He did not interrupt her.

She took a deep breath and let it out silently. “This is very difficult, Mr. Monk. I need to speak in confidence, as I would were you my legal adviser.” She looked at him steadily. She had very fine eyes, golden brown rather than dark.

“I cannot conceal a crime, Miss Harcus, if I have evidence of it,” he warned. “But other than that, all you say to me is in confidence.”

“That is what I had been told. Forgive me for having to ascertain it for myself, but I need to tell you things that I would be most distressed were they repeated.”

“Unless it is to conceal a crime, they will not be.”

“And if there is a crime involved?” She spoke quite steadily and her eyes did not flinch from his, but her voice had sunk to a whisper.

“If it is a crime planned, then I must seek to prevent it by any means I can, including informing the police,” he answered. “If it is one that has already happened, then I must share with them any knowledge I may come by, if I am certain it is true. Otherwise I would be complicit in the act myself.” His curiosity was piqued. What kind of help did this very composed young woman want from him? Her manner was unusual; it seemed as if her request was going to be even more so. He realized how disappointed he would be if it proved to be a case he could not accept.

“I understand.” She nodded. “I do fear a crime, but I wish you to prevent it, if that is possible. If I had the skill to do so myself, then I would. However my greatest concern is to protect Michael-Mr. Dalgarno. I may be mistaken, of course, but whether I am or not, word of my suspicions must never come out.”

“Of course not,” he agreed, desiring to spare her the explanation she obviously found painful. “If they are innocent it would be embarrassing and perhaps worse; if they are guilty they must not be warned.” He saw the relief in her face at his quickness of understanding. “Tell me what you fear, and why, Miss Harcus.”

She hesitated, reluctant to take the final step of commitment. It was not difficult to understand, and he waited in silence.

“This is gathered from things Mr. Dalgarno has told me in the course of conversation,” she began, her eyes steady on his face, watching and judging his reaction. “Little pieces of information I have overheard… and now actual papers which I have brought with me for you to read and consider. I…” She looked away for the first time. “I took them… stole them, if you like.”

He was careful not to express shock. “I see. From where?”

She raised her eyes. “From Mr. Dalgarno’s rooms. I am worried for him, Mr. Monk. I think there is fraud being practiced in the building of the new track for the railway, and I am very afraid he may be implicated, although I am certain he is innocent… at least… at least I am almost certain. Sometimes even good people yield to the temptation to turn the other way when their friends are involved in something wrong. Loyalties can be… misplaced, especially when you owe much that is good in your life to someone else’s generosity, and trust in you.” She looked at him intently, as if to judge how much he understood.

Some far memory stabbed him at the thought, but he kept his face blank. He could not tell her how acute was his feeling for just that kind of obligation, and the pain of failure.

“Is it a fraud from which Mr. Dalgarno might profit?” he asked levelly.

“Certainly. He is a junior partner in the company, so if the company made more money then he would also.” She leaned forward a fraction, just a tiny movement, but the earnestness in her face was intense. “I would give everything I have to prove his innocence and protect him from future blame, should there be any.”

“What is it exactly that you have overheard, Miss Harcus, and from whom?” There was something in the mention of railways that stirred an old memory within him-light and shadows, unease, a knowledge of pain from before the accident. He had rebuilt his life since then, created something new and good, recognizing and piecing together the facts of himself he had discovered, and the shards of memory that had returned. But the vast mass of it was lost like a dream, somewhere in the mind but inaccessible, frightening because it was unknown. What detection had shown him was not always pleasant: a man driven by ambition-ruthless, clever, brave, feared more than liked.

She was watching him with those intense, golden-brown eyes. But she was consumed by her own discomfort.

“Talk of great profit which must be kept secret,” she answered him. “The new line is due to be completed very soon. They are working on the last link now, and then it will be ready to open.”

He was struggling to make sense of it, to understand why she should imagine dishonesty. “Is it not usual to make a large profit from such an undertaking?”

“Of course. But not one that must be kept secret, and… and there is something else which I have not yet told you.”

“Yes?”

Her eyes searched his face minutely, as if every inflection, no matter how tiny, were of importance to her. It seemed she cared for Dalgarno so profoundly that her concern over his involvement was more important to her than anything else. A misjudgment of Monk could be a disaster.

She made her decision. “If there has been fraud, and it is to do with the purchase of land, then that would be morally very wrong,” she said. “But if it concerns the actual building of the track, the cutting through hills, which is sometimes necessary, or the building of bridges and viaducts, and something is done which is not right, a matter of design or materials, do you not see, Mr. Monk, that the consequences could be far more serious… even terrible?”

A memory stirred in him so briefly he was not even sure if he imagined it, like a darkness at the edge of the mind. “What sort of consequence are you thinking of, Miss Harcus?”

She let her breath out in a sigh, then gulped. “The worst I can imagine, Mr. Monk, would be if a train were to come off the rails and crash. It could kill dozens of people… even hundreds…” She stopped. The idea of it was too dreadful to allow her to continue.

Train crash.The words moved something inside Monk like a bright, vicious dagger in his mind. He had no idea why. Certainly a train crash was a fearful thing, but was it any worse than loss at sea, or any other of a dozen disasters, natural or man-made?

“You understand?” Her voice came to him as if from far away.

“Yes!” he said sharply. “Of course I do.” He forced his attention back to the woman in front of him, and her problem. “You are afraid that some fraud in the construction of the railway, whether in the land used or the materials, may cause an accident in which many people could lose their lives. You think it possible Mr. Dalgarno may share the blame for this, even though you believe it extremely unlikely that he would be morally guilty. You would like me to find out the truth of the matter before any of this happens, and thereby prevent it.”

“I am sorry,” she said softly, but she did not lower her gaze. “I should not have questioned your understanding. That is exactly what I would like. Please… before you say anything else, look at the papers I have with me. I dare not leave them in case they are missed, but I believe they matter.” She reached for the bag at her feet and picked it up. She opened it and took out fifteen or twenty sheets of paper and leaned across, offering them to him.

He accepted them almost automatically. The first one was folded over, and he opened it. It was a survey map of a large area of countryside, most of it with many hills and valleys, and a line of railway track marked clearly through it. It took him a moment or two to recognize the names. It was in Derbyshire, on a line running roughly between London and Liverpool.

“This is the new line Mr. Dalgarno’s company is building?” he asked.