The Twisted Root

hospital," Monk agreed, although the sergeant had to be speaking about the hospital where Hester was, and he had already asked her if there had been any such young woman either seen or admitted. In either case, unless she were unconscious, why had she not made some effort to contact the Stourbridge family? "But I must also look further for the coach," he went on. "That may lead me to where she is. And in truth, the theft of the coach is the only aspect of the matter which breaches the law."
    " ’Course," the sergeant said sagely. " ’Course. Sergeant Robb is very busy at the moment. Got a murder, ’e ’as. Poor feller beaten over the ’ead and left on the path outside some woman’s ’ouse. But ’e in’t gorn out yet today. I know that for a fact. An’ I’m sure as ’e’ll spare yer a few minutes, like."
    "Thank you very much," Monk accepted. "I shan’t hold him up for long."
    "You wait there, sir, an’ I’ll tell ’im as yer ’ere." And the sergeant lumbered dutifully out of sight. He returned, followed by a slender young man with a good-humored face and dark, intelligent eyes. He looked harassed, and it was obvious he was sparing Monk time only to be civil and because the desk sergeant had committed him to it. Little of his mind was on the subject.
    "Good morning, sir," he said pleasantly. "Sergeant Trebbins says you are acting on behalf of a friend who has had a coach stolen, seemingly by his fiancée. I am afraid if they have chosen to... elope... it is probably ill advised, and certainly less than honorable, but it is not a crime. The matter of stealing a coach and pair, of course, we can look into, if you have reason to believe they came this way."
    "I do. I have followed the sightings of the coach as far as the edge of the Heath."
    "Was that yesterday, sir?"
    "No. I’m afraid it was five days ago." Monk felt foolish as he said it, and he was ready for disinterest, and even contempt, in the young man’s eyes. Instead he saw his whole body stiffen and heard a sharp intake of breath.
    "Could you describe the driver of this coach, sir, and the coach itself? Possibly the horses, even?"
    Monk’s pulse quickened. "You’ve seen them?" Then instantly he regretted the unprofessionalism of such a betrayal of emotion. But it was too late to withdraw it. Comment would only make it more obvious.
    Robb’s face was guarded. "I don’t know, sir. Could you describe them for me?" He could not keep the edge from his voice, the sharpness of needing to know.
    Monk told him every detail of the coach: the color, style, dimensions, maker’s name. He said that the horses were a brown and a bay, no white markings, fifteen hands and fifteen-one, respectively, and seven and nine years old.
    Robb looked very grave. "And the driver?" he said softly.
    The knot tightened in Monk’s stomach. "Average height, brown hair, blue eyes, muscular build. At the time he was last seen he was wearing livery." He knew even before he had finished speaking that Robb knew much about it, and none of it was good.
    Robb pressed his lips together hard a moment before speaking.
    "I’m sorry, sir, but I think I may have found your coach and horses ... and your driver. I don’t know anything about the young lady. Would you come inside with me, sir?"
    The desk sergeant’s face fell as he realized he was going to be excluded from the rest of the story.
    Monk remembered to thank him, something he would not have done even a short while ago. The man nodded, but Monk’s gesture did not solve his disappointment.
    Robb led Monk to a tiny office piled with papers. Monk felt a jolt of familiarity, as if he had been carried back in time to the early days of his own career. He still did not know how long ago that was.
    Robb took a pile of books off the guest chair and dropped them on the floor. There was no room on the already precariously piled table.
    "Sit down, sir," he offered. He had not yet asked Monk’s name. He sat in the other chair. He was a young man in whom good manners were so schooled they came without thought.
    "William Monk," Monk introduced himself, and was idiotically relieved to see no sign of recognition in the other man’s face. The name meant nothing to him.
    "I’m sorry, Mr. Monk," Robb apologized. "But at the moment I am investigating a murder of a man who answers fairly well to the description you have just given me. What is worse, I’m afraid, is that about half a mile away we found a coach and two horses which are