William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

replied. “I’ll send you a message.”
     
    After two days the letter came, written in Runcorn’s careful, overly neat hand. It was brought by a messenger and given to Monk personally.

    Dear Monk,
    Traced the money. Came from Alan Argyll’s bank, but he gave it to Sixsmith for expenses. Argyll can account for all his time, both before and after the event. Clever devil. No second sum paid. Could be lots of reasons for that—but if Sixsmith cheated him, then he’s a fool!
    I am sure Argyll is the man behind it, but it was Sixsmith who actually handed it over, whatever he believed he was paying for. Followed his movements, found where he did it. I have no choice but to arrest him straightaway. I am not happy. We have the servant, not the master, but I have to charge him. We still have work to do.
    Runcorn
    Monk thanked the messenger and scribbled a note of acknowledgment back.

    Dear Runcorn,
    I understand, but we damned well do have work to do! Everything I can do,
I will. Count on me.
    Monk
    He gave it to the messenger. Then when the door was closed, he swore with a pent-up fury that shocked him.
    Argyll had cheated them. They had followed the trail, and ended by being forced to arrest a man they knew was innocent, while Argyll watched them and laughed. Damn him!

EIGHT
    I t was three days before Monk had time to consider the Havilland case again. There was a large fire in one of the warehouses in the Pool of London, and the arsonists had attempted to escape by water. It was brought to a successful conclusion, but by the end of the second day Monk and his men were exhausted, filthy, and cold to the bone.
    At half past eight, with the wind howling outside and the woodstove smelling of smoke, Monk was sitting in his office and finishing the last of his report when there was a knock on the door. He answered, and Clacton walked in, closing the door behind him. He came over to stand in front of the desk, looking casual and more elegant than perhaps he was aware.
    “What is it?” Monk asked.
    “Worked pretty ’ard the last couple o’ days,” Clacton observed.
    “We all did,” Monk replied. If Clacton was expecting any leave, he would be disappointed.
    “Yeah,” Clacton agreed. “You most of all…sir.”
    Monk was uncomfortable. He saw the gleam of anticipation in Clacton’s eyes. “You didn’t come in here to tell me that.”
    “Oh, but I did, sir,” Clacton responded. “I know ’ow ’ard it must ’a bin for you, wot with your own business on the side an’ all. Can’t ’ave ’ad much time for that.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” Monk demanded.
    Clacton blinked and smiled. “Yer bit o’ private work. For Mr. Argyll, is it? Findin’ out ’oo killed ’is pa-in-law, and get ’em off the ’ook? Worth a bit, I shouldn’t wonder.” He left the added suggestion hanging in the air.
    Monk’s mind raced. He had envisioned all kinds of attack from Clacton, even the remote possibility of physical violence. He had not foreseen this insinuation. How should he deal with it? Laughter, anger, honesty? What would Clacton’s next move be?
    “Din’t think I knew, did yer?” Clacton said with satisfaction. “Look down on the rest of us like we’re beneath you. Not as clever as the great Mr. Monk! ’Oo don’t know a damn thing when it comes ter the river. Come to ’ave Orme ’old yer ’and or yer’d fall in! Well, the rest of ’em might be stupid, but I’m not. I know wot yer doin’, an’ if yer don’t want Farnham ter know as well, yer’d be wise ter let me ’ave a bit o’ the price.”
    There was no time to weigh the consequences.
    “I doubt Mr. Argyll will pay me for anything I’ve found out so far,” Monk said dryly. “It looks like he’s responsible for Havilland’s death.”
    “Yeah?” Clacton’s fair eyebrows rose. “But it’s Sixsmith they’ve arrested. Now why would that be, d’yer think? A bit o’ shiftin’ around of evidence, mebbe?”
    Monk was cold and tired, and his bones ached, but now he was assailed by fear also. He recognized both cunning and hatred in the young man in front of him. There was no loyalty to Durban or anyone else, just pure self-interest. Monk had no time to care why. Clacton was dangerous.
    “Do you think you can find this supposed evidence?” he asked bluntly.
    Clacton’s eyes were bright and narrow. “Yer bettin’ I can’t?”
    “I’ll be happy if you can,” Monk replied. “It’s Argyll I want!”
    For the