Wiliam Monk 01 - The Face of a Stranger

wait for the right time and place?" He leaned back a little in his chair and tilted the legs.
    "What hurry?" Monk shrugged. "No hurry if it was Shelburne, not if it were over Rosamond anyway. Couldn't matter a few days, or even a few weeks."
    "No." Evan looked gloomy. He allowed the front legs of the chair to settle again. "I don't know how we begin to prove anything, or even where to look."
    "Find out where Shelburne was at the time Grey was killed," Monk answered. "I should have done that before."
    "Oh, I asked the servants, in a roundabout way." Evan's face was surprised, and there was a touch of satisfaction in it he could not conceal.
    "And?" Monk asked quickly. He would not spoil Evan's pleasure.
    “He was away from Shelburne; they were told he came to town for dinner. I followed it up. He was at the dinner all right, and spent the night at his club, off Tavistock Place. It would have been difficult for him to have been in Mecklenburg Square at the right time, because he might easily have been missed, but not at all impossible. If he'd gone along Compton Street, right down Hunter Street, 'round Brunswick Square and Lansdowne Place, past the Foundling Hospital, up Caroline Place—and he was there. Ten minutes at the outside, probably less. He'd have been gone at least three quarters of an hour, counting the fight with Grey—and returning. But he could have done it on foot—easily."
    Monk smiled; Evan deserved praise and he was glad to give it.
    "Thank you. I ought to have done that myself. It might even have been less time, if the quarrel was an old one-say ten minutes each way, and five minutes for the fight. That's not long for a man to be out of sight at a club."
    Evan looked down, a faint color in his face. He was smiling.
    "It doesn't get us any further," he pointed out ruefully. "It could have been Shelburne, or it could have been anyone else. I suppose we shall have to investigate every other family he could have blackmailed? That should make us rather less popular than the ratman. Do you think it was Shelburne, sir, and we'll just never prove it?"
    Monk stood up.
    "I don't know but I'm damned if it'll be for lack of trying." He was thinking of Joscelin Grey in the Crimea, seeing the horror of slow death by starvation, cold and disease, the blinding incompetence of commanders sending men to be blown to bits by enemy guns, the sheer
    stultifying of it all; feeling fear and physical pain, exhaustion, certainly pity, shown by his brief ministrations to the dying in Scutari—all while Lovel stayed at home in his great hall, marrying Rosamond, adding money to money, comfort to comfort.
    Monk strode to the door. Injustice ached in him like a gathering boil, angry and festering. He pulled the handle sharply and jerked it open.
    "Sir!" Evan half rose to his feet.
    Monk turned.
    Evan did not know the words, how to phrase the warning urgent inside him. Monk could see it in his face, the wide hazel eyes, the sensitive mouth.
    "Don't look so alarmed," he said quietly, pushing the door to again. "I'm going back to Grey's flat. I remember a photograph of his family there. Shelburne was in it, and Menard Grey. I want to see if Grimwade or Yeats recognize either of them. Do you want to come?"
    Evan's face ironed out almost comically with relief. He smiled in spite of himself.
    "Yes sir. Yes I would." He reached for his coat and scarf. "Can you do that without letting them know who they are? If they know they were his brothers—I mean-Lord Shelburne—"
    Monk looked at him sideways and Evan pulled a small face of apology.
    "Yes of course," he muttered, following Monk outside. "Although the Shelburnes will deny it, of course, and they'll still ride us to hell and back if we press a charge!"
    Monk knew that, and he had no plan even if anyone in the photograph were recognized, but it was a step forward, and he had to take it.
    Grimwade was in his cubbyhole as usual and he greeted them cheerfully.
    "Lovely mild day, sir." He squinted towards the street. "Looks as if it could clear up."
    "Yes," Monk agreed without thinking. "Very pleasant." He was unaware of being wet. "We're going up to
    Mr. Grey's rooms again, want to pick up one or two things."
    "Well with all of you on the case, I 'spec' you'll get somewhere one of these days." Grimwade nodded, a faint trace of sarcasm in his rather lugubrious face. "You certainly are a busy lot, I'll give yer that."
    Monk was halfway up the stairs with the key before the