William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

was gone. Now it was defense.
    “Certainly. I told you, I have taken nothing, and I was not responsible for my mother’s death. For all I knew it was Miss Latterly, for the wretched pearls.”
    “So you say, sir, so you say.” Argyll smiled politely. “Thank you, Mr. Farraline, I have nothing further to ask you.”
    Gilfeather shrugged. “I have nothing to ask this witness, my lord. As far as I can see he has nothing whatever to do with the case.”
    Rathbone leaned forward again, grasping Argyll’s shoulder. “Call Quinlan Fyffe,” he whispered fiercely.
    Argyll did not turn.
    “I have nothing to ask him,” he whispered back. “I’ll only weaken my case by looking desperate.”
    “Think of something,” Rathbone insisted. “Get him up there….”
    “There’s no point! Even if he knows who killed her, he isn’t going to say so. He’s a clever and very self-possessedman. He isn’t going to flounder. He’s no Kenneth. Anyway, I’ve nothing to rattle him with.”
    “Yes you have.” Rathbone leaned even farther forward, aware of the judge glaring at him, and the jury waiting. “Use his emotions. He’s a proud man, vain. He’s got a beautiful wife, and a brother-in-law who’s in love with her. He hates McIvor. Use his jealousy.”
    “What with?”
    Rathbone’s mind raced. “The company accounts. Eilish has been systematically taking books, with McIvor’s help, to teach her ragged school. I’ll wager Fyffe doesn’t know about that. For God’s sake, man, you’re supposed to
be
the best advocate in Scotland. Twist him. Use his emotions against him.”
    “What about betraying Eilish?” Argyll asked. “Monk will be furious.”
    “To hell with Eilish,” Rathbone said. “And Moni: too! This is Hester’s life!”
    “Mr. Argyll,” the judge said loudly. “Are you concluding your case, or not?”
    “No, my lord. The defense calls Quinlan Fyffe, may it please the court.”
    The judge frowned. “For what purpose, Mr. Argyll? Mr. Gilfeather, are you aware of this?”
    Gilfeather looked surprised, but interested, and not displeased.
    The judge glanced at him.
    Gilfeather lifted his shoulders slightly in the shadow of a shrug. “No, my lord, but if the court is prepared to wait for Mr. Fyffe to be sent for, I do not object. I think he will prove as useless to the defense’s case as Mr. Farraline.”
    “Call Quinlan Fyffe!” the usher cried out. The words were echoed by the clerk at the door, and a messenger was duly dispatched.
    In the interim the court was adjourned for luncheon.
    When they returned over an hour later, Quinlan took thestand and was sworn in. He faced Argyll with outward politeness but a coldness of glance that bordered on insolence.
    “Mr. Fyffe,” Argyll began carefully, measuring his words. “You are one of the principal officers in the management of the Farraline printing company, are you not?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “In what capacity?”
    Gilfeather made as if to rise, and then changed his mind.
    “Is this relevant, Mr. Argyll?” the judge said with a sigh. “If you are about to raise the matter of the company accounts, I must warn you that unless you provide real evidence that there has indeed been embezzlement, I shall not allow you to proceed.”
    Argyll hesitated.
    “The missing books Eilish took,” Rathbone whispered furiously behind him.
    “No, my lord,” Argyll said blandly, looking at the judge with an innocent smile. “That is not the area I wish to pursue at the moment.”
    The judge sighed again. “Then I don’t know what you do want. I thought that was what you called this witness for.”
    “Yes my lord, but after I have laid suitable groundwork.”
    “Then proceed, Mr. Argyll, proceed,” the judge said irritably.
    “Thank you, my lord. Mr. Fyffe, in what capacity do you serve the Farraline company?”
    “I am in control of the printing, and make all printing decisions,” Quinlan replied.
    “I see. Are you aware, sir, that several of your books have been stolen over the last year or more?”
    There was a sharp stir of interest in the court. Quinlan looked incredulous.
    “No sir, I was not aware of it. And to tell you the truth, I am disinclined to believe it now. Such a loss would have been apparent.”
    “To whom, sir?” Argyll asked. “To you?”
    “No, not to me, but certainly …” He hesitated only a second or so, but a look of brilliance came into his eyes, a flash of thought. “To Baird McIvor. He manages that area of