William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger

rueful humor she knew so well. “It would be very pleasant to think that he will not, but not realistic. I’m sorry.”
    “I agree.” She nodded. “If he could not, then we would have no concern.”
    “I cannot prevent it, Hester,” he said gravely. “Nor can I reasonably find out who it will be. I wish I could. Or are you saying that if we are to stop this business we have only a small amount of time in which to act?” He looked genuinely grieved. “I would, if I knew of anything that would help. It is not practical to try closing him down. London is full of prostitution, and probably always will be, like all large cities.” There was apology in his eyes, in the line of his mouth. He did not look at Margaret.
    “I know that,” Hester answered softly. “I am not so idealistic as to aim at changing human nature, Oliver, only at putting Squeaky Robinson out of this particular business.”
    “Miss Ballinger suggested that you had an idea,” he said with care, the slight frown back between his brows.
    She could not help a flash of humor. He had been involved in one or two of her plans before and was wise to be wary.
    She plunged in. “We must strike before he finds a partner,” she said firmly, praying she would phrase her plan in such a way as to make him believe it was not only possible but perfectly moral and reasonable, which would not be easy!
    “Strike?” he said warily. He glanced at Margaret.
    She smiled with magnificent innocence.
    He looked uncomfortable and turned back to Hester.
    She took a deep breath. This was the moment. “Before he finds a partner himself,” she said, “we must provide one . . . who will need to examine the books, of course, before he commits himself. . . .”
    Rathbone said nothing.
    “And will thus have the opportunity to destroy them,” she finished.
    He looked puzzled. “He won’t believe you,” he said with grave regret. “Your reputation is too well known, Hester. And unless he is a complete fool, he wouldn’t believe Monk either.”
    “Oh, I know that,” she agreed. “But he would believe you, if you did it well enough.”
    He froze, eyes wide.
    There was nothing to do but continue. “If you were to go to him with us, of course, and say you would be interested in investing a little money in such a profitable sideline.” She knew she was speaking too quickly. “Providing an examination of the books, the debts still to be collected, and so on, were satisfactory, then you would also be able to provide suitable young women in the future. You come across them often enough in your practice—”
    “Hester!” he protested, aghast. “For God’s sake . . .” He swiveled to Margaret. “I apologize, Miss Ballinger, but I couldn’t possibly involve myself in usury and prostitution! Not to mention sanctioning the brutal punishment of people unable to pay their debts . . .”
    “Oh, but you wouldn’t be!” Margaret said sincerely. “You would only have to go there once.” Her eyes did not leave his. “And surely lawyers deal with some very questionable people a lot of the time? You can hardly defend people who haven’t at least been charged with a crime, whether they are guilty or not?”
    “Yes, but that’s . . .” he protested.
    Her smile lit her face with a softness and a warmth which were unmistakable. She could not have hidden her admiration for him then even had she tried, and at the moment she was oblivious of it. “If anyone were to mention it, should they know, you could be perfectly candid afterwards as to why you were there,” she said reasonably. “Could anything be more justified than rescuing perfectly honest young women from a life on the streets?”
    His face was filled with confusion both intellectual and emotional. Hester, who knew him so well, could see it clearly.
    “That’s not exactly what you’re suggesting,” he pointed out reluctantly, looking from one to the other of them. “I need to go to this . . . Squeaky?”
    “Yes . . . Squeaky Robinson.” Hester nodded.
    “And offer to be his partner in usury and pimping?” he finished.
    “Only offer,” Hester said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Not actually do it.”
    “The difference between intent and execution would be difficult to prove,” he said with a touch of sarcasm.
    “To whom?” Hester argued. “Who is going to know, except Squeaky Robinson, who will be in no position to retaliate, and Margaret and I, who will be