William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

know,” Rathbone said gently. “We think he found out about the syringe and its effects by accident, and included it in his report. If that were so, then it might well have made its way into the Pharmacy Act; then sale in that way would probably be made illegal.”
    “If it is as terrible as you say, then it has to be made illegal,” she said slowly, understanding filling her eyes, and then horror.
    He nodded. “They destroyed the report, but in case he had told anyone, such as you, for example, he had to be discredited as well.”
    Her eyes widened. “They killed him, so he couldn’t repeat it,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
    “Yes.”
    “And poor Zenia?”
    “That was probably as you said, to get rid of you, and anything you might have been told.”
    “Who is the doctor you spoke of?”
    “Dr. Winfarthing? I don’t know him. Mrs. Monk says Dr. Lambourn consulted him. I want to question him mostly to hold the court’s attention until Monk can persuade Agnes Nisbet, the woman who runs the clinic, to come forward and testify. That might take a whole day. In fact I need to call someone on Tuesday morning immediately after Christmasand Boxing Day, until Winfarthing can be spoken to and forewarned, in fairness, that the prosecution will try to discredit him on the witness stand.”
    “And then he might not testify?” she said shakily.
    “Apart from being unfair, it might be very much against our interest to have him testify before I have had the opportunity to find out exactly what he will say, and possibly what to avoid asking him. Don’t forget, Mr. Coniston will have the chance to question him after I do. I think you have seen enough of Coniston to know that he will give Winfarthing, or anybody else, a very hard time indeed. He’ll try everything he knows to destroy his credibility, even his reputation, if he can.”
    He lowered his voice, trying to be as gentle as he could. “It is not only your life or freedom that may rest on the outcome of this case. If you are not guilty, then someone else is.”
    “I don’t know who.” She closed her eyes and the tears escaped under her lids. “Don’t you think I would tell you if I did?”
    “Yes, of course I do,” Rathbone said softly. “All I have to do now is to make the jury see that there is such a person. But you have to decide if you want me to do this. It will be very rough. And before I can get Winfarthing on the stand, I shall have to fill Tuesday morning with something else, or the judge will declare the defense closed, and it will be too late. If I call you, you are all I have left, except your daughters. Believe me, Coniston will crucify them before he allows the truth to come out. I believe he really thinks you are guilty, and he won’t spare your children.”
    “I’ll testify,” she said, cutting across everything else he might have added, although in truth there was nothing more. He had always known what she would say.
    “And you understand what Coniston will try to do to you?”
    “Of course. He will try to paint me as a hysterical woman trying to cling to the memory of a man who wouldn’t marry me, as a woman afraid of losing his money to live on and raise my illegitimate children with.” She gave a brief, forced smile, which was painful to see in its attempt at courage. “It will hardly be worse than facing the hangman in three weeks.”
    He drew in his breath to argue, and then decided it would only bean insult to offer her false promises. He looked down at the scarred tabletop and then up at her. “I know you didn’t kill Zenia Gadney, and that you made it look as if you might have in order to stand trial so you could try to save Joel’s reputation and honor. We might lose, but we aren’t there yet.”
    “Aren’t we?” she whispered.
    “No—no, we aren’t. I will call you on Tuesday as my first witness, and keep you there until Winfarthing turns up.”
    “Will he?”
    “Yes.” It was a rash promise.
    He hoped he could keep it. He stood up. “Now I must go home and think what to ask you, and then what to ask Winfarthing.”
    She looked up at him. “And Miss Nisbet?”
    “Ah, that’s different. I know very well what I will ask her.”
    Perhaps that was overstating it a little, but it was whether Agatha Nisbet would come at all that troubled him, not what he would ask her. He could only rely on Hester for that. Monk and Runcorn he knew would still be working on the actual murder, and searching frantically