William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

doubted it would have any relevance anyway, and was quite content to leave it for the time being. But before he took his leave, he obtained the address of Mr. Titus Niven, now no longer in business because of the skill of Angus Stonefield.
    Monk left the offices and walked briskly back along the Waterloo Road in the sharp wind.
    It still remained the strongest possibility that the answer to Angus Stonefield’s disappearance lay in his personal life,therefore it was necessary for Monk to learn as much about it as he was able. However, he had no possible grounds to call upon neighbors, still less to question them as to Stonefield’s habits or his comings and goings. It would hardly be in the best interest of his client. Having her neighbors gossiping about the fact that her husband was missing, and she had called in a person to try to find him, was the very last thing she would wish.
    But the fact that there was no crime—in fact, no acknowledged problem at all—was extremely restricting. The only course open to him in that direction would be to pursue servants’ chatter from nearby houses. Servants frequently knew a great deal more than their masters or mistresses supposed. They were most often regarded in much the same light as a favorite piece of furniture, without which one would be lost but in front of which discretion was not a consideration.
    He was approaching the river. It shone pale under the winter sky, the mist rising in wreaths, softening the dark shingles’ edges and carrying the raw smell of sewage on the outgoing tide. Dark barges and ferries moved up and down. It was not the season for pleasure boats.
    He wished he had John Evan with him, as he had had when he first returned to the police force after his accident, and before he had quarreled finally and irreparably with Runcorn, storming out the instant before Runcorn dismissed him. Evan, with his charm and gentleness of manner, was so much better at eliciting confidences from people. They forgot their natural reticence and shared their thoughts.
    But Evan was still with the police, so Monk could not call upon him for help except when there was an investigation in which he too was involved and was prepared to disclose his information, at great risk to himself. Runcorn would never forgive such an act. He would see it as a personal and professional betrayal.
    It had often crossed Monk’s mind that he would like to offer Evan a position as his assistant in some future daywhen he earned sufficient to support a second person. But that was only a dream, and perhaps a foolish one. At present he did not always make enough even for himself. There were weeks when he was profoundly grateful for his patroness, Lady Callandra Daviot, who made up the difference in his income. All she asked in return was that he share with her all those cases which had elements of interest for her … and they were considerable. She was a woman of high intelligence and curiosity, decisive opinions, and a consuming and generally tolerant interest in human nature in all its manifestations. In the past, Monk had inquired into matters solely at her behest, when she felt that an injustice was threatened or had been done.
    To begin with, he caught a cab to see Mrs. Stonefield in her own home, as he had said he would. It would give him a clearer impression of her, of the family’s well-being, both financial and social, and—if he were perceptive enough—also of the relationships beneath the surface of what she had told him.
    The house was on Upper George Street, on the corner of Seymour Place just east of the Edgware Road. It took him more than an hour in heavy traffic and a hard, soaking rain, from the far side of the river to arrive at the other side of Mayfair, alight, and pay the driver. It was nearly four o’clock, and the lamplighters were already out in the thickening dusk.
    He turned his coat collar up and crossed the footpath to knock on the front door. At this hour any formal callers would have been and gone, if indeed she were receiving callers.
    He shivered and turned to look back at the street. It was quiet and eminently respectable. Rows of similar windows looked out onto neat front gardens. Areaways were swept clean. Behind closed back gates would be cellar chutes for coal, dustbins, scrubbed scullery steps and back door entrances for tradesmen and deliveries.
    Was this what Angus Stonefield wanted? Or had he becomesuffocated by its predictability and discretion?