they might not someone else.” There was a furrow of concern between his brows and he searched Monk's face to be certain he took his meaning exactly.

Was his scrupulous honesty a safeguarding of his position in case Stonefield should return after all, or a protection for Niven for any of a dozen reasons, including some nature of collusion?

“Why did Mr. Niven come?” Monk repeated. “How was he dressed? What was his demeanor?” As Arbuthnot hesitated again, he became impatient. “If you wish me to have any chance whatever of finding Mr. Stonefield, you must tell me the exact truth!”

Arbuthnot caught the hard edge of Monk's voice, and his prevarication dropped like a mask to reveal acute pity and discomfort.

“He came to see if we could put any work his way, sir. I'm afraid things are most difficult for him. He knew Mr. Stonefield would help him if he could, but I'm afraid there was nothing at present. He did give him a letter of commendation for his honesty and diligence, though, in case that might be of use to him.” He swallowed with an effort.

“And his demeanor?” Monk insisted.

“Distressed,” Arbuthnot said quietly. “At the end of his strength, poor man.” His eyes flicked up at Monk's again. “But a complete gentleman, sir.

Never for a moment did he indulge in self-pity or anger against Mr.

Stonefield. The simple truth is he made an error of judgment in trade which Mr. Stonefield avoided, and at a juncture in the ebb and flow of business when it cost him very dear. He understood that, I believe, and took it like a man.”

Monk was inclined to believe him, but he would still see Titus Niven for himself.

“Was he the only visitor?” he asked.

Arbuthnot colored painfully and took several moments to compose his answer.

His hands were clenched together in front of him, and he looked anywhere but at Monk's eyes.

“No, sir. There was also a lady… at least, a female person. I don't know how to describe her…”

“Honestly!” Monk said tersely.

Arbuthnot drew in his breath, then let it out again.

Monk waited.

Arbuthnot took him very literally, as if it were an escape from expressing a more personal judgment.

“Ordinary sort of height, a trifle thin maybe, but that's a matter of opinion I suppose. Quite well built, really, considering where she came from-”

“Where did she come from?” Monk interrupted. The man was rambling. “Oh, Limehouse way, I should think, from her speech.” Unconsciously Arbuthnot was widening his nostrils and tightening his lips, as though he smelled something distasteful. But then if he were correct and she had come from the slums of the East End dockside, he may well have. The damp overcrowded rooms, the open middens, and the sewage from the river made any alternative impossible.

“Handsome,” Arbuthnot said sadly. “At least nature gave her that, even if she did her best to hide it with paint and garish clothes. Very immodest.”

“A prostitute?” Monk said bluntly.

Arbuthnot winced. “I have no idea. She said nothing to indicate so.”

“What did she say? For heaven's sake, man, don't make me draw answers from you like teeth! Who was she and what did she want? Not to buy or sell corn futures!”

“Of course not!” Arbuthnot blushed furiously. “She asked for Mr.

Stonefield, and when I informed him of her presence, he saw her immediately.” He took another deep breath. “She had been here before.

Twice, that I am aware of. She gave her name as Selina, just that, no surname.”

“Thank you. What did Mr. Stonefield say about her? Did he explain her presence?”

Arbuthnot's eyes widened. “No, sir. It was not our business to inquire into who she was.”

“And he felt no wish to tell you?” Monk let his surprise show. “Who did you suppose her to be? Don't say you did not think of it.”

“Well, yes,” Arbuthnot admitted. “Naturally we did won- der who she was. I assumed it was something to do with his brother, since as you observe, it could not be business.”

The first flush of fire settled down now that the kindling was burned, and Arbuthnot put more coal on.