William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

demands? Was Breeland simply caught up in it by an unfortunate accident of timing? Is that what you are suggesting?”
    It was not as simple as that, but she was reluctant to tell him what she feared. Daniel Alberton had been his closest friend, and any slur against him would reflect on Judith, and on Merrit. Did the truth matter now, the detailed truth as to why, as long as they knew who?
    “Is it possible?” Hester said evasively.
    Again Casbolt sat silently for several moments, his brows drawn down in thought.
    As she waited, she realized how unlikely it would be. Ifguns could be so simply stolen, why would they have bothered with the sophistication of blackmail in the first place?
    He was watching her.
    “You don’t believe that, do you?” he said softly. “You are afraid Daniel yielded to them, aren’t you? You know he was in the yard that night … it must have been to meet someone.”
    “Yes,” she said unhappily. She loathed having to do this, but the truth lay between them, huge and inevitable. There was no possibility of avoiding it now.
    “Daniel would not sell guns to pirates,” Casbolt said, shaking his head, denying it to himself.
    “The guns missing from Breeland’s shipment were exactly the amount asked for in the blackmail letter,” she pointed out.
    “He still wouldn’t do that. Not to pirates!” But his voice was losing its conviction. He was talking to persuade himself, and the unhappiness in his eyes betrayed his knowledge that she could see it.
    “Perhaps he had little choice,” she said.
    “The blackmail? We would have fought it through! I believe your husband might well have discovered who it was. It had to be someone in London. How could a Mediterranean pirate know about Gilmer?”
    “How would anyone?” she said so quietly he leaned forward to hear her. She could feel the heat in her face and yet her hands were cold.
    He stared at her. “Are you … are you saying what I think …” He stumbled over the words. “No! He would not do that!”
    Just as Breeland could not be guilty because of the times of events, Casbolt could not either. She hated hurting him, but he was the one person she could trust, and who would be in a position to find the truth, and maybe to keep it silent.
    “Perhaps he needed the money?”
    His eyes widened. “The money? I don’t understand. I am quite familiar with the company books, Mrs. Monk. The finances are more than adequate.”
    At last Hester spoke aloud the ugly thought that she had been trying to suppress or deny all day. “What if he invested privately as well, and lost money?”
    He looked startled, as if the thought rattled him. It took him a moment to regain his composure.
    “In stocks, you mean?” he asked. “Or something of that sort? I don’t think it is likely. He was not a gambler in even the mildest way. And believe me, I have known him long enough that I would be aware of it.” He spoke very gravely, still leaning forward, his hands locked together, knuckles white.
    Hester had to pursue it, explain to him what she meant. “Not stocks or shares, and I had never thought of gambling, Mr. Casbolt. I was thinking of something which seemed at the time a certain business deal, with no risk attached.”
    He gazed at her, his eyes clouded, waiting for her to continue.
    “Like selling guns to the Chinese,” she answered.
    His face was unreadable, his emotions too profound to measure.
    It was at that moment that she believed he knew. He had concealed it to protect Alberton, and possibly even more to protect Judith. She realized with a jolt how much this whole room spoke of his love for her, and why it was special. Perhaps there would be no need to tell anyone. They did not have to know any more than they did now. Mystery, unanswered questions, would be better than the truth.
    “The Third Chinese War,” she finished the thought. “If he invested in guns to sell to the Chinese, shipped them out, and then they refused to pay because a war had broken out between us and them that was completely unforeseeable by anyone, then he would have sustained a heavy loss … wouldn’t he?”
    His lips tightened, but his eyes did not waver from hers.
    “Yes …”
    “Is that not possible?”
    “Of course it is possible. But what are you suggestinghappened the night he was killed? I still don’t understand how a loss to the Chinese would bring that about.”
    “Yes, you do,” she said softly. “What if Breeland were