Dark Assassin

The thing that struck Monk most forcibly, and which he told the others when they went up in the middle of the day, was that in everyone's opinion Sixsmith was an extremely clever and able man who was very well aware of all the risks and advantages of everything he did.

"So he knew about the streams and wells?" Rathbone said grimly. He looked strained. His nostrils flared with the stench he had been unable to avoid. His clothes were spattered with mud and clay, and his boots were sodden. Even the bottoms of his trousers were wet.

"Yes," Monk agreed, knowing what the inevitable conclusion must be. "It seems he did not care about the cave-in."

"Or he may even have wanted it!" Rathbone added. "But why? What is it that we don't know, Monk? What's missing to make sense of this?" He turned to Runcorn and Orme.

" 'E knew the assassin," Orme said, his face tight. " 'Aven't got a witness as yer could bring inter court yet, but they're there. 'E knew 'is way around, did Sixsmith."

"Don't put him in the past." Runcorn looked at them each in turn. "He's still very much here! We've got to hurry, before he covers his tracks-or us!"

Monk found himself shivering. Rathbone's face was bleak and angry. No one argued. Briefly they conferred on the next step, then set out again, cold, tired, and determined.

Hester slept poorly after Monk had gone. The shock of defeat, just as they were savoring what she imagined to be one of their sweetest victories, had left her momentarily numb. She cleared away the supper dishes and tidied the house automatically, then went upstairs to see if there was anything more she could do for Scuff. She might have stayed up were it not for him, but she knew he could not rest if she did not do so as well.

She was lying awake at about five o'clock, wondering how they could have been so bitterly wrong, when Scuff spoke to her in a whisper.

"Yer in't asleep, are yer." It was not a question. He must have known from her breathing.

"No," she replied. "But why aren't you?"

" 'Cos I can't." He inched a fraction closer to her. "Is Mr. Monk go

Should she lie to comfort him? If he found out, it would break the frail trust he was building. She might never mend the damage. Wasn't truth better than the loneliness of that, no matter how harsh? That's what she would do if he were a man. But was a child different? How much should she protect him, and from what?

"Is 'e?" Scuff repeated.

He was not touching her, and yet she knew his body was stiff.

"He'll try," she answered. "Nobody wins all the time. This could be a mistake we can't mend. I don't know."

He let out his breath in a sigh and relaxed, inching another tiny fraction closer to her.

"Mr. 'Avilland were right about their machines, weren't 'e?"

"I'm afraid he was," she agreed. "At least partly. He was also right about going ahead too quickly without making sure where all the streams were.

"Mr. Sixsmith were the boss down there. Yer'd think as 'e'd 'a told Mr. Argyll, wouldn't yer?" he whispered.

"He must have," she agreed.

As she said it she realized with a chill, in spite of the blankets over her, that it was not necessarily true. But it made no sense.

"Wot's the matter?" Scuff demanded.

"At least, I suppose he'd have told Mr. Argyll," she answered.

He put his hand on her shoulder, so lightly she barely felt it, only its warmth. "There's summink as don't make no sense, in't there? Is Mr. Monk go

"But what does Sixsmith want?" she said as much to herself as to him. "Money? Power? Love? Escape from something?" She turned a little towards him. "Do you suppose it was because of Mrs. Argyll? She's in love with him, I think. And her husband is a cold man. She must feel terribly alone."

"Weren't Mr. 'Avilland 'er pa, too?" he asked.

"Yes. I don't believe she knew the assassin was going to kill her father. And afterwards she thought it was her husband who had done it. Maybe she still doesn't know it was Sixsmith, and we can't prove it!"

"But 'e knows," Scuff pointed out. "So 'e din't do it for 'er! If yer love someone, yer din't kill 'er pa."

"No." She stared up at the ceiling, the faintest of lights coming through the curtains from the streetlamps outside. "Maybe he doesn't love her so much as just want her. It isn't the same."

"Mebbe 'e just 'ates Mr. Argyll," Scuff said thoughtfully. "Yer gotta 'member 'e made it look like it were Mr. Argyll wot paid the assassin. An' it were Mr. Argyll's company wot caused the cave-in, and Mr. Argyll wots goin' ter prisin, or mebbe the rope, eh?"

"That's an awful lot of hate," she said quietly, shivering again in spite of herself. "Why would anyone hate that much?"

"I du

"It must have been," she agreed, but her mind was begi

What would happen when Argyll was shown to be i

Or did she believe he truly loved her?

"Yer've thought of summink, 'aven't yer?" Scuff whispered beside her.

"Yes," she answered honestly. "I need to go and see Mrs. Argyll. She lied in court, and she needs to know what that could cost her. I'll send a letter first thing to ask Margaret Ballinger to come to sit with you until I get back."

"I don' need no one," he said instantly. "I'm almost better."

"No, you aren't," she retorted. "And whether you need anyone or not, I need there to be someone here, so I can stop worrying about you and keep my mind on what I'm doing. Don't argue with me! I've made up my mind. And you'll like Margaret, I expect."

"Mr. Monk said yer as stubborn as an army mule."

"Did he indeed! Well, Mr. Monk wouldn't know an army mule if it kicked him!"

Scuff giggled. Obviously the idea entertained him.

"But I would!" she added, before he got any ideas of insubordination.

"Yer'd kick it back," he said with immense satisfaction, and moved the last couple of inches until he was next to her. She put an arm around him, very lightly. In five minutes he was asleep.

In the morning she sent one of the local boys to take a message to Margaret, wait for her answer, and return with it. She gave him fare for a hansom both ways, and something for himself. It was extravagant, but she judged it necessary, not only for her own peace of mind but for Monk's also. She had not misread the affection in his face for Scuff, no matter how carefully he tried to mask it.

She arrived at the Argyll house a little after ten o'clock. It was strange to realize that the rest of the world still believed Argyll guilty and Sixsmith i

No, that would be foolish, even if Argyll had already been arrested. It might arouse suspicions. In order to preserve any dignity or belief in her, Je