William Monk 12 - Funeral in Blue

He’s not that big a fool. Elissa was gambling from her own need. It had nothing to do with anyone else at all!”
    “Imogen was in Swinton Street on the night of the murders,” Hester replied. “We know she saw Allardyce. . . .”
    “Pendreigh?” he said in astonishment. “Why?”
    “I don’t know.”
    The cab pulled up abruptly, and after telling Hester to wait, Monk leaped out and ran across the rapidly icing pavement and pushed open the outer door. He went up the stairs two at a time to reach Runcorn’s apartments. He lifted his fist and banged so hard the door itself rattled against the frame.
    “Runcorn!” he shouted. “Runcorn!”
    The door opened and Runcorn stared at him. “What is it?” he said almost calmly.
    Monk swallowed. “Pendreigh took Imogen Latterly out of the courthouse and through the fog to Blackfriars’ Bridge. They quarreled about something.” He all but pushed Runcorn inside, looking around for his coat to hand it to him. “We found her senseless and covered with blood, but no injury on her. Her umbrella point was used to stab someone, and Pendreigh’s nowhere to be seen. We’ve got to find him. Come on!”
    Runcorn opened a cupboard and took his hat and coat out, then made for the door still carrying them in his hand.
    Monk ran down the stairs again on Runcorn’s heels, and across the pavement into the hansom, calling out Pendreigh’s address in Ebury Street as he went. Runcorn showed a moment’s amazement that Hester was in the cab, but there was no point in arguing about it now.
    Once again the cab started forward and picked up speed. The fog was drifting in patches and the hiss of tires on the wet roads was muffled as they swung through the alternating light of each lamp and into the spaces between.
    It was several moments before Runcorn spoke, and when he did it was with intense feeling.
    “What are you not telling me, Monk? Why was she there? What did she know about Fuller Pendreigh and his daughter that we don’t? Or at any rate, that I don’t?”
    “I’m working it out!” Monk said tartly, looking sideways at Runcorn’s face in the glare of lamplight. He saw no hostility, only puzzlement. “She was the woman in Swinton Street that night,” he began his reply. “At the gambling house.” He heard Runcorn’s quick intake of breath. “She must have seen Pendreigh there, too. That’s about the only thing that would make him take her down to the river and, we presume, attack her. She must have been at least half prepared for it, and she went for him with the spike of her umbrella. In spite of his clothes, she must have given him a fearful blow, from the blood all over her. Don’t know how she managed it.”
    Runcorn muttered a blasphemy under his breath, or perhaps it was not. He might even have been praying.
    The hansom careered its way through the streamers of fog and sudden glittering lights. The wind was rising.
    “Will she be all right?” Runcorn said at last.
    “I don’t know,” Monk admitted.
    Runcorn drew in his breath to say something, then could not make up his mind.
    Monk could feel the warmth of his body beside him. In the intermittent light he could see Runcorn’s indecision, his waiting to offer some kind of pity, and all the memories flooding back of envy and distrust, all the petty unkindnesses of the past.
    The cab stopped at Ebury Street and they both got out, Monk turning to help Hester. Runcorn paid the cabbie and then went up the front steps. He pulled the doorbell hard, and then again. They stood impatiently for what seemed an age until the butler came.
    “Yes sir, madam?” he enquired with just a hint of disapproval for the lateness of the hour.
    “Superintendent Runcorn, of the police,” Runcorn said icily. “And Mr. William Monk, and Mrs. Monk.”
    “I’m afraid Mr. Pendreigh is not receiving at this hour, sir. If you come to—”
    “I’m not asking, I’m telling you,” Runcorn snapped. “Now be so good as to step aside, rather than oblige me to arrest you for obstructing the police in their duty. Do I make myself plain?”
    The butler quailed. “Yes sir, if . . .” But he was elbowed aside as Runcorn walked in with Monk on his heels.
    “Where is Mr. Pendreigh?” Runcorn asked. “Upstairs?”
    “Mr. Pendreigh is not well, sir. He was attacked by robbers in the street. If you—”
    “Yes or no?” Runcorn snapped.
    “Yes sir, but . . . Mr. Pendreigh is ill, sir . . . I beg you . . .”
    “Come on!”