William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

again.
    Pendock glared at Runcorn. “Mr. Runcorn! I will not tolerate wild and unprovable assertions in this court. This is not the reopening of a case already closed and with a verdict returned, the fact of which I know you are perfectly aware. If you have something to offer pertinent to the murder of Zenia Gadney, then tell us. Nothing else is permissible here. Do you understand me?”
    “Yes, my lord,” Runcorn said boldly. There was no defensiveness in his voice or his manner. He stood head high, his gaze straight. “But since we now know that Zenia Gadney was also Joel Lambourn’s wife, a fact we were not aware of at the time of his death, the manner of it,so shortly before her murder, seems to raise a number of questions. It is hard to be sure there is no connection.”
    “Of course there is a connection!” Pendock snapped. “It is Dinah Lambourn, the accused! Are you going to tell me that she murdered her husband also? That is hardly of service to the defense, who have called you.”
    Coniston almost hid his smile, but not quite.
    The jury members were looking completely bemused.
    “It seems likely that it was by the same person,” Runcorn answered Pendock. “At least a possibility it would be irresponsible not to look into. But after questioning Marianne Lambourn, I am satisfied it could not have been Dinah Lambourn. Marianne was awake in the night, having had a nightmare. She heard her father go out. Her mother did not.”
    Rathbone was stunned. Was Runcorn sure of what he said? What would happen if he called Marianne to the stand? Would Coniston then tear her apart and show that she could not possibly be certain she had not fallen asleep, and simply not heard her mother leave also?
    Even if that happened, it would buy him at least half a day! Had Monk found nothing further yet? Had Runcorn any ideas at all?
    Coniston was staring at Rathbone, trying to read his face.
    “Sir Oliver!” Pendock said slowly. “Were you aware of this? If you are presenting some—”
    “No, my lord,” Rathbone replied quickly, gathering his wits. “I have not had the opportunity to speak to Superintendent Runcorn since last Friday.”
    Pendock turned to Runcorn.
    “I learned this only yesterday, my lord,” Runcorn said with sudden humility. “I had occasion to reinvestigate Dr. Lambourn’s death because of certain other facts that have come to light concerning his report on the sale of opium in England, and reflecting on the opium trade in general, and in particular the means of administering it through a new kind of hollow needle attached to a syringe, which sends the drug straight into the bloodstream, making it immeasurably more addictive—”
    “This is the trial of Dinah Lambourn for the murder of Zenia Gadney!”Pendock overrode him loudly. “I will not have it turned into a political circus in an attempt to divert the jury from the issue at hand. Still less will I permit any attempt to argue the merits or otherwise of the sale or the uses of opium. They have no place in this courtroom.” He turned to Rathbone. “Evidence, Sir Oliver, not speculation, and above all I will not tolerate malicious scandal. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Absolutely, my lord,” Rathbone replied with as much semblance of humility as he could manage. “This place, above all others, is one where no one should make accusations they cannot substantiate.” He kept his face as devoid of expression as he could. Only because of the rise of color up Pendock’s cheeks did he realize he had not entirely succeeded.
    Coniston sneezed, or perhaps he choked. He apologized half under his breath.
    Rathbone looked again at Runcorn.
    “Please be very careful, Superintendent,” he warned him. “Do these facts that you uncovered have any direct bearing on the murder of Zenia Gadney, or the fact that Dinah Lambourn has been charged with that crime?”
    Runcorn considered for a moment.
    Rathbone had the intense impression that he was weighing up exactly how much he could get away with.
    “Superintendent?” Rathbone felt he had better speak before Coniston could rise to his feet yet again.
    “Yes, sir, I believe it does,” Runcorn answered. “If Dr. Lambourn and Zenia Gadney were killed by the same person, and it could not have been the accused, then it was someone else, and we must find that person. It is appearing to the police more and more likely that it was someone whom Dr. Lambourn learned about in his investigations into the