William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

the company.”
    “Precisely so,” Argyll agreed. “And he did not report such a loss to you?”
    “No sir, he did not!”
    Again Gilfeather half rose, but the judge waved him back.
    “Would you be interested to know,” Argyll said carefully, “that it was your wife who took them, sir, with Mr. McIvor’s assistance?”
    There was a gasp from the gallery. Several jurors turned towards Eilish, then towards Baird.
    Quinlan stood motionless, the blood rushing scarlet up his face, then receding again, leaving him ashen. He started to say something, but his voice died away.
    “You did not know this,” Argyll said unnecessarily. “It would seem at a glance to make no sense, but she had a most excellent reason….”
    There was a sigh of breath around the entire room., then utter silence.
    Quinlan stared at Argyll.
    Argyll smiled, just a slow lift of the corners of his mouth, his eyes brilliant.
    “She teaches people to read,” he said distinctly. “Grown men who labor by day and come to learn from her by night how to read and write their names, to read street signs, warnings, instructions, who knows, perhaps in time even literature and the Holy Bible.”
    There was a sharp rustle of movement in the gallery. Eilish sat white-faced, her eyes wide.
    The judge leaned forward, frowning.
    “I assume you must have some proof of this extraordinary allegation, Mr. Argyll?”
    “I quibble with your word
allegation
, my lord.” Argyllstared up at the bench. “I do not see it as any kind of charge. I think it is a most praiseworthy thing to do.”
    Quinlan leaned forward over the edge of the witness-box, his fingers gripping the rail.
    “It might be, if that were all it was,” he said fiercely. “But McIvor is inexcusable. I always knew he lusted after her.” His voice was rising and growing louder. “He tried to seduce her from any kind of morality or honor. But that he should use this excuse for it—and to corrupt her honesty as well—is beyond pardon.”
    There was a whisper around the room. The judge banged his gavel sharply.
    Argyll cut in before there could be any direction from the bench or Gilfeather could protest.
    “Are you not leaping to conclusions, Mr. Fyffe?” he asked with a lift of surprise displayed for the judge’s sake. “I did not say that Mr. McIvor had done more than procure the books for her.”
    Quinlan’s face was still white, his eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. He regarded Argyll with contempt.
    “I know you did not. Do you take me for a fool, sir? I’ve watched him for years, staring at her, making excuses to be with her, the whispers, and laughter, the sudden falling into silence, the moods of temper and depression when she ignored him, the sudden elation when she did not.” Again his voice was becoming shrill. “I know when a man is in love with a woman and when his desire has consumed him beyond his control. He has at last devised a way to gain her trust—and God knows what else!”
    “Mr. Fyffe …” Argyll began, but he did not seriously attempt to stop him.
    “But I recognize what I should have guessed before now,” Quinlan went on, staring at Argyll and ignoring the rest of the court. “It is amazing how blind one can be until one’s attention is forced to that which is painful.”
    At last Gilfeather rose to his feet.
    “My lord, this is all most regrettable, and I am sure thecourt feels for Mr. Fyffe’s shock and dismay, but it is entirely irrelevant as to who murdered Mary Farraline. My learned friend is only wasting time and attempting to divert the jury’s attention from the issue.”
    “I agree,” the judge said, and closed his mouth in a thin hard line.
    But before he could add any further ruling, Quinlan turned to him, his eyes blazing.
    “It is not irrelevant, my lord. Baird McIvor’s behavior is very relevant indeed.”
    Gilfeather made as if to protest again.
    Argyll gestured with his hands, intentionally ineffectual.
    Rathbone said a prayer under his breath, his hands clenched, his body aching with the strain. He dared not look at Hester. He had forgotten Monk as if he had never existed.
    In the box Quinlan stood upright, his face white, two sharp furrows at the bridge of his nose.
    “The family solicitor asked me to go through certain of Mrs. Farraline’s papers, relating to her estate—”
    “Yes, sir?” the judge interrupted.
    “I frequently handled her financial affairs,” Quinlan replied. “My brother-in-law Alastair is too busy