When he was sent for and conducted to the rosewood sitting room, which seemed to be peculiarly hers, she was cool and gracious, as if he had only just arrived and she had no more than a courteous interest in what he might say.

At her invitation he sat down opposite her on the same deep rose-pink chair as before.

"Well, Mr. Monk?" she inquired with slightly raised eyebrows. "Is there something further you want to say to me?"

"Yes ma'am, if you please. We are even more of the opinion thai whoever killed Major Grey did so for some personal reason, and that he was not a chance victim. Therefore we need to know everything further we can about him, his social connections-"

Her eyes widened. "If you imagine his social connections are of a type to indulge in murder, Mr. Monk, then you are extraordinarily ignorant of society."

"I am afraid, ma'am, that most people are capable of murder, if they are hard-pressed enough, and threatened in what they most value-"

"I think not." Her voice indicated the close of the subject and she turned her head a little away from him.

"Let us hope they are rare, ma'am." He controlled his impulse to anger with difficulty. "But it would appear there is at least one, and I am sure you wish to find him, possibly even more than I do."

"You are very slick with words, young man." It was grudgingly given, even something of a criticism. "What is it you imagine I can tell you?"

"A list of his closest friends," he answered. "Family friends, any invitations you may know of that he accepted in the last few months, especially for weeks or weekends away. Perhaps any lady in whom he may have been interested." He saw a slight twitch of distaste cross her immaculate features. "I believe he was extremely charming." He added the flattery in which he felt was her only weakness.

"He was." There was a small movement in her lips, a change in her eyes as for a moment grief overtook her. It was several seconds till she smoothed it out again and was as perfect as before.

Monk waited in silence, for the first time aware of the force of her pain.

"Then possibly some lady was more attracted to him than was acceptable to her other admirers, or even her husband?" he suggested at last, and in a considerably softer tone, although his resolve to find the murderer of Joscelin Grey was if anything hardened even further, and it allowed of no exceptions, no omissions for hurt.

She considered this thought for a moment before deciding to accept it. He imagined she was seeing her son again as he had been in life, elegant, laughing, direct of gaze.

"It might have been," she conceded. "It could be that some young person was indiscreet, and provoked jealousy."

"Perhaps someone who had a little too much to drink?" He pursued it with a tact that did not come to him naturally. "And saw in it more than there was?"

"A gentleman knows how to conduct himself." She looked at Monk with a slight turn downwards at the corners of her mouth. The word gentleman was not lost on him. "Even when he has had too much to drink. But unfortunately some people are not as discriminating in their choice of guests as they should be."

"If you would give me some names and addresses, ma'am; I shall conduct my inquiries as cautiously as I can, and naturally shall not mention your name. I imagine all persons of good conscience will be as keen to discover who murdered Major Grey as you are yourself."

It was a well-placed argument, and she acknowledged it with a momentary glance directly into his eyes.

"Quite," she agreed. "If you have a notebook I shall oblige you." She reached across to the rosewood table almost at her side and opened a drawer. She took out a leather-bound and gold-tooled address book.

He made ready and was well started when Lovel Grey came in, again dressed in casual clothes-this time breeches and a Norfolk jacket of well-worn tweed. His face darkened when he saw Monk.

"I really think, Mr. Monk, that if you have something to report, you may do so to me!" he said with extreme irritation. "If you have not, then your presence here serves no purpose, and you are distressing my mother. I am surprised you should come again."

Monk stood up instinctively, annoyed with himself for the necessity.

"I came, my lord, because I needed some further information, which Lady Shelburne has been kind enough to give me." He could feel the color hot in his face.

“There is nothing we can tell you that could be of the least relevance," Lovel snapped. "For heaven's sake, man, can't you do your job without rushing out here every few days?" He moved restlessly, fidgeting with the crop in his hand. "We cannot help you! If you are beaten, admit it! Some crimes are never solved, especially where madmen are concerned."

Monk was trying to compose a civil reply when Lady Shelburne herself intervened in a small, tight voice.

"That may be so, Lovel, but not in this case. Joscelin was killed by someone who knew him, however distasteful that may be to us. Naturally it is also possible it was someone known here. It is far more discreet of Mr. Monk to ask us than to go around inquiring of the whole neighborhood."

"Good God!" Lovel's face fell. "You cannot be serious. To allow him to do that would be monstrous. We'd be ruined."

"Nonsense!" She closed her address book with a snap and replaced it in the drawer. "We do not ruin so easily. There have been Shelburnes on the land for five hundred years, and will continue to be. However I have no intention of allowing Mr. Monk to do any such thing." She looked at Monk coldly. "That is why I am providing him with a list myself, and suitable questions to ask-and to avoid."

"There is no need to do either." Lovel turned furiously from his mother to Monk and back again, his color high. "Whoever killed Joscelin must have been one of his London acquaintances-if indeed it really was someone he knew at all, which I still doubt. In spite of what you say, I believe it was purely chance he was the victim, and not someone else. I daresay he was seen at a club, or some such place, by someone who saw he had money and hoped to rob him."

"It was not robbery, sir," Monk said firmly. "There were all sorts of valuable items quite visible and untouched in his rooms, even the money in his wallet was still there."

"And how do you know how much he had in his wallet?" Lovel demanded. "He may have had hundreds!"

"Thieves do not usually count out change and return it to you," Monk replied, moderating the natural sarcasm in his voice only slightly.

Lovel was too angry to stop. "And have you some reason to suppose this was a 'usual' thief? I did not know you had proceeded so far. In fact I did not know you had proceeded at all."

"Most unusual, thank heaven." Monk ignored the jibe. "Thieves seldom kill. Did Major Grey often walk about with hundreds of pounds in his pocket?''

Lovel's face was scarlet. He threw the crop across the room, intending it to land on the sofa, but it fell beyond and rattled to the floor. He ignored it. "No of course not!" he shouted. "But then this was a unique occasion. He was not simply robbed and left lying, he was beaten to death, if you remember."

Lady Fabia's face pinched with misery and disgust.

"Really, Lovel, the man is doing his best, for whatever that is worth. There is no need to be offensive."

Suddenly his tone changed. "You are upset, Mama; and it's quite natural that you should be. Please leave this to me. If I think there is anything to tell Mr. Monk, I shall do so. Why don't you go into the withdrawing room and have tea with Rosamond?"

"Don't patronize me, Lovel!" she snapped, rising to her feet. "I am not too upset to conduct myself properly, and to help the police find the man who murdered my son."

"There is nothing whatsoever we can do, Mama!" He was fast losing his temper again. "Least of all assist them to pester half the country for personal information about poor Joscelin's life and friends."