William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

story more devastating than when Monk had told him. There was something in Casbolt’s reliving of it which carried an even greater power. If he had asked the jury for a verdict now, they would have hanged Breeland and Merrit today, and pulled the lever for the trapdoor themselves.
    Casbolt had described finding the bodies in their grotesque positions with only the briefest of words, almost too spare to re-create the picture. His horror filled the room. No man could have acted such searing emotion.
    He did not mention finding the watch. Deverill had to remind him of it.
    Casbolt looked startled. “Oh. Yes. Monk found it. He picked it up. It had Breeland’s name engraved on it, and a date. I don’t recall what it was.”
    “But Lyman Breeland’s name was on it, you are certain of that?”
    “Of course.”
    “Thank you. Just one thing more, Mr. Casbolt.”
    “Yes?” He looked puzzled.
    “Forgive me for such an enquiry, sir,” Deverill apologized. “But just in case anyone might wonder, or my learned friend raises the issue, allow me to spare him the trouble. Exactly where were you that evening, before you received Mrs. Alberton’s desperate note? You said you dined with friends?”
    “Yes, Lord Harland’s house, in Eaton Square. I am afraid the party went on rather longer than expected. I did not arrive home until a little after three. I was still up when the messenger arrived.”
    “I see. Thank you.” Deverill turned with a flourish towards Rathbone, waving a hand in invitation.
    Casbolt had said nothing Rathbone disputed, nothing he wished to clarify. He would have liked to stretch out the proceedings in the hope Monk might yet discover something more, but if he did so now Deverill at least would know it, possibly the jury would also.
    He half rose from his seat. “I have no questions for the witness, my lord.”
    “Good. Then we may adjourn for luncheon,” the judge said bleakly.
    Rathbone was barely outside the courtroom when he saw Hester and Judith Alberton coming towards him. Philo Trace was a few yards away, but he did not approach them. It flashed through Rathbone’s mind to wonder again exactly what Trace’s part was in the purchase of guns. Could he have been the one who tried to blackmail Alberton, and was that why Alberton had absolutely refused to deal with Breeland … because he dared not? Had Monk been the catalyst which made him change his mind? It was only the thread of an idea, but it persisted.
    “Sir Oliver?” Judith was in front of him. He could hear the fear in her voice.
    “Please don’t worry, Mrs. Alberton,” he said with more confidence than he felt. It was a part of his profession he had been obliged to practice so often: the comforting of peoplein desperate situations, the giving of courage and hope he had no knowledge he could justify. “We have our turn after Mr. Deverill has done all he can. I don’t feel any certainty that I can prove Breeland innocent, but with Merrit it will be far easier. Don’t lose heart.”
    “The watch,” she said simply. “If Merrit was not there, how did it come to be in the warehouse yard? She was so proud of it, I cannot imagine her willingly letting it out of her possession.”
    “Can you imagine her lying to protect Breeland?” he asked gently. He could not help looking for a moment at Hester and saw in her eyes the fierce need to help, and confusion because she did not know how to.
    “Yes,” Judith said quietly. “Sir Oliver … I am terribly afraid I should not have sent Mr. Monk to bring her back. Have I condemned her to death—” Her voice broke.
    Hester tightened her grip on Judith’s arm, willing her to have strength. But she could not argue, could not think of any words that would comfort.
    “No,” Rathbone lied with authority. He heard the ring of conviction in his own voice, and was stabbed with fear that he would be proved wrong. But he was used to risk, to defying the rules and trusting to fortune, because it was all he had. He was acutely conscious that he did not deserve to succeed as often as he had. “No, Mrs. Alberton. I do not believe that Merrit is guilty of more than foolishness. I am very sorry that I may have to demonstrate that the man she loves is in no way worthy of her, and she will find that very hard. There is little in life as bitter as disillusion. And when it happens she will need your comfort. You must remain strong for that time. It will not be long.”
    Judith’s expression