William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

anything that would have made her father’s story more believable, we might shake him.”
    He sighed and looked at Monk, the dread of failure burning visibly inside him. It was in the nature of his profession to gamble on his own skill, and he could not always win. But when it was another man who was going to pay, it clearly cut to the bone of his self-belief. It was a pain he was evidently not used to, and his confusion was naked for a moment in his eyes.
    Monk wished he could help Rathbone, and knew it could not be done. There are places each man walks alone, where even friendship cannot reach. All he could do was wait, and be there before and after.
    “I’ll go back to looking for the assassin,” he said, turning to go.
    “If you don’t find him in the next couple of days, it won’t matter,” Rathbone told him. “I’d rather let Sixsmith go and drop the case altogether than convict an innocent man.” He smiled thinly. “My foray into prosecution is not conspicuously successful, it seems!”
    Monk could think of nothing to say that was not a lie. He gave a very slight smile and went out, closing the door softly.
    He was within half a mile of the Wapping station when Scuff appeared out of the gloom. The boy was soaking wet and looking inordinately pleased with himself. He ran a couple of steps to keep up with Monk. “I done it!” he said without the usual preamble of greeting.
    Monk looked at him. His small face was glowing with triumph under its outsize cap. Monk had still not managed to tell him it needed a lining. “What did you do?” he asked.
    Scuff’s expression filled with disgust. “I found where the killer lives, o’ course! In’t that wot we gotter do?”
    Monk stopped, facing Scuff on the footpath. “You found out where the man who shot Mr. Havilland lives?” The thought was overwhelming. Then he was furious. “I told you not even to think about it!” His voice cut across the air, harsh with fear. A man who would shoot Havilland in his own stables would not think twice about strangling an urchin like Scuff. “Don’t you ever listen?” he demanded. “Or think?”
    Scuff looked confused and deeply hurt. This was seemingly the last thing he had expected. Monk suddently realized that the boy must have clutched his achievement to himself all the way there, expecting Monk’s praise and happiness, only to find the prize dashed out of his hand.
    Scuff took a deep breath and looked at Monk, blinking to keep back the tears. “Don’ yer wanna know, then?”
    Monk felt a guilt so deep that for a moment he could not find the words to express it even to himself, far less to try to mend anything in the child staring at him, waiting.
    “Yes, I do want it,” he said at last. He must not intrude on Scuff’s precious dignity, for the boy had little else. He must never allow him to know he had seen the tears. “But I don’t risk my men’s lives, even for that. That’s something you have to learn.”
    “Oh.” Scuff swallowed. He thought about it for a moment or two while they both stood in the rain getting steadily wetter. “Not nob’dy’s?”
    “Nobody’s at all,” Monk assured him. “Even those I don’t like much, such as Clacton, never mind those I do.”
    “Oh,” Scuff said again.
    “So don’t do it,” Monk added. “Or you’ll be in trouble. I’ll let you off this one time.”
    Scuff grunted. “So yer wanna know w’ere ’e lives, then?”
    “Yes, I do…please.”
    “ ’E lives down the Blind Man’s Cuttin’, wot leads inter the old sewer an’ tunnel. There’s lots o’ folk live down there, but I can find ’im. I’ll take yer. ’E’s a bad ’un, mind. An’ ’e knows them sewers like a tosher, exspecial the old ones down near the Fleet.”
    “Thank you. I think we had better take some men with us. We’ll go to the station and find them.” Monk started to walk.
    Scuff remained where he was.
    Monk stopped and turned, waiting.
    “I in’t goin’ there,” Scuff said stubbornly. “It’s all rozzers.”
    “You’re with me,” Monk said quietly. “Nobody will hurt you.”
    Scuff looked at him gravely, his eyes shadowed with doubt.
    “Would you rather wait outside?” Monk asked. “It’s wet, and it’s cold. But it’ll be warm in there, and we’ll get a drink of hot tea. There might even be a piece of cake.”
    “Cake?” Temptation ached in Scuff’s eyes.
    “And hot tea, for sure.”
    “An’ rozzers…”
    “Yes. Do you want me to