William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

he would do it himself. He reassured her until she was almost without anxiety, and she was duly admitted to the hospital.
    Then followed a detailed and highly technical description of the operation itself, and Sir Herbert’s brilliance in its performance.
    Afterwards I had a hasty meal with Sir Herbert (we had been working long without a break or refreshment of any sort). He explained to me many ideas of his on further procedure which could cut down the shock to the patient in such operations. I think his ideas are quite excellent, and would love to see him obtain the position where he has the opportunity to exercise them. He is one of the great ornaments to both the study and the practice of medicine. I sometimes think his hands are the most beautiful part of any human being I have ever seen. Some speak of hands in prayer as exquisite. I think hands in healing can never be superseded by anything.
    I went to bed so tired! And yet so very happy!
    Your loving sister.
    Monk set it aside. It was personal, perhaps mildly suggestive—certainly far from accusing, let alone damning.
    He read the next one, and the next. They were essentially similar, a great deal of medical comment and detail, and again the reference to Sir Herbert and his skill.
    It was ridiculous to feel so disappointed. What had he expected?
    He read three more, his attention increasingly waning.Then quite suddenly he found his heart beating and his fingers stiff as he held the paper.
    I spoke for over an hour with Sir Herbert last night. We did not finish until nearly midnight, and both of us were too overwrought by events to retire immediately. I have never admired a man’s skills more, and I told him so. He was very gentle and warm toward me. Faith, I really believe true happiness is possible for me, in a way I only dreamed as a girl. I am on the brink of all I have wanted for so long. And Herbert is the one who can bring it about for me.
    I went to bed so happy—and excited. I hope—I dream—I even pray! And it all lies with Herbert. God be with him.
    Prudence.
    Frantically Monk leafed through more letters, and found other passages in the same vein, full of hope and excitement, full of reference to happiness in the future, dreams coming true, in among the medical details and case histories.
    He has it in his power to make me the happiest woman in the world. I know it sounds absurd, impossible, and I do understand what you tell me, all the cautions and warnings, and that you have only my happiness in mind. But if it all comes true … And he could make it happen, Faith—he could! It is not impossible after all. I have searched and thought, but I know of no law which cannot be fought or circumvented. Pray for me, my dear sister. Pray for me!
    And then the tone changed, quite suddenly, only a week before her death.
    Sir Herbert has betrayed me totally! At first I could hardly believe it. I went to him, full of hope—and, foolthat I was, of confidence. He laughed at me and told me it was totally impossible and always would be.
    I realized, like a hard slap in the face, that he had been using me, and what I could give him. He never intended to keep his word.
    But I have a way of keeping him to it. I will not permit him the choice. I hate force—I abhor it. But what else is left me? I will not give up—I will not! I have the weapons, and I will use them!
    Was that what had happened? She had gone to him with her threat and he had retaliated with his own weapon—murder?
    Faith Barker was right. The letters were enough to bring Sir Herbert Stanhope to trial—and very possibly enough to hang him.
    In the morning he would take them to Runcorn.
    It was barely eight o’clock when Monk put the letters into his pocket and rode in a hansom to the police station. He alighted, paid the driver, and went up the steps savoring every moment, the bright air already warm. The sounds of shouting, the clatter of hooves, and the rattle of cart wheels over the stones, even the smells of vegetables, fish, rubbish, and old horse manure were inoffensive to him today.
    “Good morning,” he said cheerfully to the desk sergeant, and saw the man’s look of surprise, and then alarm.
    “Mornin’ sir,” he said warily, his eyes narrowing. “What can we do for you, Mr. Monk?”
    Monk smiled, showing his teeth. “I should like to see Mr. Runcorn, if you please? I have important evidence in connection with the murder of Prudence Barrymore.”
    “Yes sir. And what would