Means. They all had the means. All it required was a simple push when the general was standing at the turn of the stairs with his back to the banister, as he might if he had stopped to speak to someone. He would naturally face them. And the halberd was there for anyone to use. It did not require strength or skill. Any person of adult height could have used his or her body's weight to force that blade through a man's chest, although it might take an overtowering passion to sink it to the floor.

Opportunity. That was his only course left. If the events of the dinner party had been retold accurately (and to imagine them all lying was too remote and forced an idea to entertain), then there were four people who could have done it, the four he had already considered: Alexandra, Sabella, Louisa and Maxim.

Who else was in the house and not at the party? All the servants-and young Valentine Furnival. But Valentine was little more than a child, and by all accounts very fond of the general. That left the servants. He must make one last effort to account for their whereabouts that evening. If nothing else, it might establish beyond question whether Sabella Pole could have come downstairs and killed her father.

He took a hansom-after all, Rathbone was paying for it- and presented himself at the Furnivals' front door. Although he wanted to speak to the servants, he must obtain permission first.

Maxim, home early, was startled to see him, and even more to hear his request, but with a smile that conveyed both surprise and pity he granted it without argument. Apparently Louisa was out taking tea with someone or other, and Monk was glad of it. She was far more acute in her suspicion, and might well have hindered him.

He began with the butler, a very composed individual well into his late sixties, with a broad nose and a tight, satisfied mouth.

“Dinner was served at nine o'clock.” He was uncertain whether to add the “sir” or not. Precisely who was this person making enquiries? His master had been unclear.

“Which staff were on duty?” Monk asked.

The butler's eyes opened wide to convey his surprise at such an ignorant question.

“The kitchen and dining room staff, sir.” His voice implied “of course.”

“How many?” Monk kept his patience with difficulty.

“Myself and the two footmen,” the butler replied levelly. “The parlormaid and the downstairs maid who serves sometimes if we have company. In the kitchen there were the cook, two kitchen maids and a scullery maid-and the boot-boy. He carries things if he's needed and does the occasional errand.”

“In all parts of the house?” Monk asked quickly.

“That is not usually required,” the butler replied somberly.

“And on this occasion?”

“He was in disgrace, sent to the scullery.”

“What time in the evening was that?” Monk persisted.

“Long before die general's death-about nine o'clock, I gather.”

“That would be after the guests arrived,” Monk observed.

“It would,” the butler agreed grimly.

It was only idle curiosity which made him ask, “What happened?”

“Stupid boy was carrying a pile of clean linen upstairs for one of the maids, who was busy, and he bumped into the general coming out of the cloakroom. Wasn't looking where he was going, I suppose-daydreaming-and he dropped the whole lot. Then instead of apologizing and picking them up, like any sensible person, he just turned on his heel and fled. The laundress had a few hard words to say to him, I can promise you! He spent the rest of the evening in the scullery. Didn't leave it.”

“I see. What about the rest of the staff?” “The housekeeper was in her sitting room in the servants' wing. The tweenies would be in their bedroom, the upstairs maids in theirs, the stillroom maid had an evening off to go and visit her mother, who's been took poorly. Mrs. Fumi-val's ladies' maid would be upstairs and Mr. Furnival's valet likewise.”

“And the outside staff?”

“Outside, sir.” The butler looked at him with open contempt.

“They have no access to the house?” “No sir, they have no need.”

Monk gritted his teeth. “And none of you heard the general fall onto the suit of armor, or the whole thing come crashing down?”

The butler's face paled, but his eyes were steady. “No sir. I already told the police person who enquired. We were about our duties, and they did not necessitate any of us coming through the hall. As you may have observed, the withdrawing room is to the rear of the house, and by that time dinner was well finished. We had no cause to pass in that direction.”

“After dinner were you all in the kitchen or the pantry clearing away?”

“Yes sir, naturally.”

“No one left?”

“What would anyone leave for? We had more than sufficient to keep us busy if we were to get to bed before one.”

“Doing what, precisely?” It galled Monk to have to persist in the face of such dignified but subtly apparent scorn. But he would not explain to the man.

Because his master had required it, the butler patiently answered these exceedingly tedious and foolish questions.

“I saw to the silver and the wine, with the assistance of the first footman. The second footman tidied up the dining room and set everything straight ready for morning, and fetched more coal up in case it was required-”

“The dining room,” Monk interrupted. “The second footman was in the dining room. Surely he would have heard the armor go over?”

The butler flushed with annoyance. He had been caught out.

“Yes sir, I suppose he would,” he said grudgingly. “If he'd been in the dining room when it happened.”

“And you said he fetched up coal. Where from?”

“The coal cellar, sir.”

“Where is the door to it? “

“Back of the scullery… sir. “The “sir” was heavy with irony.

“Which rooms would he bring coal for?”

“I…” The butler stopped. “I don't know, sir.” His face betrayed that he had realized the possibilities. For the dining room, the morning room, the library or billiard room the footman would have crossed the hall.

“May I speak with him?” Monk did not say please; the request was only a formality. He had every intention of speaking with the man regardless.

The butler was not going to put himself in the position of being wrong again.

“I'll send him to you.” And before Monk could argue that he would go to the man, which would give him an opportunity to see the servants' area, the butler was gone.

A few minutes later a very nervous young man came in, dressed in ordinary daytime livery of black trousers, shirt and striped waistcoat. He was in his early twenties, fair haired and fair skinned, and at the moment he was extremely ill at ease. Monk guessed the butler had reasserted his authority over the situation by frightening his immediate junior.

Out of perversity Monk decided to be thoroughly pleasant with the young man.

“Good morning,” he said with a disarming smile-at least that was how it was intended. “I apologize for taking you from your duties, but I think you may be able to help me.”

“Me sir?” His surprise was patent. “ 'Ow can I do that, sir?”

“By telling me, as clearly as you can remember, everything you did the evening General Carlyon died, starting after dinner when the guests went to the withdrawing room.”

The footman screwed up his race in painfully earnest concentration and recounted his usual routine.

“Then what?” Monk prompted.

“The withdrawing room bell rang,” the footman answered. “And since I was passing right by there, I answered it. They wanted the fire stoked, so I did it.”

“Who was there then?”

“The master wasn't there, and the mistress came in just as I was leaving.”

“And then?”

“Thenl-er…”

“Had another word with the kitchen maid?” Monk took a guess. He smiled as he said it.

The footman colored, his eyes downcast. “Yes sir.”