William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

validity of his testimony.
    “And you have practiced in several places, includingyour native Bohemia?” He wanted to establish in the jurors’ minds Beck’s foreignness, his very differentness from the essentially English, familiar Sir Herbert. It was a task he disliked, but the shadow of the noose forms strange patterns on the mind.
    “Yes,” Kristian agreed again.
    “But you have worked with Sir Herbert Stanhope for more than ten or eleven years, is that correct?”
    “About that,” Kristian agreed. His accent was almost indiscernible, merely a pleasant clarity to certain vowels. “Of course we seldom actually work together, since we are in the same field, but I know his reputation, both personal and professional, and I see him frequently.” His expression was open and candid, his intention to help obvious.
    “I understand,” Rathbone conceded. “I did not mean to imply that you worked side by side. What is Sir Herbert’s personal reputation, Dr. Beck?”
    A flash of amusement crossed Kristian’s face, but there was no malice in it.
    “He is regarded as pompous, a little overbearing, justifiably proud of his abilities and his achievements, an excellent teacher, and a man of total moral integrity.” He smiled at Rathbone. “Naturally he is joked about by his juniors, and guyed occasionally—I think that is the word—as we all are. But I have never heard even the most irresponsible suggest his behavior toward women was other than totally correct.”
    “It has been suggested that he was somewhat naive concerning women.” Rathbone lifted his voice questioningly. “Especially young women. Is that your observation, Dr. Beck?”
    “I would have chosen the word
uninterested,”
Kristian replied. “But I suppose
naive
would do. It is not something to which I previously gave any thought. But if you wish me to say that I find it extremely difficult to believe that he had any romantic interest in Nurse Barrymore, or that he would be unaware of any such feeling she might have had for him, then I can do so very easily. I find it harder to believethat Nurse Barrymore cherished a secret passion for Sir Herbert.” A pucker of doubt crossed his face, and he stared at Rathbone very directly.
    “You find that hard to believe, Dr. Beck?” Rathbone said very clearly.
    “I do.”
    “Do you consider yourself a naive or unworldly man?”
    Kristian’s mouth curled into faint self-mockery. “No—no, I don’t.”
    “Then if you find it surprising and hard to accept, is it hard to believe that Sir Herbert was also quite unaware of it?” Rathbone could not keep the ring of triumph out of his voice, although he tried.
    Kristian looked rueful, and in spite of what Rathbone had said, surprised.
    “No—no, that would seem to follow inevitably.”
    Rathbone thought of all the suspicions of Kristian Beck that Monk had raised to him: the quarrel overheard with Prudence, the possibilities of blackmail, the fact that Kristian Beck had been in the hospital all the night of Prudence’s death, that his own patient had died when he had been expected to recover—but it was all suspicion, dark thoughts, no more. There was no proof, no hard evidence of anything. If he raised it now he might direct the jury’s thoughts toward Beck as a suspect. On the other hand, he might only alienate them and betray his own desperation. It would look ugly. At the moment he had their sympathy, and that might just be enough to win the verdict. Sir Herbert’s life could rest on this decision.
    Should he accuse Beck? He looked at his interesting, curious face with its sensuous mouth and marvelous eyes. There was too much intelligence in it—too much humor; it was a risk he dare not take. As it was, he was winning. He knew it—and Lovat-Smith knew it.
    “Thank you, Dr. Beck,” he said aloud. “That is all.”
    Lovat-Smith rose immediately and strode toward the center of the floor.
    “Dr. Beck, you are a busy surgeon and physician, are you not?”
    “Yes,” Kristian agreed, puckering his brows.
    “Do you spend much of your time considering the possible romances within the hospital, and whether one person or another may be aware of such feelings?”
    “No,” Kristian confessed.
    “Do you spend any time at all so involved?” Lovat-Smith pressed.
    But Kristian was not so easily circumvented.
    “It does not require thought, Mr. Lovat-Smith. It is a matter of simple observation one cannot avoid. I am sure you are aware of your