William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

looked closely.
    Monk remained silent. He was aware of the constable and Casbolt in the distance, examining the warehouse itself, the doors, the tracks in the thin film of mud, crisscrossing where the wagons had backed and turned, where they must have loaded the cases of guns.
    Lanyon interrupted his thoughts.
    “What does
T
stand for?” he said, biting his lip. “
T
for thief?
T
for traitor, perhaps?” He stood up frowning, his long face full of anger and sadness. He was a plain man, but there was something likable in him that dominated one’s impression. “This Mr. Breeland who wanted to buy the guns is American, that right?”
    “Yes. From the Union.”
    Lanyon scratched his chin. “We heard the Union army executes its soldiers something like this, when it has to. Very nasty. Can’t see the need for it, myself. Ordinary firing squad seems good enough to me. I suppose they have their reasons. Why didn’t Mr. Alberton sell him the guns? Was he a Southern sympathizer, do you know?”
    “I don’t think so,” Monk answered. “He’d just committed himself to sell them to the Southern buyer and he wouldn’t go back on his word. I don’t believe for him there is any question of ideological difference between the sides, just his own honor in keeping a promise.” He found that oddly difficult to say. He saw Alberton alive in his mind, and then the crumpled figure on the ground, its face almost unrecognizable.
    “Well, it cost him dear,” Lanyon said quietly.
    “Sir!” the constable called out. “I got summink ’ere!”
    Lanyon turned.
    The constable was holding up the watch.
    Lanyon walked over, Monk close behind him. He took the watch from the constable and looked at it carefully. The name in script was very clear to read.
    “Looks like someone found this already,” he said, glancing at Monk.
    “I did. I cleared the name, then put it back.”
    “And I presume you would have told us?” Lanyon observed with a sharp glance. He had very clear, pale blue eyes. His hair was straight and tended to stick out.
    “Yes. If you hadn’t retrieved it yourselves. I assumed you would.”
    Lanyon said nothing. He took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and marked the cobbles, then gave the watch to the constable, telling him to look after it.
    “Not that it matters much where it was,” he remarked.
    “Except that it can’t have been there long,” Monk pointed out. “If it had been in a corner, it might have lain there for days.”
    Lanyon eyed him curiously. “You doubt it was Breeland?”
    “No,” Monk was honest. “We went to his rooms. He’s cleared everything out, almost an hour or less before they must have come here, judging by how long it would take to load the crates and how long since the men were killed.”
    “Yes. Mr. Casbolt told me. That’s what brought you here. And it seems Miss Alberton has disappeared from home as well.” He did not add any conclusion.
    “Yes.”
    Casbolt moved forward.
    “Sergeant, Mrs. Alberton doesn’t yet know anything except that her daughter is missing. She doesn’t know about …” He gestured towards the bodies, but did not look at them. “May we … may Monk and I go and tell her, rather than … I mean …” He swallowed convulsively. “Can you leave her atleast until tomorrow? She will find this … she will be devastated. They were devoted … both her husband and her daughter … and by a man who had been a guest in her home.”
    Lanyon hesitated only a moment. “Yes, sir. I know of no reason why not. Poor lady. It looks pretty plain this was a robbery carried out in a particularly vicious manner.” He shook his head. “Though why they did this to them I don’t know. Seems as if Breeland felt he’d been betrayed, but from what you say the Confederate got there first. Maybe there was something in the deal we don’t know about. We’ll look into it, but it doesn’t make any difference to the murders. People get cheated in business every day. Yes, Mr. Casbolt, you and Mr. Monk go and tell Mrs. Alberton the news, and stay there and look after her. But I shall need to speak to you again, later in the day.”
    “Thank you,” Casbolt said with profound emotion.
    Outside in the street Monk turned to him. “I don’t know why you said I should go with you, but you should tell Mrs. Alberton alone. You’re her cousin. I am almost a stranger. And anyway I would be more use here than anywhere else.” He had already stopped as he