William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

changed his mind about going to him at all. Perhaps it would do no good, and all he would do would be to lose Evan’s regard before he had to.
    That was not only the coward’s way out, it was the fool’s. Evan would learn sooner or later. Better now, and from Monk. Better at least to see him fight than allow defeat by surrender. He hailed a hansom and took it as far as the corner nearest his old station.
    It was a bright morning. He had barely noticed. The sun had already melted the rime of ice on the footpath, and theharness of passing carriages winked and glistened. An errand boy was whistling as he walked with a swing in his stride.
    Monk reached the police station and went straight up the steps and inside. To hesitate might lose him his courage.
    “Mornin’, Mr. Monk,” the desk sergeant said with surprise. “What can we be doin’ for you?”
    “I’d like to see Mr. Evan, if you please?”
    “About a crime, is it, sir?”
    The man’s face was unreadable, and Monk could not remember their relationship. It was probably not cordial. Monk was his senior, and the man was middle-aged. Monk had probably treated him with impatience, considering him second-rate. He winced now at what he imagined.
    “I’m not sure whether it is or not,” he said as smoothly as he could. “I need rather more information, and perhaps advice. Is Mr. Evan in the station?”
    “You won’t be needin’ ter see Mr. Runcorn, then?” the sergeant said sententiously, a very slight smile touching his lips.
    “No, I won’t, thank you.” Monk met his eyes without a flicker.
    “Thought not.” The sergeant’s smile widened a fraction.
    “ ’Aven’t forgot the Moidore case, sir, I ’aven’t.”
    Monk forced himself to smile back. “Thank you, Sergeant. A very nice memory you have, tastefully selective.”
    “Yer welcome, sir. I’ll fetch Mr. Evan for yer.” And he turned and disappeared behind the door, to reappear less than a minute later. “ ’E’ll meet you in the coffee shop ’round the corner, sir, in five minutes. Wiser that way, sir.”
    “I admire a man of wisdom,” Monk agreed. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
    When Evan came into the coffee shop his long, humorous face with its aristocratic nose and rueful mouth looked full of anxiety. He sat down opposite Monk, ignoring the coffee placed there for him.
    “What is it?” he asked. “It must be important to bringyou to the station.” He searched Monk’s face. “You look awful. Are you ill?”
    Monk drew a deep breath, and as briefly as possible without omitting anything essential, he told him the story.
    Evan did not interrupt, but his expression grew more and more distressed as the account neared its climax.
    “What can I do?” he said finally when Monk finished. “Surely she won’t try to prosecute? She’d be rained as well … and she’d never prove anything! The worst—” He stopped.
    “Yes?” Monk said, biting his lip. “You were going to say the worst that could happen is that her own circle would believe her? It isn’t. Even those who don’t believe her will deny me the benefit of the doubt.”
    Evan had barely touched his coffee, and they were both unaware of the bustle and noise around them, the hum of chatter and aroma of food.
    “No, actually I was going to say the worst that happened to her was that her gown was torn. She was in no way harmed in her person. But I suppose a torn gown is enough. It indicates an intention to do a great deal more.” Evan regarded his cold coffee with distaste. He had not touched it. “We must find out who she is, and why she is prepared to take such a violent and costly revenge. Tell me all you know about her, and I’ll search all your past case files. Her name is Drusilla Wyndham? How old is she? What is her appearance? Where does she live? Whom does she associate with?”
    Monk realized how idiotically little he did know. He felt foolish and the embarrassment of it burned up his cheeks.
    “I don’t even know if her name is correct,” he said grimly. “I never saw her in company of anyone else. I would hazard she is in her early thirties. She is very small, slender, dainty but with a fine figure. She has a beautiful face.…” He winced as he said it. “Fair brown hair, hazel eyes, and a charming voice with a little catch in it when she laughs. I have no idea where she lives, or with whom sheassociates, except that the Geographical Society would appear to be one place she frequents. She