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"Then it's about time you reached some conclusion, isn't it?" Charles raised his eyebrows. "We are very sorry, naturally, since we knew him; bat we do not require a day-by-day account of your progress, or lack of it."
"It's as well," Monk answered, stirred to tartness m his hurt, and the consciousness that he did not, and would never, belong in this faded and gracious room with its padded furniture and gleaming walnut. "Because I could not afford it. It is because you knew Major Grey that I wish to speak to you again." He swallowed. "We naturally first considered the possibility of his having been attacked by some chance thief, then of its being over a matter of debt, perhaps gambling, or borrowing. We have exhausted these avenues now, and are driven back to what has always, regrettably, seemed the most probable-"
"I thought I had explained it to you, Mr. Monk." Charles's voice was sharper. "We do not wish to know! And quite frankly, I will not have my wife or my sister distressed by hearing of it. Perhaps the women of your-" He searched for the least offensive word. "Your background-are less sensitive to such things: unfortunately they may be more used to violence and the sordid aspects of life. But my sister and my wife are gentlewomen, and do not even know of such things. I must ask you to respect their feelings."
Monk could sense the color burning up his face. He ached to be equally rude in return, but his awareness of Imogen, only a few feet from him, was overwhelming. He did not care in the slightest what Hester thought; in fact it would be a positive pleasure to quarrel with her, like the sting in the face of clean, icy water-invigorating.
"I had no intention of distressing anyone u
Charles blinked at him. He was half leaning against the mantel shelf, and he stiffened.
"I know nothing whatsoever about the affair, and naturally neither do my family."
"I am sure we should have helped you if we could," Imogen added. For an instant Monk thought she looked abashed by Charles's so open condescension.
Hester stood up and walked across the room opposite Monk.
"We have not been asked any questions yet," she pointed out to Charles reasonably. "How do we know whether we could answer them or not? And I ca
"My dear Hester, you don't know what you are speaking of." Charles's face was sharp and he put his hand out towards her, but she avoided it. "What unpleasant things may be involved, quite beyond your experience!"
"Balderdash!" she said instantly. "My experience has included a multitude of things you wouldn't have in your nightmares. I've seen men hacked to death by sabers, shot by ca
"Hester!" Charles exploded. "For the love of heaven!"
"So don't tell me I ca
Charles's face was very pink and he ignored Monk. "Has it not crossed your very unfeminine mind that Imogen has feelings, and has led a considerably more decorous life than you have chosen for yourself?" he demanded. "Really, sometimes you are beyond enduring!''
"Imogen is not nearly as helpless as you seem to imagine," Hester retorted, but there was a faint blush to her cheeks. "Nor, I think, does she wish to conceal truth because it may be unpleasant to discuss. You do her courage little credit."
Monk looked at Charles and was perfectly sure that had they been alone he would have disciplined his sister in whatever ma
Imogen took the matter into her own hands. She turned towards Monk.
"You were saying that you were driven to an inevitable conclusion, Mr. Monk. Pray tell us what it is." She stared at him and her eyes were angry, almost defensive. She seemed more inwardly alive and sensitive to hurt than anyone else he had ever seen. For seconds he could not think of words to answer her. The moments hung in the air. Her chin came a little higher, but she did not look away.
"I-" he began, and failed. He tried again. "That- that it was someone he knew who killed him." Then his voice came mechanically. "Someone well known to him, of his own position and social circle."
"Nonsense!" Charles interrupted him sharply, coming into the center of the room as if to confront him physically. "People of Joscelin Grey's circle do not go around murdering people. If that's the best you can do, then you had better give up the case and hand it over to someone more skilled."
"You are being u
Charles's whole body tightened; the impertinence was intolerable.
"Imogen," he began icily; then remembering the feminine frailty he had asserted, altered his tone. "The matter is naturally upsetting to you; I understand that. Perhaps it would be better if you were to leave us. Retire to your room and rest for a little while. Return when you have composed yourself. Perhaps a tisane?"
"I am not tired, and I do not wish for a tisane. I am perfectly composed, and the police wish to question me." She swung around. "Don't you, Mr. Monk?"
He wished he could remember what he knew of them, but although he strained till his brain ached, he could recall nothing. All his memories were blurred and colored by the overwhelming emotion she aroused in him, the hunger for something always just out of reach, like a great music that haunts the senses but ca
But he was behaving like a fool. Her gentleness, something in her face had woken in him the memory of a time when he had loved, of the softer side of himself which he had lost when the carriage had crashed and obliterated the past. There was more in him than the detective, brilliant, ambitious, sharp tongued, solitary. There had been those who loved him, as well as the rivals who hated, the subordinates who feared or admired, the villains who knew his skill, the poor who looked for justice-or vengeance. Imogen reminded him that he had a humanity as well, and it was too precious for him to drown in reason. He had lost his balance, and if he were to survive this nightmare- Runcorn, the murder, his career-he must regain it.
"Since you knew Major Grey," he tried again, "it is possible he may have confided in you any anxieties he may have had for his safety-anyone who disliked him or was harassing him for any reason." He was not being as articulate as he wished, and he cursed himself for it.
“Did he mention any envies or rivalries to you?''
"None at all. Why would anyone he knew kill him?" she asked. "He was very charming; I never knew of him picking a quarrel more serious than a few sharp words. Perhaps his humor was a little unkind, but hardly enough to provoke more than a passing irritation."
"My dear Imogen, they wouldn't!" Charles snapped. "It was robbery; it must have been."
Imogen breathed in and out deeply and ignored her husband, still regarding Monk with solemn eyes, waiting for his reply.
"I believe blackmail," Monk replied. "Or perhaps jealousy over a woman."
"Blackmail!" Charles was horrified and his voice was thick with disbelief. "You mean Grey was blackmailing someone? Over what, may I ask?"