William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

the scene for us,” he said at last to Sixsmith. “Let the court see exactly how it was.”
    Sixsmith obeyed him, speaking slowly and carefully, like a man emerging from a nightmare into the daylight of sanity. He described the room in the public house: the noise, the smell of ale, the straw on the floor, the press of men.
    “He came in at about ten o’clock, as near as I can tell,” he went on in response to Dobie’s prompting. “I knew him straightaway. He was fairly tall, and thin, especially his face. His hair was black and straight, rather long over his collar. His nose was thin at the bridge. But most of all, he had these extraordinary teeth, which I saw when he smiled. He bought a tankard of ale and came straight over to me, as if he already knew who I was. Someone must have described me very well. The man introduced himself, using Argyll’s name so I would know who he was. We discussed the problem of the toshers in particular, and I told him a little more about it. I gave him the money. He accepted it, folded it away, and then stood up. I remember he emptied the tankard in one long draught, and then he left, without once looking backwards.”
    Dobie thanked him and invited Rathbone to contest it if he wished.
    Rathbone conceded defeat with both dignity and grace. Not by so much as a glance did he admit that it was actually the most elegant and perhaps the most difficult victory of his career.
    The jury returned a verdict of guilty of attempted bribery, and the judge imposed a fine that was no more than a week’s pay.
    The court erupted in cheers, the gallery rising to its feet. The jury looked intensely satisfied, turning to shake one another’s hands and pass words of congratulation.
    Margaret abandoned decorum and met Rathbone halfway across the floor as he walked towards her. Her face was shining, but whatever she said to him was lost in the uproar.
    Monk also was on his feet. He would speak a word or two to Runcorn, thank him for his courage in being willing to reexamine a case. Then he would go home to tell Hester—and Scuff.

TWELVE
    T he trial had finished promptly, so Monk was home comparatively early. The weather was bright and clear, and the February evening stretched out with no clouds—only trails of chimney smoke across the waning sky. It was going to freeze, and as he alighted from the omnibus the stones beneath his feet were already filmed with ice. But the air tasted fresh and the sweetness of victory was in it. The sun was low, and its reflection on the pale stretches of the river hurt his eyes. The masts of the ships were a black fretwork like wrought iron against the rich colors of the horizon beyond the rooftops.
    He turned and walked smartly up Union Road to Paradise Place and then up the short path to his front door. As soon as he was inside he called out Hester’s name.
    She must have heard the triumph in his voice. Her face eager, she appeared at the top of the stairs from the bedroom, where she had been sitting with Scuff.
    “We won!” he said, starting up the steps two at a time. He caught hold of her and swung her around, kissing her lips, neck, cheek, and lips again. “We won it all! Sixsmith was convicted of no more than attempted bribery, and fined. Everyone knew that Argyll was guilty, and he’s probably been arrested already. I didn’t wait to see. Rathbone was brilliant, superb. Margaret was so proud of him, she absolutely glowed.”
    The bedroom door was open, and Scuff was sitting up staring at them. He looked unnaturally pink. His hair was actually much fairer than Monk had supposed. He seemed to have forgotten about the lace on his nightgown, or even that it was Hester’s. His shoulder must hurt him, but he was making little of that, too. Now his eyes were bright with expectation, longing to be told all there was to hear.
    Hester led Monk into the room and sat on the bed herself so that he could recount it to them both.
    “Yer won!” Scuff said excitedly. “They gonna get Argyll fer killin’ poor ’Avilland, an’ Miss Mary as well? Yer gonna bury ’em proper?”
    “Yes,” Monk said simply.
    Scuff’s eyes were shining. He was sitting close to Hester, quite naturally. Both of them seemed to be unaware of it. “ ’Ow d’yer do it?” he said, hungry for any piece of information. He had sorely missed being there to see it himself.
    “Would you like a cup of tea before we begin?” Hester asked.
    Scuff looked at her with total