Dark Assassin

"What about the cave-in?" Runcorn asked. "Do we knew exactly what caused that, and if it was foreseeable? Was it what James Havilland was afraid of? Has it anything to do with Sixsmith?"

"And what about Mary?" Monk added.

"And what co

Orme looked at Monk. "Questions, sir. We gotta find people 'oo've seen Sixsmith an' the man wi' the teeth, afore 'Avilland were shot, an' prove as they know each other. We gotta find navvies an' toshers an' the like 'oo know if Sixsmith knew about the dangers o' movin' that machine too fast an' cuttin' wi'out askin' enough about streams an' wells an' the like."

Rathbone's eyes widened. "Exactly," he agreed. "Very well summed up, Mr. Orme." He gave a very slight smile. "Perhaps you don't really need my presence?"

Monk gave him a wry look and then smiled back. "We couldn't possibly manage without you, Rathbone," he replied.

They spent some further time apportioning duties and pla

They stopped to pick up Crow. He was a sleepy and startled recruit, but willing enough when he heard the truth of the events. He sent a messenger to find Sutton and tell him where they were going, and that it was extremely urgent that he join them. They did not wait for the ratcatcher, but arranged a rendezvous.

The wind was gusting hard and carried the smell of rain as they made their way down the muddy slope to the bottom of the tu

Monk wrinkled his nose, not knowing if he really smelled the sour odor of sewers or if it was just conjured by memory and imagination. He had to make a greater effort than he had expected in order to force himself to walk calmly under the brick facing of the tu

He heard Rathbone gasp behind him, and wondered if the darkness suffocated him as much, if it brought out the sweat on his skin and made him strain his eyes and ears for anything that would give him a sense of proportion, direction, any of the things one takes for granted above-ground.

A thousand yards on they separated, in order to cover as much ground as possible. For safety's sake they went in pairs: Runcorn and Orme, Rathbone and Crow, with Monk to wait at the appointed place for Sutton.

"Don't go by yerself, sir!" Orme warned, his voice sharp with anxiety. "One slip an' yer finished. 'It yer 'ead an' the rats'll get yer. It in't a nice way ter go."

Monk saw Rathbone's sensitive mouth twist in revulsion, and he smiled. "I won't, Sergeant, I promise you."

Orme nodded and disappeared into the darkness behind Runcorn, their lights swallowed up in moments.

Rathbone took a deep breath and, body rigid, followed after Crow without once looking backwards. Perhaps he was afraid that if he did he would lose his nerve to proceed.

Sutton arrived twenty-five minutes later, accompanied as always by the little dog. "It's a bad business, Mr. Monk," he said grimly. "Were d' yer wa

The decision had already been made. "The other four are looking to find out if Sixsmith was ever seen with the assassin, and if so, when and by whom. I want to find out more about the dangers of cave-in that Havilland was so worried about, and how much Sixsmith actually knew of it."

"Yer mean could 'e ave stopped it?" Sutton asked. He frowned. "Don't make no sense, Mr. Monk. Why couldn't 'e 'ave gone careful, if 'e'd really understood? Cave-in don't do 'im no good."

"When I thought Sixsmith was i

"Why'd 'e 'ave 'Avilland killed?" Sutton asked curiously, following on Monk's heels. "It 'ad ter be ter keep 'im quiet about the dangers, 'adn't it?"

"Yes. But that doesn't mean he believed him. He might have thought Havilland was just scare-mongering."

Sutton grunted. "Mebbe."

The first thing they did was to find navvies at the excavation face and question them. They moved with speed. After the ordeal of the trial they did not expect Sixsmith back at the site that day, but it was not impossible that he would be there. He was a man accused wrongly, according to the law, and found i

The navvies told them nothing, and after an hour or so Monk realized he was wasting his time. Instead he took Sutton's advice and sought out a couple of toshers. They were father and son, amazingly alike: both blunt-faced, with a cheerful and sarcastic disposition.

"Sixsmith?" the father said with a twist of his mouth. "Strong feller, not scared o' nobody. Yeh, I knowed 'im. Why?"

Monk allowed Sutton to ask the question. They had already pla

"An' I'm the queen o' the fairies!" the father said witheringly.

"Yer sayin' as yer never took no money?" Sutton asked, his voice almost expressionless.

"Weren't nothin' ter take!"

"Sixsmith's a bleedin' liar!" the son added angrily. "We weren't makin' no trouble, an' wot's more, Mr. Sutton, just 'cos yer catches rats fer the gentry, it don't give yer no right ter say as we were. Yer know that, yer scurvy bastard!"

"I know yer din't used ter," Sutton agreed. " 'Ow about others? Wot about Big Jem, or Lanky, or any o' them?"

"We in't stupid," the father retorted. "Gettin' meself in jail won't 'elp no one."

"Did Mr. Sixsmith know that?" Monk asked, speaking for the first time.

"Course 'e did!" The father looked at him, his face screwed up in disgust like a gargoyle in the lantern light. " 'E's a fly sod, an' all."

"Not fly enough to avoid a cave-in," Monk observed.

"Course 'e were!" the father said intently. " 'E knew as much about streams and wells and clay stretches as any of us. 'E just don't give a toss."

They asked other toshers, but nothing they could elicit contradicted the belief that there was no more trouble than usual, just the odd quarrel or fight. There had been no deliberate sabotage, and the accidents were rather fewer than average for the heavy and dangerous work in progress.