William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

picture of Leighton Duff out of his pocket and showed it to the sandwich seller. “Have you ever seen this man?”
    The sandwich seller tipped the picture over a little towards the light of the distant street lamp. He thought for a few moments.
    “Yeah, ’e were the geezer wot were done in Water Lane. A rozzer showed me this afore. W’y d’yer wanna know fer?”
    “Just wondering if he came here any time before that,” Monk replied.
    The cabby looked at it curiously.
    “ ’Ere, jus’ a minute,” he said, his voice quickening. “I seen ’im. Not the night ’e were done, I din’t, but I see’d ’im afore that, ’bout a couple o’ weeks, or mebbe less. It were the night afore Christmas Eve, I know that. I’d swear ter it.”
    Monk felt his body tighten and his heart beat a little faster. It was the scent of victory, familiar and sharp. “The night before Christmas Eve, and he was here, in St. Giles?”
    “Yeah. Din’t I jus’ say so? ’E looked rough, real rough then, like ’e’d bin in a fight. Blood on ’is face, there were, an’ on ’is sleeves.”
    Monk swallowed. “Look carefully. Are you sure?”
    “Yeah, I’m sure. Ears, yer see?” He looked at Monk with a smile. “I likes ears. Ears is all different. ’Ave yer ever noticed that?”
    “Yes. Yes, I have. And what was it about the man’s ears that you remember so well?” As he said it he moved his hand over the picture to obscure the ears.
    “Long,” the cabby said without hesitation. “Long an’ narrer, wi’ ’eavy lobes ter ’em. Yer take yer finger orff an’ look. I’m right.”
    Monk obeyed. The man was right.
    “And he had blood on him? Did you see any injury?” He did not want to ask. He almost did not. It was too easily disproved. He could feel the new thread slipping out of his grasp again.
    “No, on’y blood. Don’t ’ave ter be ’is blood. Could ’a bin someone else’s. Looked kind o’ drunk, ’e did. Staggerin’ abaht a bit, but ’appy enough, like ’e’d just won summink. So maybe the other geezer got orff a bit worse, eh?”
    “Yes, maybe. Was he alone? Did you see anyone else?” Had Rhys been with him, close behind, or left wherever the fight had taken place? This evidence was almost too good to be true. Perhaps he would be able to take Hester something after all. Or rather take Rathbone something.
    “Saw someone else,” the cabby said thoughtfully. “But couldn’t say ’oo. Jus’ a shadow. Tall, like, an’ thinnish, though it in’t easy ter say, in a good coat. Covers a lot, a good coat does.”
    “Tall … and thin,” Monk said slowly. “And his face? Was he dark or fair? Young or old?” Surely it must have been Rhys? “And was he injured too?”
    “Don’ rush me!” the cabby protested. “Can’t answer more ’n one thing at a time.”
    “Did you see his face?” Monk said, controlling himself with difficulty;
    “Sort o’—’alf.”
    “Dark or fair?”
    “Dark. Very dark.”
    Monk swallowed. “And was he hurt, that you could see?”
    “Yeah, come ter think on it, ’e ’ad blood on ’im too. Not so much, as I could see. But yeah, ’e were messed around. I reckon ’is coat were torn, an’ looked sort o’ wet. W’y, guv? Wot does it matter now? Yer’ve got ’im, in’t yer?”
    “Yes. It’s just a matter of tidying it up, for evidence in court. You are positive about the date?”
    “Yeah, I told yer.”
    “Thank you. You have been a great help. Now, will you please take me to Ebury Street. Have another sandwich.” He gave the sandwich seller threepence and took two more. “And have one yourself,” he added cheerfully to the seller. “They’re very good.” He gave one sandwich to the cabby, and set out at a stride to climb up into the hansom. His only regret was he had nothing for the horse.
    At Ebury Street he alighted, paid the cabby and thanked him again, then went up the step and rang the bell. When it was answered by Wharmby, looking grim, he asked to see Mrs. Duff.
    “I am sorry sir, but Mrs. Duff is not receiving,” Wharmby said firmly.
    “Please inform her that I am working for Sir Oliver Rathbone, and I have a question I must ask her regarding the case,” Monk replied, equally unflinchingly. “It is important that I receive an answer before I can proceed. It is in Mr. Rhys Duff’s interest.”
    “Yes sir, I will tell her.” Wharmby hesitated. There was nothing more to say, and yet he did not move.
    Monk waited. He wanted