William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

pavement, Monk pulling his collar higher and Hester wrapping her blue coat tighter around her against the wind, Monk spoke.
    “I’m damned if I’m finished yet! One of them killed her. If it wasn’t McIvor, it was one of the others.”
    “I would dearly like it to be Quinlan,” Hester said with feeling as they crossed the road and stepped onto the grass. “What a perfectly odious man. Why on earth did Eilish marry him? Any fool can see she loathes him now—and little wonder. Do you think Hector was drunk?”
    “Of course he was drunk. He’s always drunk, poor old devil.”
    “I wonder why,” she said thoughtfully, increasing her speed to keep up with him. “What happened to him? Fromwhat Mary said, he used to be every bit as dashing as Hamish, and a better soldier.”
    “Envy, I suppose,” he replied without interest. “Younger brother, lesser commission, Hamish got the inheritance, and appears to have had the brains as well, and the talent.”
    They reached the far side of the Place and turned down Glenfinlas Street.
    “I meant do you think he was so drunk he was talking nonsense?” she resumed.
    “About what?”
    “A secret room, of course,” she replied impatiently, having to run again to keep at his side, and brushing past a woman with a basket. “Why would Hamish build a secret room in a printing works?”
    “I don’t know. To hide illegal books?”
    “What sort of books would be illegal?” she asked breathlessly. “You mean stolen ones? But that doesn’t make any sense.”
    “No, of course not stolen ones. Seditious—blasphemous—most probably pornographic.”
    “Oh—oh I see.”
    “No you don’t. But possibly you understand.”
    She did not quibble. “Is that worth killing over?”
    “If it was graphic enough, and there was enough of it,” he replied. “It could be worth a lot of money.”
    Two gentlemen crossed the street ahead of them, one swinging a cane.
    “You mean they could sell it for a lot.” She could be equally pedantic. “It’s worth nothing.”
    He pulled a face. “Didn’t think you’d know what it was.”
    “I’ve been an army nurse,” she said tardy.
    “Oh.” For a moment he was confused, off balance. He did not wish to think of her as being aware of such things, much less to have seen them. It offended him. Women, especially decent women, should never have to see the obscenities of the darkest human imagination. Unconsciouslyhe increased his speed, almost knocking into a man and woman. The man glared at him and muttered something.
    Hester was obliged to break into a trot to keep up.
    “Are we going to look for it?” she asked, gasping. “Please slow a little. I cannot speak or listen at this rate.”
    He obeyed abruptly and she shot a couple of paces past him.
    “I am,” he answered. “You’re not.”
    “Yes I am.” It was a single, contradictory, pigheaded statement. There was no question or pleading in it.
    “No you are not. It may be dangerous….”
    “Why should it? They said there would be no one there tomorrow, and there certainly won’t be today. They’d never break the Sabbath.”
    “I’m going tonight, while it’s dark.”
    “Of course we are. It would be absurd to go in the daylight; anyone might see us.”
    “You’re not coming!”
    Now they were stopped and causing an obstruction on the footpath.
    “Yes I am. You’ll need help. If it really is a secret room, it won’t be all that easy to find. We may have to knock for hollow places, or move—”
    “All right!” he said. “But you must do as you’re told.”
    “Naturally.”
    He snorted, and once again set off at a rapid pace.
    It was a little before eleven, and pitch-dark except for the lantern which Hester held, when she and Monk finally stood in the huge print room and began their task. To avoid unnecessary noise they had had to break in. It had taken some time, but Monk possessed skills in that field which startled Hester, though he offered no account of how he had come by them. Possibly he did not recall himself.
    For over an hour they searched, slowly and methodically, but the building was very solidly and plainly built. It was simply a barnlike structure, similar to the warehouses on eitherside of it, for the purpose of printing books. There was no ornament or carving, no alcoves, mantels, sets of shelves or anything else which could mask an opening.
    “He was drunk,” Monk said in disgust. “He just loathed Hamish so much he was trying to make